Part ii Sneak Peak link for download

Very late, and like pulling teeth to get this unedited version out. But here are the first three chapters of part two: Part 2 PDF

:)

Weekly Log

Sitting around an empty house. Cleaning to procrastinate. I went to my computer. As it opened safari, a black apple announced the death of Steve Jobs. The feelings that it brought up were bizarre. Even-though I never met the man. His life in relation to mine ran through my mind:

Grade 1- the 8-inch original floppy disk Apple; each student was allocated to for one hour per week
Grade 4 - the the all-in-one Apple Macintosh my father brought for us to do "neat" assignments for school
Grade 5 - Forest Gump buying shares in a fruit company
Grade 8 - the Mac lab at school for computer music
University - my first laptop, now framed, the sleek metal finish of the original macbook I brought and framed it after I killed the harddrive
Now - the system I champion in rants and am unhealthily addicted to using

Ahh the brilliance of lifetime enmeshment in product placement and marketing. I admit I am completely brainwashed. And am happy about it.

On a normal note, the last week has been huge. The fog of spring has kept me near locked in my bedroom. After just getting my job back, I may be fired for not being able to leave my new husband. I don't think the disability act recognises spring fever. I have gotten to the point where I cannot look at him before I leave. I wake, keeping my eyes closed tight, and fumble my way into the bathroom; collecting mismatching clothes on the way. After locking the door - fat chance it will stop him if he wakes up - I shower and dress and try to leave. I make my breakfast, dreading and secretly hoping that hands will appear around my waist, and run to the car breathing through my mouth. So far I have made it out once before 9:00.

Nothing happens at work; nothing of note. I work. Typing brief after brief on historical inaccuracies. I figure when somebody writes about today they will note that a large-scale fruit dealer died of causes unknown, and for some reason technology shares fluctuated.

I just want to be at home. So much so that I keep smelling the sandwich wrapper that Elliot touched while making my lunch.

Weekly log

It has been over a month since I have captured my thoughts. Reading over my last log feels like looking into a crystal ball at somebody else's life.

I am not going to review the last month. If that was at all possible it would take a book of biblical length. But this last week has been bliss.

As if waiting for me on Monday morning, I got a phone call to start back at work. Apparently their expeditions had not been as 'fruitful' without my advice. The double entendre made me laugh out loud. And the fact that "not as fruitful" meant that they found absolutely nothing, helped me to double my salary. With a second mouth to feed now in permanent residence, it is justified. Especially a mouth attached to a feeding machine; I spend $200 a day on groceries,

Returning to life after the last month has not been easy. Elliot called it 'cartoonification'; the phenomenon where the everyday world seems simple and petty, but it can make you laugh when you realise you are a part of the action. People at work / around work, don't recognise me at first. Seeing teeth in my mouth is the general reason given. I have been asked if I am related to "this guy that used to work at the museum". I have been blatantly pronounced a liar when I give my name. I have been ignored by my staff at work. It seems that I have changed a lot.

Sleep is getting easier again. Spring usually brings out my energy and I don't need as much sleep to function. Not this year. Spring has brought with it energy, but it is being used, and I am sleeping like a log.

My parents and new extended family have brought with them some answers, but mostly taxes on my down-time. My progression from content social outcast to discontent-but-still-comming-so-should-just-be-happy-about-it incast, is a change I didn't ever consider as part of the wedding deal. But since eight hours of separation a day for work is already too much, I seem to have a tolerance for it I never thought possible. It is strange how willing to bite your tongue you are when someone else's tongue whispers a countdown to leaving in your ear every five minutes.

Back in the saddle

As of today, a new world starts again.

www.disneybook.com.au

Daily Log Update

Tack is in hospital for the next few weeks. Please follow twitter (@tack_black) or facebook (www.facebook.com/thedisneybook) for updates. Logs will start again the second Tack is able. 

Daily Log

I woke up at midnight last night to deliver Best Friend his birthday present. It was required that he get it the moment he turned 21. I had made sure to get his mother into the 'day he was born' story months ago. The exact time was 01:06. His alarm at me standing outside the window of a second floor bedroom was outstanding. The scream could have gotten me a third round of questioning for the week. 

I don't really know what to write about yesterday. What happened is still a mess in my head. 

The party is tonight, I am sure Elliot will be there. With his girlfriend. I hate parties. I only ever want to talk with one person at once. Parties just complicate things.

Mitchell, who will be forever immortalised by me as the gun-weilding-glass-head, is fine. The bar tender called the police as I walked out. Another patron took the gun away. Somehow the glass I threw at him didn't leave a scratch. Apparently, in his bag was a letter; explaining his mission to rid the world of a few fags; himself included. In some insane bout of reasoning, he had come to the conclusion that he would be rewarded for suicide and murder, instead of being punished for his gayness. How he got the gun is still baffling the police.

Instead of talking about the night, the councillor I got at the station ending up laying the story of her last boyfriend on me. Before I left she hugged me and agreed that she would say no when she wanted; from now on. The two officers questioning me ended up confessing their undying love for each other within the first hour. They left, blissfully grinning, only to be replaced by a senior officer with a gay son.  Again instead of questioning me about the incident, he went into a  soliloquy about his understanding of gays. Without a word from me, he talked himself through a rather complicated sequence of reasoning. He admitted to being curious as a boy. Then decided to 'ease up' on his boy.

I got a phone call at four o'clock asking me to come back to the station. My interviews had answered none of the required questions. But none had been asked. I suggested it be conducted over the phone. Ten minutes in, the more-senior officer was in tears about not speaking with her sister for years. I muted the phone. When I came back to check it, after an hour, she was still sobbing and mumbling about their adventures as kids.

If this whole week could be explained by astrology, the only thing I would accept is that retrograde Mercury had collided with retrograde Venus. 

I am on a journey to accept who I am. Again.

The gay journey was just a dress rehearsal. In my current series of unfortunate stories, I elicit life affirmation and acceptance with whomever I encounter. I can fight like a monkey-maddness warrior. And guns misfire at me. I always feel like it is time to wake up. But if I wake up, I won't be alive anymore.

Daily Log

Answers seem to flow like ice cold steal; they don't. I went to my parents' late in the day yesterday. The morning was filled with television reruns. I usually don't watch TV. But at the point I am at, I will probably try anything that might get me to normal again.

My parents had nothing useful for me: 'You are fighting it' they both said from one house to the next. For the first time in a long time, I really wanted to be alone. God and I have a covenant that we won't talk if I'm drunk. Mum and dad sensed it. I lied just to get away as fast as possible. What I said was; I am not going out to get drunk, I just want to think today through. What I meant was; I am not going out to think, I just want to drink today through. 

In all fairness, if I have some secret to discover that they know about, they have been lying to me for years. Three drinks in - I had paid for them and they had each found a way to be destroyed before a sip - I was ready to leave. The funniest was an air hockey puck smashing the glass just before I lifted it. I gave in.

I slammed the exit door outwards, smashing both glass windows around it. After also paying for the windows, I tried to leave again. 

Outside the door - for the second time - I could smell a funky odour. My mind said it was fear. As I turned to walk, the choked breath of crying caught my ear. I turned to the other direction and saw a shoe attached to a foot sticking out of an alcove. No longer afraid of alleyways, I headed over. 

A teenaged guy was sitting in the doorway - his head on his knees - he didn't see me coming. Hello, I said, didn't I see you inside earlier? He responded with some quick scathing spit about my dumb pick-up line. I replied equally scathing, perhaps a little too harsh; he choked in as I describe his mousey stance. As he finally looked me in the eye, his face changed. No longer was there a little boy sitting on the ground, but a young man, at full attention.

He stood and pointed to the bar. I hate that that is the only life I have to hope for, he said. I replied that it wasn't. That was the first time I had been to any gay venue of any kind, and I found it equally disappointing. But that any place is shit if that is how you feel. 

We went back inside for a drink. This time none smashed, but the bar tender kept a extra close watch on me. 

Four long-island-iced-teas down, Mitchell, was monologuing about his day. The word suicide toppled out as he gulped into his fifth drink. He buttoned the point by revealing the butt of a hand gun from his bag. A gleam came over his eyes like none I have ever seen. 

He let the bag drop. 

Still holding the gun, he raised it at me. I stepped backward. The remaining five in the bar went suddenly silent. 

Without another word, he squeezed the trigger.

The gun sputtered. 

The whole bar stood waiting. 

Mitchell pointed the gun down and squeezed again. Two shots exploded into the wooden floor. 

He raised the gun at me again and squeezed the trigger.

The gun sputtered a second time. 

Realising I held a water glass in my hand, I pitched it at Mitchell's head. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

Staring around at the stunned crowd, I could see that not a soul even appeared to be breathing. I grabbed my wallet and walked out:

God was waiting outside to talk to me.

Daily Log

Where do I start? Do I start at the very beginning, or do I start where it all gets nuts? Two questions are still mocking my mind. Besides the first two at the beginning of this paragraph. And I think these two are quite obvious to be asked:

What is going on?

How do I stop it?

I am posing them to my log because, in some far out way, at least they are out of me. I suppose I should start at the beginning of the day.

