Archive for October, 2009

31
Oct
09

HALLOWEEN 09 and the tale of the dreaded Voodoo curse

So far the day’s been a busy one, no doubt. I got the following stuff, each one from a different place practically:

1 x Green Glitter
1 x Glue bottle
1 x Green nose stud
1 x Green ribbon
6 x Cinnabons
1 x Bottle Vodka
1 x 6pack Windhoek
1 x 6pack Savana Dry
1 x Chopsticks

I also chose out a TV cabinet for my birthday. How fucking off the hook is that? You know you’re getting old when the thought of new lounge furniture excites you.

 

 

In the shops today I fell victim once again to the ancient voodoo curse that has haunted me my whole life.

The Deadly Voodoo Queue Curse.

 

 

More times than I’d care to admit, I find myself standing at the back of really long queues, as do most of us at some stage or another.

I sigh in resignation, dutifully take my place at the back and switch my brain off completely until I’m at the front.

Here’s where it gets creepy.

 

 

When I get to the front, this kind of cold shiver all of a sudden creeps down my spine, like a breath of icey cold air. I turn around, wide-eyed, and find…

Nothing…

Behind me there is no one. It doesn’t matter if 35 people are in the queue in front of me, I get to the front and there’s not a soul behind me.

Just empty space, it happens to me all the time and I guess it’s fitting that it happened today, on Halloween, the creepiest time of year.

So all of us have got our costumes sorted – Jenni-fuh is going as Poison Ivy, I’m going as a flesh eating zombie and J-Rab is going as Tinkerbell, hooray!

Thing about my zombie that’s gonna be cool though is that I’m getting a girl studying make-up to do me up as a Zombie (see? Capital Z) and I’m wearing white contact lenses which look fucking creepy as all hell in my eyes.

 

And as I write that, Arctic Monkeys ‘Crying Lightning’ starts blasting across this cold afternoon and through the clouds a knife of daylight comes slicing down and for a moment, the world could be a friendly place.

Is it?

“They say that God is in the radio, ch-ch-ch-checkin the stations… I know you hear it, i hear it too, it’s everywhere that i go”

The say the devil is paranoid
Always signin the cover
But god is leakin through the stereo
Between the station to station
You believe it, I know you do
You won’t admit it or say so
I know that god is in the radio
Just repeating a slogan

– Queens of the Stone Age, “God is in the radio” (Songs for the deaf).

😉

-ST

30
Oct
09

Halloween do’s and don’ts – a crash course for social retards

Not everyone in this world was born lucky enough to have a developed set of social skills, some people, like me, were born socially retarded and as such often find themselves in awkward social situations wishing they could crawl into a hole somewhere.

Take the following example for instance, I get invited by a good buddy to a ‘crazy pants’ party he’s throwing at his digs one lazy Saturday afternoon. We’ll call him Irish. Now besides Irish, I only know one other person going to the crazy pants party, Action Jackson, and as fate would have it I chose that particular afternoon to return Action’s giant green dildo (with suction cup for added, er, suction?).

Now don’t get me wrong, the dildo belongs to Action’s company, they sell sex toys as a side business and the green dildo, or the Incredible Hulk as he affectionately became known, was dropped off as a joke by Action at our offices when he visited once.

 

HULK SMASH!

HULK SMASH!

 

The Incredible Hulk sat on my desk for nearly three weeks and I’ll be honest, it unnerved me. At first I fixed it proudly to my desk, other people in the office thought it was funny and laughed nervously when I showed them, but after three or four days of staring at it out the corner of my eye, I lay it flat instead, but that hardly improved the situation.

It was just so… real. No guy wants to stare at a dick all day (unless maybe it’s his own) and so I threw the Incredible Hulk in my boot with the intention of returning it to Action at the crazy pants party.

The next day rolled along and a genius idea struck me. I would wear the Incredible Hulk to the crazy pants party! I would open my fly and poke it out there – how crazy is THAT?!

I still think it was a pretty damn hilarious move, but I’d made one crucial, schoolboy error. I’d forgotten that basically I was going to a party where I knew no one.

