LABYRINTH - A POEM

Anyone that would take the time to put poetry onto paper and use me as their inspiration automatically throws me for a six. It's incredibly humbling to think that you can be inspiration for anyone, on any level, but to turn an art like poetry into a dedication to their thoughts of you, is amazing. I'm fortunate enough to be deeply in love with someone, that love isn't easy, won't always be within touching distance and no doubt will bring me more heart ache. However there is no hesitation when it comes to choosing which I'd prefer, difficult love, seperated by boundaries and circumstances is better than never experiencing that love at all. One of the hardest things to do is to let go of the ones you love, but life is all about letting go, we are only on this planet for a short while and each of us will lose the ones we hold most dear. Enjoy your time while you have it and take nothing for granted.

TOUCH ME IN THE FADING NIGHT
LEAVE ME FEELING WARM
TAKE MY DARKNESS AND DESIRE
LET MY FEELINGS FREE
IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO TOUCH YOU NOW
IT'S NOT ENOUGH TO SEE
HOLD MY WORDS AS RING THEY WILL
WHEN STORMS APPROACH FROM ME
IGNORE THE FOG THE SUN WILL COME AND BURN AWAY THE HAZE
NOW SETTLE DEAR
FIND ME IN THIS MAZE
YOURS TO KEEP FROM FEAR

M.C. 25/06/07

NOTHING REALLY CHANGES

October rolls into November and I find myself still in the same place with no changes worth reporting. A plane ticket is booked that I will probably have to cancel, sms messages are sent and ignored and all the time I sit alone wondering what to think. Is he sleeping? Does he really care? Why the fuck can't he just talk to me? I'm losing hope and expecting things to collapse in a huge heap. I think my 2 weeks of holidays will be spent in tears, mourning something that could have been amazing? Am I the only one that thinks it will be amazing? Why aren't I good enough to take a chance on? Why does it take this long to decide who you want to be with? Why do I feel so pathetic? I'm sick of being ignored, sick of having to hide and sick of being an after thought.

When can I place my heart in the hands of another and not have it treated like it is nothing? When will the one I love meet me half way? When will he make the choice that proves his devotion? Why is it so fucken difficult to put me first? How come I give so much care, compassion and love to others yet find it so difficult to have it returned with any real conviction? Am I forever to be used, abused and discarded? Harsh feelings, awful words, honest none the less.

2 weeks left before everything changes for better or for worse....time will tell.

I CAN'T SLEEP

That's why I'm here, tapping away on the keyboard, currently I have one of those heads that's full of thoughts and questions. It's the kind of head that won't shut up, won't let me sleep, won't stop badgering me. I could grab a jazz cigarette and try and soothe myself into slumber but the associated paranoia would make me think I'm gonna have a heart attack or some other stupid ailment. I wish it were easy to switch off sometimes, especially when love is involved. Love, its that elusive thing we all desperately search for, we're told from an early age that it's the be all and end all. Some internal soul searching on my behalf leaves me wondering if love just brings pain and upset in the long run. Love may be the stuff of Hollywood movies and romance novels but in reality it's a pain in the arse. I've thought I've been in love a number of times but the relationship breaks down or never even gets started and with time you look back at it and think...well what the hell was that?

Is it just infatuation? Is it just lust? Is love a big fat lie? Do we convince ourselves we are in love simply because we feel a connection with someone? Are we that dependant on the love of another that we seek it out and place it on the shoulders of the first person who shows any interest? Once upon a time I was "in love" with anyone who gave me the time of day. Ok let's clarify that, I don't mean anyone with a wristwatch and the ability to tell me where the big hand and the little hand was situated, was immediately a potential victim for my stalking or anything. I mean if a guy showed enough interest in me to say hello or even talk to me, then that was enough for me to cling to. Pathetic huh? Thankfully that was when I was in my 20's. Now I've found the real thing, it truly is the be all and end all of romances, the kind of love that floors you and makes you wonder what all those other times you were in love meant. They seriously pale into insignificance in comparison to what I've found.

But here is the problem, this love isn't mine to enjoy, because the person I'm in love with is already taken. How much can someone be in love with you when they already spend most of their time with someone else? How much can someone be in love with you when they continue to stay with that person and put you on the back burner? How much can they really love you when they don't really explain why they have to be with that person even though they swear they are no longer in love with them and are more friends than lovers? How much time will I spend hoping, waiting and wondering when things will change? After the one you love with all your heart, continues to let you down and push you aside to look after the feelings of the one they are already with, how are you meant to feel?