Waking up I was set on answers. I made appointments with two doctors; my third time this week. I worked as much as I could, and I left for the surgery. This week I have been poked and prodded and scanned. And today, the MRI machine whooped up, only to make a whirring noise as I approached and then emit the smell of a burned out toy motor; the kind that comes when a children's milkshake machine explodes. 

Afterwards, mildly deflated, I walked back through the alley to my car. I was not paying particular attention to anything other than my blackberry. I texted best friend, and statused my update. Then the path was blocked. I looked up to find two men in my way. I didn't need to check behind me to know the entrance was now occupied; I could hear the asthmatic wheezing of someone close behind me. He smelled like cooked eggplant.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were doing. The one in front of me stuck out his hand.

As the hand of the eggplant eater grabbed my upper arm, the other two stepped inward. Everything seemed to jar. I was watching, from the inside, an event not unlike the Jason-Bourne-carrying-the-red-bin-bag-in-the-consulate scene. With a movement my body has never been capable of, I arched around and pulled the extended hand towards me. Wrenching into an arched back, I pulled the front man over me and sent him hurtling into the eggplant. 

The man next to him looked at me in surprise, and lunged. On both hands, I launched my legs around his waist. Somehow twisting, I recoiled and flipped, tossing the man over me in an arch. He flew head first into the back of the eggplant. 

I stood.

The original man who stuck out his hand, jumped over his fumbling gang pile towards me. I grabbed under his arms while he was in mid-air. My torso twisted without my legs moving. With his momentum I threw him towards the wall. But instead of letting go, as he passed, I jumped with him. The two of us went flying into the brick fence. As we hit, my weight came second and crushed him into the wall even harder than it would have without me. I seemed to be buffered by his rotund gut.

As I stood again, I looked behind me. Eggplant was fumbling to stand under the weight of number two. Original man was unconscious. In the distance I could hear the scuffle of feet. 

Two blue shirts appeared at the entrance to the alley and ran towards me. They had bats. As I searched around for a place to run, I noticed the badges on their tops. They were cops. 

I don't think my hands have flown up faster; like an overachiever answering a question in school. "They're trying to mug me" I yelled. Eggplant then chimed in, "We were walking quietly and this cracker came out of nowhere."

I was handcuffed and walked into a cop car. My attackers were carefully placed on ambulance beds. I was grilled about martial arts training and whether I knew how to fight from any form of training. 

Five hours, my dad and two lawyers later, questioning had ended. My dad chimed in at one point to announce that I had the coordination of a hurdy-gurdy. Fortunately the alley-way had a camera installed at the entrance. Apparently the surgery was robbed the week before and they had upgraded to video surveillance. It showed me walking and Eggplant stepping in behind me. It even had sound so the guard could hear the scuffle around the corner. He had called the police, who conveniently were getting coffee next door.  

I was released, pending further investigation. My body looks like nothing happened. 

My brain is screaming for answers. It looks in the mirror and sees a stranger. I've never hurt anybody on purpose in my life; besides pulling the hair of a girl in second grade. I still wake up to nightmares about that. But last night I slept like a baby.

Daily Log

I think writing something down might help me understand what is going on. Or it will make things worse. 

Now that I really think about it, to see yesterday on paper (on screen really, paper would be even worse; my hand would be sore) is going to show me just how crazy I am. 

I have always believed that with a lot of faith, you can see your way through anything. 

I saw my sister just after lunch. I had tried a fresh juice, with kale in it; an unpleasant experience. I had a bitter taste in my mouth to start our conversation. The problem is I still am not sure if I am awake or asleep. 

All she would say is that I am on the right track. I am getting the wizard of oz feeling again; find it out for yourself. Her exact words are still sitting on the tip of my brain. 

"When you were a little boy, at the far end, maybe three-years-old, something happened. I wasn't around to stop it. You were badly hurt, to the point of dying. I can't and won't let that happen again. So yes. I watch you when the universe feels off. I stay around to make sure it doesn't happen again.

"You're thinking that I am crazier than you. But the point of where you are now is to choose: look beyond the tendency to judge and accept what comes, or, run; leave behind all of it, find a doctor that will zap the living fuck out of your brain. I am sorry I can't make it easier. Catastrophe does a job well. Righting it would not be possible, for anybody less than you."

She left me alone, sitting on a plaid blanket in her back yard. Two days in a row I have sat on the grass and been told something ludicrous. 

One wants me to go into a coma to solve it, one thinks I can choose my way out. 

When you are going through hell, keep going (Winston Churchill).

The problem is that choices are strange. Often they are a simple state of mind. Like coming out. For a lot of gays it is a choice to come out. Gayness can be hidden, because it is not a condition. It is a state of being. One that is external to behaviour or appearance. The choice to hide or not is then just a case of weighing physical need gratification over ability to pretend. But anyone presented with the choice knows that I tears you; right down to your very soul. And even through your soul, if you leave it too long.  

What you find at the end of the choice is unknown: a bully with a bat; a lover; a prison cell; a death sentence; a life. And even if the consequences are known, and are evil; we still choose to come out.

I don't know if I can choose to be what I see as crazy. But again, gayness was seen as crazy once. It still is. I cannot imagine what life must be in a family where gayness is equated with suicide or murder. Or maybe this is what that would feel like. Right now I might call my insurance just to speak with somebody; their ad says a human always answers. 

God holds my hand. So why would any loving anything make anybody think their own death could be more righteous than love. God does not respond to rhetoric. God will hold my hand through the whole thing; big ol' gay me. But won't tell the answer to a question when the answer is already known.

I can deal with this. I just have to choose to be nuts. How do I be white and continue being purple?

Daily Log

The first of Marcus' suggestions was to find some way to let go. In an active attempt at this idea, I went to the Ekka; a yearly ten day fair that brings the country to the city. My parents made this magic for us as children. Sugar, rides, animals, cowboys, wood-cutters, crowds and fireworks. Part of the work was obviously done for them, but the thought counts. We would save money for months to buy our show bags and souvenirs. 

One ill fated day I was even allowed to try a mini-motorbike. The poor attendant. His hay-bales and years of experience had nothing on my heavy thumb and determined grip. I smashed apart the makeshift rink, and chased the man through half of Sideshow alley. My family of course were rolling around on the ground laughing while their three-year-old traumatised defenceless carnival workers. I screamed the whole time but would not let go for the life in me. I cannot remember how the ordeal ended. I know I am here typing a log; I know nothing of the attendant. 

Hijinks aside, the Ekka is still magical to me. I went with a famileind of near thirty years. I regressed. Goats chased me in petting arenas. Babies stared at me on the train. I bothered shop attendants about the dairy content of a dagwood dog… There was none.  Hallelujah. 

We left feeling like well wrung clothes. The day was everything it was cracked up to be. But, sadly, gave me nothing to help with my mind. I did not really believe one day of fun could help me find my marbles again. It at least made me relax and use my energy on something other than work.

The whole thing again brought my sister to my attention. For the briefest second in my memory, as I sat on the mini-bike, I saw my father hold her back. As I was first hearing how to depress the accelerator and squeeze the brake, I vividly remember mum stepping up and taking her other shoulder. They stood there like a portrait. Two flanking and one in the middle showing a hand on each shoulder.

I am sure she would not lie to me if I asked her something outright. Seeming insane with what I ask does not bother me either. But I don't know what to ask: 'are you protecting me from something?'; 'is there some conspiracy around me that I don't know?' ; 'who are you really? who am i?'. None of that makes any sense. She is my sister, I know she has always been militant with my safety. 

I tried to watch the kids are alright to take my mind off things. Sixty minutes in, the theme seemed to be that gays are dysfunctional and capable of adultery too. I switched it off. As a child of a broken home, I will agree that we will be alright. But it doesn't mean adultery and boredom need to be pushed onto an audience as art. As the child of parental disarray, I still see it all as pathetic. Too many people think they deserve to have too much. Never the thought that they may need to constantly work at something to be worthy of air. Maybe it is just boomers. I hope it is just a passing generational thing. 

I need to talk to my sister. I think I know what she is going to say.

Daily Log

Fear and self-loathing are a powerful combination. Apparently they are even capable of crossing over between lives. I have always thought my-self to be quite tolerant and new age. But my behaviour today doesn't suggest that is true. And usually I would be happy to be called a hypocrite; at least I am not straight-forward.

Self-faith must be up there in the human hierarchy of needs for survival. Today mine was threatened and I lashed out.

Marcus was sitting in the middle of the park, cross legged on the grass. I walked up to him and sat down. For some reason it felt as usual as a tea date with grandma.  It is strange to hear you're wrong about who you are from somebody else's mouth. It is strange to hear them weave it into their own culture to provide an explanation.

It didn't go down well. 

As I made to leave, Marcus crawled after me and grabbed my leg. Before shaking him off, I looked down and realised why he was crawling. He was paralysed from the waist down.