And so, when I made my big arrival and marched proudly onto the porch where everyone was chilling, the Incredible Hulk flapping thick and long out my trouser front, I was not greeted by the peals of laughter and shoulder clapping ‘nice one dude’s, but rather by a patio full of completely sober people staring in puzzlement at the prosthetic dick hanging out of my jeans.

‘Is that yours?’ one of the guys asked me and immediately I felt myself go beet red. It had never even crossed my mind that they would fix a personal pronoun to my faux cheloger. To paraphrase fight club, I thought they would see it as ‘a’ dildo, not ‘my’ dildo.

 

Don't worry, he's not a threat to you

Don't worry, he's not a threat to you

 

I stammered my way through some kind of explanation, but I don’t think anyone bought it. They probably all refer to me as the ‘dildo guy’ now. Very smooth, very slick tiger.

But enough idle banter, with no further ado, here’s my list of Halloween do’s and don’ts so that the more socially retarded of us can survive the evening.

RULE NO. 1 – For God’s Sake Dress Up As Something

As a universal rule, people appreciate it when you make an effort at dress up parties. You don’t have to be the coolest dressed guy there, nor do you have to put hours of hard work into your costume, but arriving at the party dressed as a ‘Hardy Boy’ is not going to get you one ounce of respect.

 

Retard-erine

Effort is always appreciated - this guy could have put in a little more

 

See, when everyone is dressed up and looking crazy, they have a tendency to be a little self conscious at the beginning of the night and won’t hesitate to point you out to their buddies and say, ‘Fuck, look at that jerk, what a rad costume’ in order to make themselves feel better about wearing their mom’s pantyhose in public.

Don’t be that guy. For God’s sake, dress up as something. If you don’t feel like being the centre of attention, go for the traditional pirate/ninja/mexican get-up. You won’t get any points for originality, but at least you won’t be the butt of the guy-who-came-with-a-sheet-over-his-head’s jokes.

RULE NO. 2 – There is no such thing as too far

Halloween is one of those rare occasions where you really can go balls to the wall when choosing your get up, but just be sure you’re ready to handle the attention this will probably get you.

If you have the confidence to pull it off, I say go all out. Get a pink tutu a black fedora hat, a green and red striped T-shirt, stick a couple of knives to a glove and go as a cross-dressing Freddy Kruger.

The sky’s the limit and like I said before, people will appreciate the effort and if you can make them laugh at the same time, that’s a huge plus.

 

Tearing mommy a new one

Um yeah, this might be taking things a little too far though...

 

RULE NO. 3 – Never forget that no matter how cool or freaky it might look if you put fake blood / oozing wounds / fake burns all over your face, you’re not going to get any ass

I think this rule pretty much explains itself.

Back in varsity we threw a MASSIVE Halloween party and even managed to organise a metal band to rock out at our digs. It was a huge success and people had a killer time. A lot of girls told us the party was awesome and my buddy Graumpot and I really thought we would get some ass, but we didn’t, and it wasn’t until the next day that we figured out why.

We went as vampires. Good idea. We dressed up in smart suits and looked pretty suave. Also a good idea. But to add the finishing touch, we filled our mouths with red food colouring and dribbled the whole lot down our chins and all over the front of our white shirts.

Fail.

 

Delicious zombies, mmm...

This guy probably didn't get any ass either, wonder why?

 

If you want to get ass at a Halloween party, proceed directly to the next rule. A rule I like to call ‘Rule No. 5’

RULE NO. 5 – Dress up goofy / cute / funny and you will get ass

To illustrate rule number five, I’d like to use the following picture taken at Hugh Heifner’s Playboy Mansion Halloween Party ‘09:

 

The smile of a man who knows he's gettin' laid in 5...

The smile of a man who knows he's gettin' laid in 5...

 

See that guy in the Scooby Doo outfit? He is going to get laid and he knows it. All he needs is to be able to do a half-decent Scooby Doo impression and he’s in there.