I know how I'm feeling. I feel stupid, I feel like I'm annoying, I feel like I'm not important, I feel like I'm wasting my time, I feel like I have been discarded and trodden on. I also feel hopeful, nervous, overly keen and a little bit desperate. Lots of these feelings are completely fucked, but they are part of what makes us into the person we are. So where am I left? I have an immense love for a guy, but no faith that the love I have for him is really returned. I have amazing love to share but no trust that the one I want to give it to will ever meet me half way. How do you trust someone who spends all their time with you lying to the one they are already with? What is so open about an open relationship if you are keeping secrets the whole time? Can you build a trusting relationship with someone like that?

I fucken hope so, that's the incredibly sad thing, after all that has happened, I'm still clinging to the hope that this will sort itself out. I can't explain it but perhaps love truly is blind. My closest friends have faith that this guy will come through but as time goes on I have more and more doubts. It's unbelievably difficult to be so in love yet feel so betrayed at the same time. It hurts my heart and a weaker person would no doubt throw themselves in front of a bus or dish out a tirade of abuse but neither of those things are in my nature thank fuck. I mean seriously, how can you hate or resent someone if you are truly in love with them? That's the ultimate question. Here I sit...

alone...

wondering...

waiting...

When will my turn come?
When will I be good enough?
When will I be the one?
When will he be mine?
When can I truly call this my LOVE?

SOMEONE SPECIAL

Been meaning to put this on my blog for ages but things always seem to get in the way, minutes become hours, hours become days, days become...well you know how it goes. Anyway this is the first time anyone has thought enough of me to write a poem especially for me. I can still remember the feeling of incredible appreciation I felt on receiving it and to have it delivered and explained to me by someone I love so deeply makes it even more important. Its obviously private and will make no sense to a stranger but the fact that its full meaning is only understood by 2 people makes it all that more special. The writer is incredibly talented and an amazing soul and for him to think me worthy of putting pen to paper I will always be grateful.

DASHING THROUGH THE DISTANT LIGHT
DANCING IN THE DARKENED NIGHT
SCREAMING IN THE QUIET TIME
STARING INTO STARS

TOUCH ME NOW
DON'T LET ME GO
DON'T LET ME FEEL THE COLD
SPEAK TO ME IN EASY WORDS
CARRY ME AFAR

MORNING YAWNS YEARN MORE ONCE MORE
AFTERNOONS DRAW CLOSER STILL
TAKE THE TIME TO FEEL ME NEAR
NOTHING HERE TO FEAR

THE MOON BEARS DOWN UPON OUR SKIN
TILL SUNSHINE PLAYS ITS HAND
TIME TO GO BUT NOT FOR LONG
I'LL LEAVE MY HEART AJAR

M.C. 23/07/07

HEAD FAIRY FLOSS...ENOUGH ALREADY!

Once upon a time, back in my teenage years, when I flicked my head from side to side, the movements would be accompanied by a sway of long, thick, brown, bountiful hair. I'm talking bullshit thick, really curly, shiny, Wella-fucken-woman hair that drove my hairdresser into gushes of approval and demands to use my head of hair for their next hair dressing competition. I know you're probably sitting there thinking...

"Wow what was it like when you hit the catwalks of Milan?"

Hate to burst the bubble but I never got as far as Milan or Paris or London or New York, in fact I didn't even get as far as the Marion Shopping Centre in suburban Adelaide. Basically I did it once, my hairdresser coloured my hair blond with black strips down the side and cut it in the style of the 80's, heavy on the top, sharp and tight on the sides. It was fucken cool and I thought I was the ultimate new romantic hero. The reason I've chosen to divulge the sordid history of my teenage years is to illustrate the point that we all have fucked up hairstyles that we can laugh at.

Now though, I can barely contain my laughter as I walk the streets gob smacked at what translates as a 'trendy' haircut for men these days. Is it just me or am I right in assuming that there are a lot of guys out there with haircuts you'd normally find attached to the heads of women? I mean seriously, every little fucko seems to be wandering up the street with a head of hair that resembles a soft helmet. Its teased into a huge bubble around their heads, their side burns resemble the ones your Aunty used to have in the 60's with her mother fucking beehive. They gel the tips into little spikes that feather around their stupid fucken faces and they walk up the street in packs of three or four with the same style of wanky over blown bouffants. For the record guys, you DON'T look cool, you look like stupid fucken MORONS!