There are a few kinds of intolerance. By far the worst is the internalised masquerading kind. It swans around as if it will accept anything, but when it comes to applying the kindness and acceptance it preaches, it pulls away to protect itself. This intolerance is responsible for so much in society today. Zealots have their place, but as long as people say one thing then under stress act another way, there is no chance we will survive multiculturalism. 'There are no secrets but the secrets that keep themselves (Shaw)'.

I saw myself in a mirror while standing to leave; the one man with true need for acceptance rejecting a welcoming friend. I felt like the minority groups that separated their causes for human-rights. Imagine if women, blacks and gays had just stood together in the first place.

I sat back down. Ready to eat my words and challenge my-self. Perhaps the problem was me. Who I am. It is so much easier to look outward; at least there is something to see.

Marcus thinks I could use a good coma. Although he called it something spiritual. He thinks my mind looks out into life through fear goggles. And so all I can see is the danger. My memory is trapped beneath that fear. He wants me to welcome some good danger and survive it. I told him his wife was pregnant; the pheromones on his skin were thick with maternity. He swore.

As I left he yelled at me to slow down. To button the whole meeting I found a parking ticket on my car. Maybe my thoughts did need organising. I wandered through the rest of the day.

I didn't sleep well. When you look inside and see a bad person, where can you go for comfort… God and I spent some time chatting. It is nice to sit together under a full moon. As luck would have it it was a Sunday morning by that time. 

Daily Log

Strangled stomach sounds woke me, lIke the groaning boards of a wooden ship. The volume was ridiculous. I was starving. My stomach was worse than the alarm on my phone. For a regular morning, what I thought was a regular morning, I was not used to this much food urgency.

As I walked into the bathroom, the overhead light caught on a red line down my arm. It stretched from my shoulder to my wrist. And it seemed to be fading. I must have slept on my arm. Turning on the water in the shower, I held out my hand to test the temperature. The line across my arm burned like acid as the water hit.

An image of a young native australian flashed in my mind. He was definitely a native, but he was dressed as a Egyptian pharaoh. He had slashed across my arm with a knife, just before I woke up. I felt tired still. I decided against a shower until after breakfast. But I stunk. Forcing myself in the water, I washed quickly and cut off the water. My arm was still burning.

Marcus had been his name. Images from the dream started to settle on me again. It had been quite a mess. Marcus had kept insisting that I needed a good beating to get through my stubborn head. But in my dreams I am in control; he had no way to hurt me. The cut only came when he caught me off guard. It felt like weeks later. He had been waiting for the right time to injure me. My dreams always feel long. I still remember one when I was a little boy; stuck in a line out the front of my school. It felt like eternity. I woke up crying. I hate lines.

We felt so close. He smiled when he got the cut in. He laughed happily. I even found it funny. But I had no time to laugh because my stomach woke me up. It all seems so stupid. I feel like I have known Marcus forever. When I woke up, light bursts flashed everywhere. The static electricity had built up in my polyester/cotton thermal shirt. In the dark, the electricity shocks made little sparks as I moved.

I usually wouldn't write details from a current day down yet. I need time for my cumbersome brain to tick over the details. But yesterday didn't happen. I looked down at my phone, feeling a little like Homer Simpson; speaking and wearing a towel, I picked it up. The red light was flashing away diligently. I had sixteen missed calls and thirty-eight emails. I felt Zoolandery.

The date read; 'August 13th'.

I had been asleep for thirty-five hours.

No wonder I was starving. I had not eaten a thing for days. Messages had come from everywhere; for work, from my family, from my friends.

The smell of my Neice was in the air. She was here. Pulling on my underpants and some track pants, I came into the living room. A bag was on my table, the guest room door was closed.

Sister and Niece had come over and had not woken me up.

They are still asleep now. And I am not sure of what to do. They keep treating this - anything I say or do - as normal. As if the whole family nods and says, 'makes sense'. What is even worse is that I know I agreed to meet Marcus today.

This is insane. I have agreed to meet somebody in a dream and I am already preparing to go. The problem is, when I agreed to meet him, he looked normal. He was sitting on the ground in a park at Burleigh. A park I know well and visit often. It feels real. Like the news casts I dream up and then tell people about; I am not sure whether it is fake or real. I may have met him at Burleigh a few days ago, spoken about native history, and agreed to meet again. I love the native dreamtime. But I would have mentioned that in a log. That is why I started these. To attempt to keep track of my stupid world. But I don't put everything in here. And as I read the last few I sound like a nutter. There is little or no mention of my days. Who do you tell when you can't even remember the day before you went to sleep? It feels like years ago.

Daily Log

Streetlamp sentinels. My sister. Somehow the streetlamps protect me. But the streetlamps are all my sister. LIke she stands out all night every night protecting me. But from what. Who are the waterfalls of light supposed to protect me from and why? These dreams. They don't mean anything. I am hidden in a dark park by the only light for fathoms. I don't see how light can protect me. And how can she be out there with Niece to protect.
It was a great day yesterday. I walked to borough and saw a sleighing skateboarder pulled by a bull mastiff. I got my freedom handed to me in a mismanaged message that must have misfired the world over. My greatest friends helped me to get my business off the ground. And, at night I got to sup with the old man himself.
Still it is like I am in a vice. These dreams are too much. I need to tie rocks to my ankles to keep my feet on the ground. I have a path in front of me I cannot walk from up in the clouds. But keeping my mind from the clouds is nearly impossible. I need blinkers; I am no horse.
Elliot seems to be screaming at me in one ear, and a crowd of mangled dreams in the other. I don't think names are supposed to be posted here but there it is.
I hired two DVD's last night; distractions aplenty. If I can just keep my head down and look forward, I have enough to do to fill my time.
Spare time terrifies me. Those moments where you have nothing to occupy your mind and slippery thoughts of sex trickle into your consciousness. But in no good way. Because they open a shinning door to a tsunami of images and people I don't know. But I do know them and that is the point. All of them want attention at the same time and I can't hear anything but yelling white-noise.
I sometimes fear that the way my mind works causes things to happen.
In some of these images I see the same thing.
Someone like me.
Not just like me. He is me.
I am rambling.
A tea party discussion on my families historical impressions on religion didn't help any. It was nice to see the grandma. Perhaps she did this to me. The truly scary part is that I think I saw her as a young girl sneaking into a military base to see her american boyfriend in WW2. But I am sure that is a story I have heard before. My mind could easily conjure that up. I don't think she told me that he dressed her up as a colonel to sneak her out and back home in a company jeep.

Daily Log

To all of the people out in the universe intent on finding their niche; get over it. It is pathetic. The shields you create of personas are pathetic. "I'm a Type-A" says the overworked business man. "I'm Sagittarius" says the woman behind the counter. "I have anxiety, so I can't sleep," says the bloke drinking his third energy drink. COME OUT OF THE CLOSET! Stop hiding behind labels.
These rioters in London. The police would have shot them back in the day. Louis XIV had them annihilated. But then again they did not have to deal with the encryption standards of a blackberry and its messenger app. I think americans would shoot them; imagine if a bunch of rioters burned down the Washington Monument or Mount Rushmore. There was war declared over three buildings, four planes and countless (but somehow counted) people. At least shoot to wound. Come on, we live in a society that kills people for any reason. I am talking the Global society here. Borders are just a luxury we use to differentiate ourselves from our fellow humans; but don't tell your-self that; it will make murder more difficult.
I have just taken to accepting that we live in a society that is the very evil we claim to abhor. When you accept that, things just seem to smooth out; like floating out to sea.
The memories are surfacing again.

One minute I am walking down a street in rome - circa 100 BC. The next I am in a cave seeking shelter for the night. The arms of my own naked tribal worrier around me; swords slung low around our waists. The next I am camped outside a city in a fresh mammoth skinned tent; the smell is hideous still. Again lying naked in the arms of my own giant beast of a man.
I knew they had never gone anywhere. The only reason I survived at the museum so long is that I was usually right. The knowledge came from somewhere. I hoped it was clever reasoning; but I am not that clever. Memory, plain and true.
These are the first memories I have had with anything pleasant. They have finally made sex appealing; I wake up every morning harder than chinese algebra. That never happened in puberty. I was trapped inside a nightmare. Wet dreams were literal. I would wake up and the bed would be drenched in sweat. When sleepwalking arose, more sleep-working - I dug trenches in the back-yard - my parents finally let me see the workings of my brain. But still nothing. The only solution was to lock me in my room for the nights.
How can meeting a man for thirty seconds send you into the tailspin of your life? The answer is so maddening. It is on the tip of my brain. I know it.

Daily Log

It was a work day from 5:30 through to 20:30. I continue to be amazed at the abilities of Australians to accept things. Sure our government is psychotic. But the general populous, Gen Y in particular, have both the laid back acceptance of Aussies, and the 'so what' mentality about all kinds. People think the ability to make anything into a joke is offensive. But in reality it brings things out into the open with laughter instead of slamming them into a closet with shame.

There is a new generation rising. One where gay is about as bigger cause for concern as running low on toothpaste. These serene creatures are sprouting out of the ground, unaffected, calm and without fear. They are wondrous to behold. I figure it is simply a sign of the ageing population that we do not have perfect equality here. It is coming. As long a major portion of our generation remain unregistered to vote (it is a legal requirement to vote in Australia), we will stay this way. We allow our country to be ruled by the elderly; we believe them when they say wisdom comes with age. 