Any girl, when faced with the dark and brooding zombie-dude lurking on the dance floor, or the fun and loveable Scooby Doo-guy who’s costume is furry and adorable, is going to go for good ‘ol Scoobs.

 

Woah, too far dude... waaayyyy too far

Would you sleep with this man? The simple answer here ladies is FUCK NO

 

And that, my friends, is a fact. So if you want ass at this year’s Halloween party, go for adorable rather than scary. The kind of guys that scare girls into bed are not cool. It’s like the Sun and the Wind story.

One day the Wind saw a hottie walking with a scarf wrapped around her neck.

‘I’ll bet I can make that hottie lose her scarf’ said the Wind to the Sun.

‘Ok,’ said the Sun, ‘do your worst.’

So the wind blew as hard as he fucking could, and you know what happened? The hottie clutched her scarf even tighter.

‘You done?’ the Sun asked eventually.

‘Yeah…’ said the Wind, ‘fuck, that looked different in my head…’

At that, the Sun shone as strong as he could and after about 10 minutes the hottie lost her scarf. About 10 minutes after that the hottie took her top off too, and her jeans. Then about 10 minutes after that she slowly and seductively unclasped her bra and slid her panties off her curvaceous hips…

Um… sorry, where the fuck was I?

Oh yeah – be funny and adorable and you’ll get ass. End of story.

RULE NO. 6 – Halloween is no time to indulge in any kind of hallucinogenic drugs

Another rule that pretty much explains itself, and let’s face it, it’s not the 60s, I don’t think many people do hallucinogenics anymore really. But just on the off chance that a buddy procures some ‘shrooms or a little acid to get freaky on Halloween, DON’T DO IT.

Psychotropics are  difficult enough to handle without every kind of creepy ghoul imaginable wandering around the place like something out of a nightmare you had once when you were six.

 

One look at this guy after a bag of shrooms and you can kiss your mind goodbye

One look at this dude after a bag of shrooms and you can kiss your mind goodbye

 

Leave Lucy in the sky with diamonds and stick with good ‘ol booze.

RULE NO. 7 – A rule for the ladies

There’s only really one rule if you’re a lady and you’re going to a Halloween party, be as sexy as humanly possible. I’m talking french maid outfits, I’m talking catsuits, policelady suits, female samurai suits, the golden rule here is less is more and fishnets and stilettos are a definite yes.

 

Phwoar, yes please!

Take notes ladies, this is how it's done

 

Stay the hell away from the fake blood bottle, and for the love of sweet baby Jesus, don’t try and dress scary. Scary is a no.

 

The one in the middle, aaaahhhh yyeeeaaaahhhh

One of these ladies has got it down pat and one should be dragged outside and shot for what she's wearing - see if you can guess which is which

 

Stick with sexy and you’ll be just fine.

That about does it for my Halloween do’s and don’ts for social retards, and I’m really glad we’ve had this chat, and I think you’re gonna be just fine, in fact, you’ll be better than fine, you’ll be fucking incredible.

Go get ‘em tiger 🙂

-ST

29
Oct
09

Masochist

If you had to ask me what are the two things that have gotten me the furthest in my life it would have to be the fact that I am a total sucker for punishment and thankfully, am really bad at dying.

I’ve come close on at least two different occassions where, had circumstances been slightly different, I wouldn’t be writing this post and eating Cheerios for breakfast, I’d be lying in a hole, probably already bones by now. Although to be honest, I’d much prefer if my body was turned into tiny bite-sized cocktail hors d’ouevres and served as a tasty snack at my funeral.

 

Mmmm... break me off a chunk 'o that

Try the SlickTiger steak tartar, it's nom

 

People would be like, ‘My these tiny bite-sized cocktail hors d’ouevres are delicious, what are they?’ and the people in the know, who wouldn’t be going anywhere near them would say, ‘Slick Tiger. That’s how he wanted to go. This way a little piece of him will live inside us all.’

At which point the funeral would probably turn into a vomitorium, but I digress.