Soon I'm gonna walk the streets and start flicking matches as these combustible piles of head fairy floss. I mean seriously what the FUCK ARE YOU THINKING??? Do they look in the mirror and think it actually looks good? Do they seriously pay someone to style it like that? Are hairdressers seriously proud of what they have created? If it was my job to cut hair and some guy requested I shape his head into a massive ball of nanna hair I would gently place my hands on his shoulders, tell him to look really hard in the mirror and then repeatedly slam his head over and over again into the glass until I knocked some fucken sense into him. I know the 80's were bad, new romantics were happy to wear silky shirts, brooch's at the neck and top heavy hairstyles but that was what was cool. Please explain to me what is cool about fairy floss haircuts? Where did they come from? Who decided they were cool and why is it straight guys that seem to think its so fucken cool to walk around looking like that? Oh and assuming they actually are straight and some woman actually decides to go out with them, how are they coping? Do they only go out with them because they know they will never get told to hurry up when they are preparing to go out? Do they have fetishes for hair styling products, dryers and large mirrors? Are they only interested because they wanna know how to style their own hair that high, that fluffy, that girlie?

The fact of the matter is, they look like huge fucken stupid tools, even a trashed, half nude Britney deserves more respect than any guy with a fairy floss haircut. So next time you're in front of a mirror, check your bad self and if you could grab a black marker pen and scribble a dome around your head where your hair is and it looks like a massive helmet then you sir are a fucken wanker and you should be heading to the nearest barber for an all over buzz cut and get some self respect you pointless princess. Oh yeah, I'm a poof and I'm calling YOU a princess, seriously, go check yourself NOW!

I'M A MAGNET FOR FUCKWITS

How's that for a killer statement? It’s a grand, sweeping generalisation and honestly, most of the people in my life are some of this planets most amazing individuals. I feel completely privileged and honoured to hold them close and treasure them like the delightful things that they are. People like that are few and far between and because I've managed to assemble a massive collection worthy of the museum of funky friends or some other badly named collective like that, it is only natural that amongst the beauty, occasionally, security is breached and a random gets through. Let’s face it, there happens to be some out and out randoms wandering this planet who do your fucken head in and for some reason, yet to be categorised by science, they naturally gravitate to me. Boy do I have fun when they step into my personal space, like this woman I met a few weeks back whilst waiting for a tram to rescue me.

For the purposes of this story I will change her name and call her Beryl, mostly because I’m fucked if I can actually remember her name. Anyway as I approached the tram stop she was deep in conversation with a group of teenage guys who had moved well away from the tram stop and we’re hardly reacting to her enquiries. Now a smarter, more aware person would recognise this as a warning but I’m clueless and dim at the best of times so I wandered up to the tram stop and sat down to wait for its arrival. Like a lamb to the slaughter I couldn’t smell the stink of nut bar in the air as she departed her teenage victims and settled down alongside me. Foolishly I smiled at her, which for most people is common courtesy, but for her was an open invitation to start chatting.

Beryl was clearly a drug abuser, aside from her slurred speech, she was a head to toe example of why you should never dress yourself if you are a drug abuser…did someone say Britney? She was wearing a far too short denim mini, black stockings, a hideous shirt that looked like it had been wiped across Ken Done’s arse and a jacket that once belonged to some kind of synthetic animal who’s fur had been torn from it and stitched into something that may have been cool in the 90’s, emphasis on ‘maybe’. She also had a huge pair of 70’s sunnies on and fire engine red lipstick that had made the progression to her teeth sometime through the day and had decided to stay there. The first thing Beryl said to me was

‘My names Beryl, what’s yours?’

It was at that moment that I realised I was trapped. A braver person would have stood up and walked away but I chose to open the fucken floodgates with this reply

‘I’m Benjamin how are ya going?’

IDIOT! What the fuck are you doing? That’s what was echoing through the interior of my skull, but by that stage it was too late. Beryl answered by telling me ‘

‘I’m ok but the tram seems to be running late so lucky I’ve got you to talk to while I wait’.

Damn it all to hell is what I thought. So the next thing she asked me was

‘Do you like my sunnies? I bought them today at the op shop and I think they’re pretty cool’.