In psychology there is a concept known as stratified random sampling. This is where your sample must represent a microcosm of the exact proportions of reality. Taking children out of the equation, our government should represent this formula. The closest we have is the senate, because they use the proportional representation. But I suppose it would be impossible for our duopoly political parties, close brothers of: coles and woolworths; david jones and myer; coke and pepsi, to stay in power with this policy; and we do adore them so. Even when they make it near impossible to start a new movement because they have restricted donation policy. 

They continue to distract us with pointless topics that only interest us because they effect our back pockets. I feel like I am taking crazy pills (zoolander). We are spending our own money to be distracted.

If they would just admit it that we are a communist country. That would be fine. Our finances are socialist, we pay massive tax. Our leaders are chosen and seem to be picked from a cloning facility that has gone haywire on physical appearance. And we do just adore them all. Even to the extent we could pat them on the head and tell them to 'run along little tyke'. Meanwhile, back on the farm, we watch them pretend to give us a homebuyers leg-up. At the same time they increase the hidden fees by an equal amount; they are paying themselves for votes now. 

 I did not mean to find politics this morning. I had a disturbing dream about zombies last night, and the Fusa attacking, and am at a bit of a loss. I think it was due to the major work hours yesterday. My creativity has been replaced by a societal bottom line. Just imagine if only gay men could be politicians… There would be no arguments at question time. There would be a bdsm rack for men who spoke out of turn. Negotiations would devolve rapidly into rampant love affairs. Political infighting would end, and if other countries adopted this, there would be no wars. World summits would be bel ami marathons, and if we only elected our best and brightest, we would pay through the nose to watch the debates! Politics would fund itself.

Daily Log

When rough comes up, you see how people feel about you. It takes a great amount of guts to chance your feelings when you know they will be trampled, but sometimes they need to be trampled to let you move on. It is how to become strong, It is how you learn to be weak with the right people. To trust that old Opera saying 'if there is a doubt, don't'.

From the blood trickling between the lines of the last month, it may be obvious that turmoil is afoot. Whether that turmoil is or is not in my head is unknown. I tend to blur the lines of reality. That is my function: to fight, to dream, and to play. At least that is what I suspect. Without concrete evidence to the contrary, or in the affirmative for that matter, I cannot be sure. Faith ties that line. People would have me believe my spiritual side is psychosis. The yearning of an insignificant to be significant. I can accept that. I don't. But I could. 

There is just too much heart in him, I cannot kill my inner child. And I wouldn't want to. I live on the cusp of dreams and reality. Granted I sometimes dream I have seen something on the news that is completely made up; and start telling people about it. But there is a simple solution to that problem. I just stop watching any news. The dreams then became quite obvious. The world seems calmer then too.

Doctors tell me it is impossible to dream in five senses. But they still cannot explain their own brain scans. Except to tell me that I may not actually be reaching sleep. My family believes, somehow. They are my only refuge when things get tough. It is strange to have a background story of 'coming out' as a gay man, then to have your parents trump you in the same conversation; with information about yourself no less. 

They see it when I am suffering. They tell me. Apparently I show up at each house and look like a dopey toddler looking for a blankie. I get so angry that everyone seems to know more about me than I do. They never want to share with me what is going on. Claiming I have to find it for myself.

It sounds like the useless refrain of a television episode. Don't people realise it is cruel to send you on a journey instead of giving you the answer up front. We learn all the time through a good story. It is one of the most successful teaching methods. When you go to find it for your-self you could get anywhere.  What if Dorothy had gone off in search of the witch and had teamed up. There was no true animosity there. The house murder was the tornado's fault, not hers. Elphaba and Dorothy could have come together and conquered OZ for the better. The good intensions of Galinda would have actually done some good. Then at least Dorothy would not have ended up stuck in black and white Kansas. 

Obviously my day yesterday was a mess. There was the usual mixed in eating, surfing and sun-baking, but the day itself is better left to itself. My emotions hurt me badly. They continue to build up against my wishes. It is like two magnetic forces are somehow charging each other. And every now and then, so much residual charge is built, it sparks out like a lightning blast; leaving the source damaged and exhausted. I do not know what will be left when this is over.

Daily Log

When the name of one man circles your mind like a cork that is too big to go down a drain, there is not a lot you can do about it. The obvious responses are to cut the cork into tiny pieces that will somehow fit down the drain grates when the water is low enough to allow it. In this case the cork is his name, and it is housed in my brain; I would have to labotomise myself to stop this. Even then as a babbling idiot I would be stuck thinking about him. 

He has evicted me from my life (as good as it gets). My mind continues to retreat into its creative impulses to survive. I follow my business and writing objectives around like a lost puppy to a child. This is me a creepiness DEFCON one. All I can do to work out impossible feelings is to write them into stories and hope they disappear when the stories end. This feeling is ripping me apart. Two months have passed and I am haunted by a hand shake. 

I woke up. Headed to the usual Barefoot experience then headed home. I had promised myself that work would not touch me for the day. I ignored email, I left my phone and I kept my router off. WIth a head filled with lustful/longing thoughts about a man, this day was near impossible. To give up distraction; your greatest earthly salvation, when all you want is to not think about someone, is a big ask. Sun-baking, I pine. Swimming, I played in the water, but that was a distraction that only lasted five minutes or so it doesn't count. Back at the shack, I plan and plot and hope. It is tedious and horrible and pitiful and I cannot stop it. 

To do something direct about this would be going against God's plan for me right now. I have to take it as it comes; nothing is certain. Nothing is certain except the fact that I am falling apart. I am a grown man, and I am a love-sick puppy.

I do not have words to describe the agony inside this yearning. My soul has ignited and will burn through me to get to him. It gives me misleading advise, just in the hopes of closeness. It has turned on me in the most cruel and unusual way, and when I think the pain has ebed it shows the purity of pleasures for a split second and then, again, lets me fall.

My soul will see me in jail for stalking before it lets me get away with inaction.

My life until now has been in a desert. A slow walk through a dry desolate waist-land. To show me green mountains and then let them disappear again, it cannot be for good.

Cooking and cleaning were not work, so I focused on them for a while. I tried dancing out some energy and even walked around my neighbourhood. I invited a familend over for dinner and a movie. What movie gets picked? No less than Shakespeare in love. At least the beef was incredible! The movie may have directly resulted in me spilling my pathetic feelings across this log.

Daily Log

I'm in love with a man I have met once. Seen for a few hours climbing a mountain and otherwise nothing. He said just three words to me and that was it. I may as well have fallen to pieces right there. And this last month has been ridiculous.
I mean that. I have been trying to be something I am not. I have been playing a game that says that any of this is ok. I have a job to do. I used to have a job to do. Now it is all fucked up. Over one chance meeting. Now nothing seems clear. I am left to let the universe call me out, and then and only then do I come. Yesterday was one of those days, I was called to go out.
I woke up, still without enough sleep. I got dressed and tied up a world full of loose ends. Hoping for some reason that control in business would mean control in other areas. I have been forced to realise that my control is for naught. Any semblance of free-will in me must have dissolved years ago, and I am left a sad tweenaged-thing that goes from being 25 to one-hundred-thousand and six.
As if any of this would be ok. I am living the life of a boring spinster-man. And right now, when I finally feel like myself again, I know it cannot last because there is simply no energy to sustain this. Again, the universe is deciding for me: whiplash, fatigue; what ever this virus is this year it is a doozy. It is knocking everybody over for months, and leaves them with weird lingering symptoms.
I have this feeling that something terrible is going to happen. And I am not taking about the pretend monitory world where the rich fatties are manipulating the many to take more and more money away from the people. A modern day robin hood is coming to deal with that. I have this lingering doubt that God knows something is coming and as usual I just have to take it as it comes.
Last night was a great night. It felt like a celebration had been planned for me by the universe; while friends were occupied elsewhere, another friend sent a stranger to have dinner and a toast to the last few months. It felt like a celebration. Some really great business steps were taken yesterday; and a validation came to stick it right up the big banks. The government is going to take me back as a pure consultant too. It is about time they realised where all of their locations came from.
Some work has just created more work. Finishing one job has shown me twenty more. But it is forcing me to be creative. Luckily I have these business and IT boys watching my back. I have a feeling my next meeting date with Elliot is now firm. The birthday invite came yesterday, after I left my accountant, I found it in the mail. I confirmed a time too. I hope my core is stable again by then.

Daily Log

Somebody told me a while ago that sleep was as important to health, weight-loss and general intelligence as any form of exercise, if not moreso. Right now I am angry at everything! I feel like the toddler woken early from his nap. There is a little voice in my head saying be positive, all is well. But that voice may as well be elmo singing his namesake song. I think I am just tired. I meet a bloke that blows me away, and he disappears up a mountain. There are all of these things I am supposed to believe and I am starting to think I am as nuts as others say I am. I talk to God everyday; not out of reverence, just because we get along well. I am tired.

I went to office works yesterday and I saw a desk. I thought, for some reason, it would be nice to own a desk. One day I will own my own desk. It was eighty bucks, I bought it. I don't know what is happening to me. In the car on the way back, I nearly broke into tears when I heard a song I wrote a screenplay to. It was a gut wrenching scene, but just thinking about it caused tears in me. I am loosing it.

I woke up yesterday, a little late, and headed to physio. I did my thing, maybe I am doing it wrong, but I am starting to feel really good. And on the other hand, I can't get this guy off my mind. I have touched him once. Once! Three words spoken. 

My day was broken by design; I had arranged friendship events up in Brisbane. I knew I could not make the beach or sun-bake, but I still had a lot of work to finish. Everybody still does nothing. And what makes matters worse is that I am trying to recruit people to expand and have nothing to really offer. Some stupid part of my mind is pushing growth. I see opportunity central, but cannot make them work on my own. 

The IT boys have got all of my stuff running now. The chance meeting has given me a whole production section in one place. I am pushing them to do all of my production, even though it isn't really their business, I just have a good feeling about them. I feel sorry for them that they have to deal with the nitwits of my world now. 

I drove to brisbane happy. With this core work happening, I can scream along to the stereo without loosing my breath at all. Lunch with former-work-wife was great, it is amazing to see a world of old. It is like peeping in through a looking glass. Afterwards, after begging her to quit her job and come work with me, I headed away for the reallocated best friend day. The day has been transient thanks to university scheduling, but it may have finally settled.

Again I nearly started crying when I thought of other characters in books I have written. Perhaps I am hormonal. I have never had this much trouble controlling my lead characters before. Perhaps one will come out and stir up some trouble. Or perhaps my control is completely devastated by a single chance meeting over a month ago, and it will never recover. 

Dinner was great; my first curry in months. We made office furniture and watched the lincoln lawyer. It was very good. But again it tries to glorify the minuscule portion of lawyers who care about humanity. It is strange that they never get down to the nitty gritty of lawyers who's main reason for existence is to transfer pain from one person to another. Quantify that when you grow old: 'i transferred 4 trillion widgets of pain in my lifetime; a life well spent.'

When I got home, I unboxed and build my flat pack furniture. It took me three tries to find the right location, and once again my whiplash is killing me for it. I honestly think this is becoming ludicrous. Part of you tells of you are magnificent untouchability, and the other gets you back pain for protecting your mate.

I must be hormonal. I saw an echidna on the highway yesterday, and nearly stopped to go back and save it. I was a kilometre away when I thought to hold up four lanes of speeding traffic to somehow get a pointy marsupial our of harms way. But even then I did not know how to do it or where to take it.

I can write on my new desk with whiteboard marker. 

Daily Log

Macbeth does not murder sleep; people calling do. And why is it that so many people call when they should be asleep. I will tell you why, because if exhausted people went to bed earlier, they'd have less to talk about. It is unseasonably hot too. People go cuckoo in the heat, and during full moons. It may be that they are always nuts and the weather gives them an excuse to ham it up, like talking with an exaggerated aussie accent overseas.

Ill at ease with the amount of REM I had, I got up to start the day. I don't think people without need for caffeine can understand the yearning for the first cup in the morning. When you won't drink coffee after lunch, the wait builds like a restless tantrum; threatening tears, expulsion, feeble whinging and even the occasional whimper. 

Physio tells me that instead of working in one position for too long, I have to move every thirty minutes. I can't believe whiplash is classed as self-inflicted and won't heal quickly. I suppose it was me who insisted on driving instead of the train. It has taught me how to exercise properly. I get to take away they joy that nobody in any gym gets to use the grand strap in machines. And my core is building up like there is no tomorrow. 

Every morning I get up, and it is as if the circle of life should be booming from an unknown source. Sunrise on the gold coast is a thing of beauty. Sometimes I have the circle of life blaring through the stereo, but that is just my geek having fun. I have no child for my own modern family moment. 

Yesterday was disappointing, I figure there is still a little retrograde out there. I got rejected more than the last hors d'oeuvres on the plate. I am convinced the bank did not even read my application, but the only reason to find out for sure is to get my account manager in trouble. It is a very tempting thought. I should have gone with my gut last month. But on this diet my gut is getting enough attention; so I ignored him. My gut has been responsible for a lot lately. Or a lack of a lot. I cannot decide which.

I worked mostly on copy all day. I went to the beach. Wrote and fixed little typos across my universe. I even got set up for twitter, on the advice of others, I will try!

Time seems to go nowhere. I try to get in some solid sun-baking; to look after the skin, but too many ideas come into my head and I want to work more. Adam and eve had it right, and it had nothing to do with the apple that made them get clothed; I would run around stark naked now if I not for the arresting threat. It would save so much time on sun baking. The first two got dressed in leaves because too much fruit made them chubby. Vain idiots. You would think the fruit of wisdom would have given them enough sense to continue their exercise program. No. They sat around pontificating and writing poems with sticks. Then whined because they put on twenty kilos. When they finally saw each other again, in all their wisdom, they had no winter woollens to hide their loads. As if leaves would hide anything; we all saw right through them. A light breeze had them naked again in minutes. There was no wisdom or knowledge in the application of those leaves. That was direct stupidity. Vanity mixed in there too. They both looked at all the trim and muscly angels and felt flabby. The leaf attempt was hilarious. And adam had major low hangers; a maple leaf hid nothing.

The end of my day saw another hydro-therapy session and my senior cit clique. As the quiet youth in the pool, apparently, I say nothing and am amazed at the teenage level of gossip that passes through these people. There is no wisdom or growth that comes as a gift with purchase of age. These people are in many ways worse than the squealing "wiper-snappers" on the trains. I'll admit one of them made me laugh when he said I may be a dirty old man now, but I was a dirty young man, so it is just the times that have changed; at least I am consistent. 

At least that is something to look forward too. Dinner with Dad and a restless sleep greeted me before a couple of midnight phone calls. It is a fun world.

Consistent would be boring. Gay and old will be interesting, but that depends if I will make it that far. I am disgruntled half of the time now; but then again I may be much older than my waist-line suggests. Tack Black old and wise. Tack Black young and stupid… Tack Black naked and betrothed.

Daily Log

I had a real 'gets in my grill' day yesterday. Even when I woke up I was bent on the insurmountable. Later in the day somebody told me that something was in retrograde. Since astrology is an ethereal thing, I do not follow it unless it finds me first. But I am assuming the rest of the world does, so that would account for my mood of late. It does not seem fair of me to blame an innocent retrograde; a planet or moon would just find itself there. Like we find ourselves in puberty without asking for it. Some people do ask for it, and that is probably a floor in my smilie. 

Breakfast consisted of a Kassler steak again, eggs, toast and coffee. It was good, weird to be almost able to see the former shape of the pig it belonged too, but still good. This intolerance diet is quite amazing now. I have refined my food in a way that, if somebody comes over for dinner, they have no idea I am trapped in a cage without dairy, preservatives or gluten. Except when they ask how I lost twelve kilograms, and I start the wanky spiel. Or if I go out with them and end up eating dry toast like a wiener. But it is not like any diet I have heard of. They say, when a rat sees another rat get sick off a food, they, and all of their mate rats, will never eat that food again. It is one of the most developed collaborative survival instincts known. We as humans have this to a lesser extend, although we have morphed it to just stay away from tequila for a bit; once we have vomited on it for three days.

My eating is like that though. I simply cannot eat those food; it requires no will-power at all. Diets have always sounded tiring to me. Intolerance rocks! Besides, I feel like a lumberjack, or old time thug, all I eat is meat and roast vegis.

Food aside I made the delightful commute up the Gold Coast highway to the physio. Whiplash still keeps me away from strenuous exercise; shows how much exercise has to do with weight-loss. I am not making mention of the traffic. But I swear the traffic lights are holding me up just  to hear my music. They must just sit there waiting for a good song to be playing, and go: op lets stop this one, I love this song.

I shaved my head on Monday. I didn't really mean too. I had the clippers out for a trim and I set the length too short; as the first piece of hair fell and I looked at my head, I knew it all had to go. I think my yesterday log missed a lot with my general annoyance level being high. I suppose that is evidence for my mood changing my world. And the thing is that Monday was a good day, except for the hair incident. I have just tainted it with annoyance.

After physio I came and tried, once again, to push progress forward. I think retrograde must mean, Murphy's law is heightened. Anything that can go wrong, goes wrong. 

The beach was good and warm. Finally a few bodies have found there way to sun-baking down there again. It is much better to be joined in the beach in the middle of winter than be the isolated object of passerbys ridicule. 

Another point on perspective tho. When I see two shirtless guys strolling along together, I get this smirk on my face like Joey from friends. I look at them and my libido conjures their sex life. They could just be mates, but my unconscious insists that they are a couple and I smirk. And this is not just on the beach. Anywhere I see two guys together: couple, libido, images. I do not know if this is due to my recent encounter, or if I have always thought it and just never paid attention.