Rather than say

‘Hmm they look pretty shitty but at least they distract you from the car crash of collected clothing you have assembled for the public today’

I said

‘They’re pretty cool, they suit you too’

She came back with a

‘Wow do you think? Thanks so much, oh you’re really nice’

It was around this time that she jumped from her seat and leaned hard against the inner wall of the tram stop alcove and looked at me with dread in my eyes, I looked at her and asked if she was alright to which she replied

‘Can you see that guy with the blond mullet? Is he coming over here? Quick go check’

Of course I’m thinking are you fucking serious? Her intent stare confirmed for me that she was, so I got up, walked forward of the tram stop and had a good look around, the whole time Beryl is whispering to me with the loudest, drug fucked voice you’ve ever heard

‘He’s the one with the blond mullet, the baseball cap and tracksuit, if he sees me he’s probably gonna try and bash me the fucken arsehole, I can’t believe he is wandering around here, Jesus, do you see him? Is he coming over?

Of course at the mention of the bashing and coupled with her over the top reaction I was freaking out. The last thing I wanted to get involved in was a street fight between some doped up slapper and the man who financed the aborting of all her ill gotten babies. Fortunately he kept on walking and disappeared around the corner but even after my assurances she was reluctant to step away from the wall. I resumed my position on the seat, hugging my backpack close to me and perhaps it was the wind but I’m sure I was rocking backwards and forwards a bit too. I do remember wondering when the fucken tram was gonna arrive and get me away from her. Beryl stepped out from her hiding place and tentatively walked out to check her surrounds, I spent the time staring up the street trying to imagine a tram into being.

Once she felt sure he wasn’t around she sat back down next to me and launched into telling me about how she was an artist and that the shelter up the road was having an exhibition of her paintings. She said they were being shown for the next few weeks, proceeded to tell me the opening times and enquired about when I might be going to see them cos she would love to know what I thought of her work. That sort of questioning implied that she would like to hear from me once I actually had viewed them, which wasn’t NEVER going to be on my to do list. I told her yeah I’ll definitely try and get there. It was at this stage that I stood up and said

‘Well it looks like the tram isn’t gonna come so I’m gonna walk, nice to meet you Beryl and best of luck’

I didn’t wait for her reply, just walked straight towards the corner of the street and waited for the traffic lights to change so I could escape. As the lights changed and I stepped into the street to cross I heard her yell out

‘Wait for me! I may as well walk with you cos you’re probably right so hang on’

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! The interior of my head screamed, now she’s gonna fucken follow me. I of course kept on walking in the sad hope I could make it across the road before she caught up with me but it wasn’t to be. I then proceeded to walk up the street at double time while she walked a step behind me talking all the fucken way. This continued for 10 minutes until finally an out presented itself, as we approached an intersection she turned to me and said well this is my street, thanked me for walking her up the street and sauntered off into the distance. I of course breathed a sigh of relief and watched her to make sure she didn’t change her mind and return. Suddenly I understood what it was like for her when she was pressed against the tram stop wall losing her shit. As much as I would have loved to ignore her and divorce myself from her issues and her conversation I realised I’m not that sort of person, I never will be and I probably don’t wanna be either. I managed to bump into her at the service station around the corner from work a few weeks later and said hi and she said in a loud voice, in front of all the people in the queue waiting to pay

‘Hi love did we screw once or something?’

I just said no and added in a rather meek voice

‘We met at the trams top a few weeks back’

She just shrugged her shoulders and walked away leaving me red faced and wishing I’d never even bothered.

WHAT EVER YOU DO DON'T CLICK ON THIS LINK...I DARE YOU

Righto this is a Today Tonight story waiting to happen, you've heard about the effects drugs could have on our children. The damage it does to their feeble minds could render them useless members of our society, lost, wandering, mumbling on like demented outcasts from "Children of the Corn". Except they aren't pretty, so as they extinguish the last bit of life from your body, your final image won't be some blond haired catalogue model with a Johnny Young Talent Time grin spread across its face it will be three badly made up....(pause for dramatic effect, also change to capitals, might even throw in an exclamation mark, we'll see, anyway keep reading cos this bit in the brackets is useless, ok now it's going on too long, the dramatic effect is ruined, oh for fucks sake close the brackets and do the final, dramatic word)...CLOWNS!

Yes I'm afraid so, these clowns are all kinds of fucked up and you need to see them, so without further ado hit the fucko link and step into a world you've never seen before and probably won't be able to see again, actually its fucken piss funny and I've been watching it endlessly, so go ahead, click on the link, I dare you woo har har har har...(ok was the scary laugh too much? oh for crying out loud we are in fucken brackets again talking to ourselves, quit it, I said qu..).