Home again I made to prepare a few experimental meals; frittatas and tuna curry. I cannot believe I have bowed to anti-quiche pressures. I like pastry, but one or two friends comment on the gayness factor and I am over to frittatas. How does pastry, gayness make? The only difference is the pastry. But I forgot it at the shops, without even thinking. I have been affected by another taunt. Next time I am making quiche in defiance!

 Another dvd got me through the evening. This romantics movie, should be titled adultery. If zealots think that america is going to pot because of gays, send all gay here. We will send you our starving, our poor and our huddled masses, you send us your outcast, your oppressed and your subjects of discrimination. I have not come up with a plan for our prisoners yet, but perhaps we could swap them for boat people. Really ramp up the multicultural objective! And this movie, all it shows are the tweenager leftovers from the american pie age; all grown up into an incestuous friend group that cannibalises itself. Hopes for american survival are at an all time low.

Even sleep eluded me.

Daily Log

I can see how and why people would like to think, the way you wake up sets the tone for the day. This gives a creature with very little control a morsel of vestige in the coming events. And it holds some truth, as all good phalacies do. The influence of your affect does effect people; in turn effecting your day. I woke to the beginnings of a realisation; an old saying that art reflects life. It occurs to me that business does as well.
Finally the whole deceptive mess makes sense. In society, there are now a large number of fat (i.e. really really fat) people. These people glut and glut and glut, and feast and feast and feast. They become so fat, they are house ridden. Then, the source of their life finally gives way, and their valiant heart gives over to the overwhelming slag of their store bought byproducts. But what of business. Here too we can find these rotund hephelumps. The titans of our age, fumbling around wreaking havoc and glutting themselves on all the money they can see.
I have come to a realisation. We are in the age of the overload coronary. Finally, these heifer companies that have consumed all they can stomach of wealth have lost touch with that vital organ that give them their life in the first place. They are confined to their outdated houses. With their only connection to the outside world being the cathode-ray-tube television they absconded with when they could last get through the door. Like cult leaders they force others in the world to ignore their own dreams in favour of a script they have constructed. This script has then been drip-fed to the starving masses as what they all want.
All too soon our brilliant youngsters find themselves being fattened for the slaughter. But what goes is not their bodies or their abilities, but their free-will for novel thought. That precious factor that has now been beaten our of them from primary school all the way to university; where they must parrot their predecessors to succeed. Film and television have been used to replace real dreams and now we find ourselves with the mid-life crisis phenomenon, and a suicide rate well beyond any other generation.
The american dream, is no longer a dream that comes from people, it is an imposed psychosis of wealth-seeking-wannabe despots. Just listen to all popular music. America is fat. Australia is fat. Most of the white-western-world is fat. And we are dying. We can all feel it. We have sold our souls for monopoly money. And we live in the society that even the religions should be appalled by. Societies that flout the only commandments actually given; we kill prisoners as a collective. We vilify sex and promote violence. We allow mediocre members to act as our voices around the world. And we do not care much that we have forgotten common sense; news papers tell us what to think. Luckily there is always salvation offered down from our fat leaders in the form of discrimination; it sustains the huddled masses.

I woke up. Ate breakfast. Drank coffee.

In need of not being alone, I went for an early drive. The depressing thought of early had left me feeling solum. I headed to the borough. It was empty. I headed to Vintage, where I found my family, or a portion thereof. They invited me to their breakfast, and for a time I sat content. Then of course somebody brings up the government. I cannot sit around any longer while the idiots left as guardians of the people systematically destroy us; being responsive to only the popular opinion of the day. I held my tongue as much as possible.
I remember a man telling me that the renaissance-man is no longer possible. It is strange to think that true. I think it is just not possible for him. Now that I really consider it, that has become a refrain of people. Telling you, with absolute certainty, that something they could never do, or anyone they think they know could do, is impossible. Completely irrespective of the fact that they do not know anything, and only their age gives them any authority to speak. People have forgotten that even if they are insignificant, they are important. The delight of being who you are, is lost.
I'm sure that if I could manage a platform I would either be killed, made into comedic sport, or imprisoned, because the fatties do not want to loose at monopoly. I have to remember that these people are three-year-olds who will throw tantrums when park lane is sold out from under them due to their overextended mortgage. More than likely they will toss the board in the air, tears will fill their eyes, and they will whinge about the good-ole-days in the sub-primes of their lives.
I came home to get my work finished for the day, and accomplished nothing. Except the beginning of the end of another design. Banks still ignore me, search engines are very slow at uptake for a world wide hub, and even my own book has turned on me at present. I am in a waiting puddle. At least I can surf and sun bake.
With a quick check of the mail I gave in for the day. I had physio and a dinner date with the bird. It is amazing how the promise of youth can regenerate you. Until you realise you are poisoning them with TV too. But it is all to keep you sane. Just to buy that ten minutes where they aren't tugging at your leg.
I wonder if our culture will be referred to are the addiction age. If we survive it that is.

Daily Log

Sleeping in is an art. For it to be really good it must be unplanned. Slightly against the rules. And, be decided that you are being defiant. When you wake up from a proper sleep-in, you feel wondrous. The day greets you already bright. Breakfast tastes sweeter.
As the day gradually kicked in I prepared for nothing. The only plans I had were a family dinner at Panchoes. I looked around at my need to clean and decided to go for a walk. I walked to the Borough. I think there is a formula for the stupidity of people. One of the variables in this formula is the number of living creatures they have to think for. Therefore people with dogs are morons. And when you group a lot of them together, in say, a shitty flea market style bazar, they half themselves again. It is difficult to believe that people can be so oblivious to others.
Dogs tangled and fighting and children falling off bikes, I ventured through the shit storm once more to walk home. A few random people decided to talk to me while buying coffee. I started the first conversation, which lead into a drawn out recollection of where I was known from. Then a random Kiwi interrupted AFL talk to add in the all blacks victory. I was taken slightly off-guard. She seemed nice enough, but the segue left me at a loss.
Home again, I tried to fill time with eating at TV, but it would not do. I cannot get lost in the toxicity of intellectual poisoning like I used too. The sublime averageness of all art at the moment is disappointing. I want to see mountains again. I headed for some sun, and then to the beach.
For the second time in four days, after zero times in two years (maybe three), I ran into medium. This time I was needed. It is nice to be useful. All of the diatribe I have learned - perhaps one percent of it is useful - I finally got to use a small portion to be helpful. This is of course a few minutes after I had sent the creepy email of the world. And it wasn't even email, it was Fmail. I have finally asked permission...
Completely understanding the general nature of the planet to ignore the genisis of an idea. I could not. I have admitted to my unusual freak, and, feel slightly dirty for it. Perhaps this is the feeling I should have had all along. But how else do people get ideas? If they really looked at them, I am sure a creepy origin would be in everything. I have owned up to mine. It may destroy it, but if it is to be destroyed then it should be.
But not by me.
After an unexpected green tea. Where my minuscule knowledge of psychosis was applied, I walked medium back to her post. Returning home I made to clean, cook and generally tidy the office for the week. I again tried, and this time succeeded, to watch an old movie.
Dressed and directed, I drove to Mum's to pick her up for Panchoes. She was, for the first time in ages, going to be on time. But unfortunately the lack of flow in her new living room preoccupied me to complete distraction and I had to arrange it. Against medical advice, good advice this time, I hurt my whiplash a little by moving the couches. Once complete, the room felt warm and acceptable, and I felt hurty and a little violated.
Family dinner was great and painful; like all good things. People harassed me on quitting my job, and being unemployed. And I assisted their generality by offering dismal projections on my new business venture. It is strange that when anybody has a foothold to proffer an opinion, they do, and they become condescending in the process. Some people put in an effort to empathise, which actually felt good. Others sat on horses high and prophesied a doomed end to my insignificant flight of fancy. Little did they know, a doomed end would be a welcome alternative to returning to the halls of our august leadership.
With the pleasantries out of the way, we all returned to harmless and fulfilling banter. Once the group had reduced to less than eight, conversation actually started. We finally discussed more than tip-of-the-brain anecdotes. We all ended up laughing. It was great after the free-for-all smack-down of a large group. I do despise groups. Like at the shit market, people trip up on unseen dog leads and step in the poo of their trembling animals. It has always baffled me that any type of group gathering could be enjoyable. Especially that people aim for it at the ends of their every week.
I think it must be the lowest common denominator formula. The conversation requires little-to-no thinking, which most people are highly adept in. It gives people a chance to pretend to be good at something, and get points on some mythical scoring factor known as coolness. And it distracts them from the mundane disinterest that their contributory-life offers them. At least at a group gathering they are expected to accomplish nothing. And they all succeed with absolute aplomb.

Daily Log

Something has me dreaming at the moment. I don't know what it is, but I like it. Best Friend had slept over so I had to be quiet when I woke up. Turns out his nocturnal activities had been diverse. There are issues everywhere that must be discussed; evidently at midnight.
I made my first Kessler steak with fried eggs and toast for breakfast. It was interesting, I think I will halve it next time. With some work done, and Best Friend awake, I drove down to barefoot for the Saturday clan. Coffee and family would be as close as my church will ever be. I could never fathom not taking time for God in my normal running of every day. The Sabbath rest is Tuesdays for me too I think.
Best Friend had a family appointment of his own at lunch, so we kicked around. Went to the beach, where I swam and he looked like a disgruntled emo kid. Went to the shopping centre, for my first time in years, just to walk around and browse. My mind keeps thinking on 13 billion online.
Home again, Best friend was picked up and I went into evening preparation. I made a roast, watched limitless (again interesting premise, badly executed). I think people need reminding that art is the voice of the time, not a profit opportunity.
With lamb roast fermenting in my stomach next to a group of roast vegis, I headed out to the football. The suns are an interesting team, they have potential, very little leadership. They aren't coordinated, and their experience and gut just aren't there yet. But I have switched. I am a born and breed Gold Coaster. They are my team. I even have a gernsey. I can't say I am happy with the bus adventure to get to the ground. Listening to mentally impaired nitwits singing a song nobody knows, is annoying, and there are ways around this commuting nightmare. I have lead the first wave, and know have the lay of the land, so will return with troops.
I was very impressed with the stadium. It is a fun place.
Just before the day ended, even-though I was asleep, at 11:30 I got a call from the P Best Friend. I am to give a tour to his potential GF on friday. I wonder if she will call. I was asked about love, as everybody knows, and fortunately I had an update. It is strange; nobody seems concerned when I tell them the score. It is as if they are saying wait, it will turn out. They all seem to chant it. Like I am the odd one out. They all know the ending as if I could have only one.
Perhaps it is what I have conditioned them all too. If they have never seen me with any real emotions, it would make sense that they think I am able to handle things. Maybe they just don't believe me and are offering simple platitudes to cheer me up. Or maybe I have been so successful with my persona, that I am unknown and so without understanding. Or maybe I have blocked them all out for so long, they just make the rounds. I am not sure, but maybe it is just a side effect of the phone. Perhaps I am not meant to fit into this life. So normality won't ever fit and it just feels too wrong for people to apply anything to me.

Daily Log

I woke up perturbed.
Pushing the idea aside. I forged on with my day. I only had a half day available for work so I was trying to ensure a smooth launch date. Unfortunately, once again the failed communicatory development of the wider world bit me. My idiot bankers had said things were underway, but in fact had not started work because I hadn't corrected something which they had forgotten to tell me about. Three job offers, and further interstate opportunity arose through the day. I handled clients, and continued to contact editors about my book.
At midday I left, without hope of completion, to look after the bird. The beautiful creature was in fine form. We danced and laughed and ate and walked. The world to a child makes me calmer, more content to be.
After a perfect afternoon of niece minding; I taught her how to use remotes properly, I quickly headed to the pool for physio.
Best Friend collected from the train station, I quickly changed and headed out to watch a band with some mates. True to form, all mates cancelled at the last minute, and my band was replaced with two bald men with guitar and cello. Not impressed. Best friend and I then proceeded to find alternate arrangements. I decided that since organic cafe was closing, I would have my last pizza. With indian and pizza, we headed home for a not so night out.
I had a bath and went to bed early. The day had been more of a struggle than it had to be. Sleep was called for.

Daily Log

I had a strange dream. I was suddenly sent a dozens of pictures of him; identical to ones I sent. And I was told it was the end. Goodbye was the feeling. I messaged back with my gratitude and thanks. For some reason I was living in the rural east of Victoria, in a house that reminded me of Hocus Pocus; my own central staircase to a tower with only a balcony.
Interpretation: I was in the suburb best friend used to live in. And the balcony reminds me of him too; Boston legal balcony time. The scene was quite dramatic, I sat on the top step of this tower in a Scarlet manner. I was reminded of gone with the wind by the feeling I had, but it had been brought into modern day. The message was long and had a lot of images; it was interesting what detail my mind had projected. Until now my mind has been unwilling to project a look for him. My return message was short compared to his; perhaps my unconsciousness is alluding to either over investment on his part, or underinvestment on my part. All in all, I do not think it is in relation to a sexual relationship. I think it has more to do with Best Friend. Yes a dream guy said goodbye, and the gone with the wind analogy would match closely to my 'tomorrow is another day' philosophy at present. But the mix of the balcony and the location screams best friend. But it also might be both. Perhaps my concerns about making room in my house for both. House generally indicates mind. The whole image is distorting now, and I cannot be certain of the elements. It has me thinking.
I woke up from my dream and headed to the shower. I dressed and gobbled down breakfast. Then, without taking time for my log, I rushed out to my early physio appointment. Once home I dried my sheets for a clean bed and headed out for a walk to Borough. It was a little windy, but otherwise a perfect day.
Coffee two in, I headed home to finish off my work for the week. I have decided to get the initial chapters of my book edited now. I have sent out a few emails to see if I can find a good gay editor, but I am not confident.
With the rest of the dismal dvd finished, I headed out to collect my mail. Arriving at the post box, I found my delivery had arrived. Ignoring the request of the card, I headed directly to the dispatch to claim my self-gift. After driving around the bowels of ashmore for half an hour, I finally located the warehouse. The first time I wrote down the wrong name, the second time the attendant I called told me the wrong name. Whenever I buy technology, there is always a hassle around it.
Homeward bound, I collected dinner for the evening and another, hopefully better, DVD; 'way out'. A WW2 escape story from communist russia. It was good. Dinner was great too.
Not even a bath, dinner and WW2 flick could properly distract me. My mind kept focusing on my dream. I have promised not to worry; anything could be happening, and I have no control. That is obvious. But it is getting more and more difficult with each passing moment. I feel the emperor beside me saying "with each passing moment you make yourself more my servant'. But instead of a light sabre, I pull out a ribboned-my-little-pony wand and skip the end sequence of Xanadu.
Perhaps it is my mind generating options again that is the problem. I must remind myself, be I Rhett or Scarlet; 'take it as it comes'.

Daily Log

This log was slightly delayed in production, hence may contain an afternoon writing style.
If my memory can take me back that far, I woke up, and headed for a shower. Finished drying, and with skin prepped, I ran to grab the phone and found my favourite voice. By far the best start to a day I have had in ages. I bounced through breakfast, finished the web design, and got a lot of loose ends up.
By around midday I had the sites finished, Banks working again and the security options being written. I spoke with a few clients, went to the beach and got some sun baking in. I am just about sick of work days accounting for most of my Log, so I am leaving my work details on hold for the rest of this entry.
I quickly trotted away to the physio session at the pool, and was intercepted by best-friend by phone. Work had screwed him over. We chatted for a bit and I think he hung up feeling better. I hung up and jumped into my water aerobics; I don't know who was having more fun. At least the pool is heated.
After physio, I headed to Organic cafe to pick up dinner for dad and I. While I was there I overheard that they were closing, because the fire shop were moving to Burliegh. They claim to be searching out new options. I finally found a pizza I could have and they go and close. Someone has already painted over the Giant Fish Picture that was painted out the front with a horrible misspelt phone company sign. I went home a little deflated.
Dad came in buggered. After his first day back, he was already feeling the impact of the holiday. Strange thing that most peoples holidays leave them feeling more exhausted than when they left. We chatted a little and ate some soup and pizza. He left me to watch the rest of my dvd on my own. And the truth of the dvd is that it took me an overdue fee to be able to get through the whole show. I suppose that says how good I think it was.
All in all an interesting day. Writing about it in the afternoon, I feel too affected by the current day to do yesterday justice. I can't make this mistake again. Yesterday was a great day, and this log doesn't give it it's due credit. Perhaps I am still upset that they painted over my God fish.

Daily Log

I am going to take over the Gold Coast and prevent people driving without two people in the car. I am sick and tired of traffic. Then I am going to hire a nerd to reprogram all traffic lights to synchronise with the speed limits so that from one end of the Gold Coast to the other, if you do the limit, you will never stop.
Waking early, my skin still giving me grief, I showered and got the day started. At eight, after a phone call with Best Friend, I headed to the physio to do my core work. Whiplash, dry skin, diet issues, I am a walking punchline at the moment.
Physio done, two cracks and some pain later, I encountered the Gold Coast traffic for the second time. It is psychotic! No creativity is used in government planning, only basic logic, which is more often than not, wrong! I stopped in at vintage for a toast and goblin, before heading home to start work.
Once I had all the sites corrected, I played a waiting day. It wasn't until five o'clock that people even seemed to notice me. And even then, they were putting me off. I am quite sure that Tuesday is one of my weekend days.
I applied for another position yesterday, it turned out to be the same one I rejected the day before, this time for more money.
I need to look more seriously into tendering to Government on my own. I think the process could have merit.
A lone dinner, and the american version of death at a funeral, made it a relaxing night.
I finished the movie and went to bed. Best Friend called just as I was getting to sleep, he has passed a third stage of assessment. He is very happy. It was nice to have a day start and end with a Best Friend.