Here is the link FUCKO

FOR KERRIE...ALWAYS IN MY THOUGHTS

I still remember the first day Kerrie came along and introduced herself to me. It was 1984 and I was spending another lunch time sitting by myself at school. Think private Catholic College, full uniform including tie and the usual religious scowls from the brothers and sisters who rammed religion down our throats. The few male friends I had we're always running off to the oval to play sport, something I wasn't interested in, so being the shy, delicate flower that I was, I would spend most lunches sitting by myself, hoping no one would notice me.

One day, my worst nightmare was realised when this girl sauntered up to me with a few of her friends in tow and demanded to know if I had any friends. Of course I protested and announced my popularity, explaining that I wasn't interested in going to the oval with them and chose to stay in the main courtyard waiting for lunch to finish. This didn't seem to satisfy Kerrie, she detailed how she had observed me over the past few days sitting by myself, looking lonely and shy and had decided that she and her friends would now be my friend, so I wouldn't have to sit alone anymore. How amazing is that? This 14 year old girl taking the initiative to reach out to someone who was painfully shy and frequently alone.

I can still remember that day vividly, mostly because her questions and my replies would be rubbed in my face for years to come. Unfortunately one of the ice breakers Kerrie chose to ask was "who's your favourite band?" Now at that age I wasn't even listening to the radio, wasn't buying records and wasn't aware of music unless it was my parents Lionel Richie, Helen Reddy, Boney M or ABBA albums. So in a mad panic I chose the band that immediately sprung to mind. The band? Men At Work! For some reason "Down Under" found its way to the front of my brain and before I could bite down on my tongue and sever it to prevent me from forming the words, I actually said it. I'm sure you could hear the screams inside my head from the other side of the school. You could certainly hear the screams of laughter and ridicule from kerrie and her friends...my secret shame...not so secret now, gulp.

Yes my future friend, when confronted with that answer, this delightful girl who had minutes earlier reached out to this shy boy, pretty much threw her head back and all but pissed herself laughing like I had told the joke of the century. Now one trait of mine, especially when I was younger and a lot less extroverted, was to go bright red in the face whenever the focus was on me or I was embaressed. So you can imagine the shade of red I turned. In fact it's safe to say Kerrie and her friends bore witness to the first human to actually morph into a chamelion and pretend they were pressed flat against a big fuck off fire engine trying to become one with its vivid redness. Once the laughter had died down, probably in 1986...kidding, Kerrie mentioned the band INXS.

I had never heard of them of course but Kerrie's face immediately lit up as she went into detail about how great they were, how I had to hear them and how she would do a mix tape of them and bring it to school the very next day so I could listen to them for myself. She was true to her word and the next day INXS became my favourite band in the world, or at the very least, the only cool one I knew. Kerrie's passion for them knew no bounds, she even wrote a brilliant letter about our local FM radio station (one that I now do voiceovers for) telling either 'Rolling Stone' or 'Countdown' magazine how revolutionary they were for playing real, aussie music (FM radio was a much more underground beast back in the early days of the 80's). It was so well written it was of course printed in the very next issue much to all of our delight.

I had some of the greatest laughs of my life with Kerrie, stupid things that if I tried to recount now would seem pointless and hardly worth a smile. We've all got those classic moments that strangers write off as 'had to be there' moments. Special things that only the two of us understood and appreciated, shared moments that are still burned on my all too foggy memory. Kerrie was what some would call a dag, but also the life of the party, the sort of person who could draw a conversation out of anyone and make them feel like they were the only one that mattered. She was a natural journalist because she was genuinely interested in what other people thought, believed and experienced. She was also brilliantly funny with an intelligence to back it up. She was all kinds of fuck off amazing wonderful and I am so lucky to have had her as a close friend. I need to keep recalling memories of Kerrie and I also need to move on a start writing again. So my thoughts and happenings will return to this page and so will stories of Kerrie. As they come to me I'll give them the space to breathe on this blog for others to read and share.

If you didn't know Kerrie you can never understand how truly incredible she is. Her memory will remain with me FOREVER. I don't want this to end up sounding like one of those annoying emails that encourages you to send it to your 5 best friends to show them how much you love them, but I will say this. Find those special people in your life and keep them close because they mean more to you than you will ever know.