Daily Log

It is an interesting planet this one. I wake up, a little cool, and head for a shower. I fumble around to make coffee and porridge. Take pills and drink juice. Switch on the router, computer and crank up the sun. Half of the time I end up writing my logs with my hoodie over my head; I should write before I crank up the sun. But I never learn.
After a dietician appointment, I headed south for a barista coffee with sister and niece. They still see me as unemployed. Although I am working harder than I ever have; before leaving home I had built five new webpages. My new health trick now is to sun-bake and go in the beach everyday; doctors orders. I can see how people would mistake me for a bum. As my dad says: if you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life.
Coffee in, I returned to the office (a.k.a. home) and finished the business plan, pricing strategy, applications, design, domain reallocation, client screening and pricing, support documentation, signed contracts, beach, sun bake, bought dinner, screened a tender for a consultant position, prepared dinner, headed to physio, picked up best friend, and ate lunch somewhere in there too.
It is fun to run your own business.
I intend to task manage more in future. I am growing in concern that there are things I am missing. Perhaps paranoia is a way of life for business owners.
Best friend dinner was excellent. It is about time they stepped back into easy conversation. It had been too long a mission to keep our dialogue up. I am very grateful for my friends. Maybe I have something to talk about now.

Daily Log

Sunday's are a weird day. I have never understood whether it is the week start or the week end. If I was looking at it in terms of the Sabbath my head suggests, week start. But in reality it doesn't matter; after morning ablutions and breakfast, I went for a walk and had a good chat with God.
There are certain things required of humans; like doubt and limited attention and stupidity, but I get the feeling that these go away out of time. Generally they are all temporal things, so without time they would be pointless. So I am guessing they're part of the human condition; I do love faith though. I wonder whether it is an outcropping of time too; a solution to doubt and shame and fear.
At Burleigh Borough I had a good chat with anybody. It is going to be a full-on week this week, and I tend to avoid contact when that happens. I looked at the new alleyway that is going in, and discussed an alternative with a random. He seems to have a definitive formula to business.
I walked home and started on a new idea. I needed to get the concept down, so I can leave it alone to percolate and present a solution.
Lunch-on, I headed back to Burleigh for a whole family gathering with cousin; on a short 'naming trip'. It was nice.
But with it all, I couldn't help to notice the beige of my life. Business is beige. Success is beige. Life seems beige.
I don't want to be beige.
Not that I want to be purple either, like Epictetus. But I am so very tired of monochromatic. I have to have faith that colour will come along. And that I will have the strength to remained underwhelmed. But I think I would accept overwhelmed for colour.
Lunch-off, I headed home and got back to work. I didn't mean too, but when you are beige, what else is there to do. I felt broken.
I am not broken. I am the same. Yet I have seen the colour world through my broken looking glass and now yearn for it. I stick with distraction like it is my oldest friend; filling my time to prevent the intrusive thoughts that come with hope and fear. What have I done?
I choose to love. I choose to trust. I choose to want. Faith is all that protects me. That wondrous knowledge that can make any emotion safe.
If I must be beige, I will be beige. I don't want to be beige anymore.

Daily Log

Energy out has been my process for the last few days. I am trying to put myself out in the universe to make other people happier. I can't say it is my strong suite. And, I suppose after twenty years as a bit of a recluse, I can't except people to respond over night. But I have this joy inside me that needs to be shared.
I woke up. In my over oil keenness, I have upset my skin; forcing me to not use oil. I am hoping my skin is not permanently put out; for the mere fact that that would suck. I showered, colder than normal, and headed for breakfast. After a lazy meal, I tottered up to Barefoot, three layers of clothing thick. After a brief chat with physio, niece arrived and the outlaw brother sans sister. I assume niece drove. They were quickly followed by mother, aunt and cousin.
The wind cut cold and had me bailing well before nine. I made my hour. Returning home via shops, I collected groceries and headed home to cook: three feasts; dip, burgers and roast.
I have been through the search of my limits; all I ever wanted was someone at my side. That was the overall lesson of the search; the only part that remained constant. People were my only concern. Career is important, I believe footprints in time only last through accomplishment; to self gratify in a relationship alone is selfish. However, to join forces; prioritising one-and-other, then making accomplishments will exceed anything one man alone can ever achieve. Combined will-power, through love.
It is my belief that free-will is the dominant force; not love nor hate nor might can overcome it. But when harnessed through love, it can change things; make itself stronger. I need my partner to believe this too. Whether they know it or not is irrelevant.
Through the afternoon, I cooked and tried to watch 'the girl who kicked the hornets nest'. I had invited OldFriend and his partner over for dinner and was cooking enough foods to accommodate anyone. I couldn't keep my attention on the movie for long; this obsession with the dramas of life is tiring.
It was good to see OldFriend again. It has been five years since we fell-out. He is a surviver. Quite a remarkable creation actually. I am not sure we will be seeing a lot of each other, but it was nice to feel his presence close again. He is a fierce friend; and still a best friend I'd say. I went and died on him back in the day. I am not sure we will ever find the constancy we once had, but nothing is certain.

Daily Log

Massive morning of all-out thrills, spills and drills. By seven o'clock I had prepared three briefs, a manual, two quotes, a job application and washed my sheets. With breakfast dominated, I commenced on more manuals and designs.
That takes me through to about midday. This is where it really gets interesting. I sat down, and watched, Charlie StCloud. The name really should have given it away. I should have known the level of 'chick flick' I was embarking upon. Anything named after a person that does not sound like Forrest Gump, sucks. To even call this movie a 'chick flick' is insulting to flicks. Writers have gone clear insane. They have forgotten the number one rule.
Writing is sex.
They insist on going more and more outlandish. It is insulting and it is painful. Instead of sticking with a story that flows and builds, they get lazy and offer a quick solution. They jump you to the orgasm instead of letting you get there on your own. It is almost like they sit there and say "and then this happens", "and then this happens". It could have been a nice romp about an insane boy thinking he saw dead people. But they decided that they would add in predictive shooting stars and a before-and-after piece.
With an hour and a half waisted on that, I made to make up for my loss by finishing more work. Business deals are now signed, and we now will make the venture into the land of risk. I have decided not to rush my book. I will work on it heavily for the next week, but if I don't get it finished, so be it. I will not have it make for the convenient ending.
Any loopholes I have chosen to create that take my story away from physically plausible are going. Sometimes to find someone, you just have to keep looking. People have forgotten that there can be hard work to do.
With a few question calls and a physio appointment, I was finished for the week. Not that I won't work. Just that the weekend forces me to slow a little. I had contacted a few people to see a band up at Burliegh for dinner. Most have postponed for next week. I ended up having a great one-on-one dinner with a close familend (friend as close as family). It was great fun. A brilliant end to an oh-to-fast week.
Maybe less coffee next week.

Daily Log

I think yesterday was destined to be a bizarre day. Things just went haywire. Like a bubble of discontent burst, belching stink all over everything. On the other-hand, my new found slipstream has me watching the process with a smile.
I woke up at five again. My body has decided to reinstitute its working rhythms; conveniently the day after my holidays ended. I am beginning to suspect a collusion of body and mind here. I made breakfast and headed to the physio. It is quite amazing how zealoted gym managers can get about the necessity of their style of workout. And I love it when I am quoted false statistics. It helps me to practice my fake nod.
Physioed out. I headed back down the shambles known as the Gold Coast Highway. Fortunately heading south. Sister and niece met me at Borough and I took possession of the bird while her mumma got her physio on too. It is quite amazing how zen you become nursing a baby to sleep. Having the trusting little tyke nestled into the nook of your arm and a stomach breathing against yours is calming like nothing else. Not to mention the fact that there is ban on movement for the first twenty minutes to keep her asleep.
Sister arrived and we chatted while the bird got an unexpected hour of rest. Lunch upon us, we headed down to Piccolo again for my Aunts birthday. I had gotten no work done at this moment, and was starting to stress a little. By twenty-to-twelve I was walking home again, happy to have two hours to make way with company issues. Once again the bizarre day played its part in my accomplishment of nothing. I think it is better sometimes to just accept those days when they arrive, and bugger off. I would imagine a lot of the more spiritually sensitive kids would have played hookie yesterday.
I drove to Brisbane to meet up with a former collogue who has been sending me too many emails. I had intended to meet with my 'work-sister' but as the bizzare day would have it, she was drawn off to a funeral. I met with the phantom-emailler and my suspicions were confirmed. He was a little too eager, and I had to remain as remote as possible. Afterwards, in talking to Best Friend, it became clear that it would be better for me to gently nudge him on his way instead of pretending to invite any further contact. That sentence is redundantly worded, but anyone who tries to be sensitive ends up becoming patronisingly redundant.
Best friend made an endearing effort to cater to my diet, but missed the first ingredient on his dip choice. But crackers and soda-water was a nice change, and was an upgrade from just plain water.
Once again in commuter traffic back to the Gold Coast, I reinforced my will to never commute on mass again, or at least die trying not too, which will accomplish the same thing. I returned home to more work and a few forgotten loose ends. Yes that's right, I am finally forgetting things; my whole body has relaxed over the last month. I will continue to sun-bake.
I see so many of us punishing themselves for their humanity, as I have done so many times before. It strikes me a strange that all gays with any intellect must make this same staggering journey through lack of acceptance. This belief that you can recreate yourself in different geographic locations dies hard. I am hoping that others tackle this developmental step with the same valiance seen in the gay forefathers.