I think I’m a sucker for punishment becuse of what I experienced when I woke up from the first operation. In that moment, as my mind waded slowly and painfully through the depths of the general anaesthetic they’d given me, I had no idea where I was, how I got there, why I was there, and most importantly, who the fuck I was.

There was just pain. Bone splintering pain, the kind that aches right down to your core and washes over you in colossal and sickening waves. In that moment I was pain. My identity was completely erased, I remember trying to reach back for something, some kind of clue as to why I had woken up in that hell, but there was nothing there.

I remember swearing. I remember the tiled ceiling. One of the nurses wheeling my bed said, ‘Ok, he’s definitely awake now’ and not long after that they put me under again. In total it couldn’t have been longer than three minutes. Amazing how three minutes can change your entire life.

And now I sit here, nearly eight years later, stronger in every imaginable way. I train as often as I can, I sweat blood and I eat weights and when I wake up the next day, my muscles sore and stiff, I feel satisfied and I feel closer to that person who woke up so many years ago, pure as a screaming newborn.

 

Welcome to life buddy, all the screaming in the world can't save you now

Welcome to life little buddy, all the screaming in the world can't save you now

 

You gotta wake up at least two or three days a week feeling like you’ve been in a fight, cause life is a fight. The moment you lie down and accept your fate is the moment you stop living and start dying.

People spend their lives running away from pain and toward comfort and security, well I say fuck that, I say run toward pain, because the most incredible thing about our species is we think we know our limits, but every wall we’ve ever encountered we’ve found a way to bulldoze, and those people, the ones doing the bulldozing, they don’t give a fuck about pain or suffering or defeat or humiliation or fear.

They’re suckers for punishment, because when you’ve got nothing left to lose, you’ve got everything to gain.

-ST

28
Oct
09

Album Review: Pearl Jam – ‘Backspacer’

Pearl Jam is undoubtedly one of the Titans of rock music, the band has been playing for the last 19 years, has recorded 9 studio albums, has sold an estimated 60 million records worldwide and is pretty much the only surviving band of the grunge rock explosion that was the early 90s.

 

Pearl Jam - Stone Gossard, Jeff Ament, Eddie Vedder, Matt Cameron and Mike McCready

Pearl Jam - Stone Gossard, Jeff Ament, Eddie Vedder, Matt Cameron and Mike McCready

 

You’d be hard pressed to find someone who doesn’t have at least one favourite Pearl Jam song, such is this band’s impressive repertoire. Whether it’s the slow and powerful behemoth that is ‘Alive’, the up-tempo acoustic/electric classic ‘Daughter’ or their more hook heavy attempts such as ‘Do the Evolution’ and ‘Ghost’, this band has a knack for making records that are consistently good.

Backspacer is no exception to this rule. The band recorded Backspacer with producer Brendan O’Brien (who worked with the band on Vs, Vitalogy, No Code and Yield) and that in itself was definitely a step in the right direction.

O’Brien is not the kind of producer who sweats the small stuff, he knows what works, he knows what the band is capable of and is happy to let the rest take care of itself, under his expert guidance, of course.

The result is that Backspacer is a lot of fun. You’d think after 8 studio albums Pearl Jam would start toning things down a little, maybe write an acoustic album with Leonard Cohenish undertones, but no, if anything Backspacer has proven that there is still a lot of life left in Pearl Jam, despite the fact that the band are all in their mid to late 40s.

Rolling Stone’s Rob Sheffield says it best ‘Backspacer, Pearl Jam’s ninth album, backspaces to that boyish spirit, with the shortest, tightest, punkiest tunes they’ve ever banged out.’
http://www.rollingstone.com/reviews/album/30067214/review/30083898/backspacer

 

Looks like a bad pyote experience I once had...

Backspacer - Just as fun to listen to as it is to look at

 

In total the album comprises 11 tracks and breaks the record for the shortest Pearl Jam album ever recorded, lasting roughly 37 minutes in total, a fact that almost every review I’ve read about this album has pointed out.

Right from the get-go this album rocks out, delivering a powerful three-hit combo in the form of the opening tracks ‘Gonna see my friend’, ‘Got Some’ and ‘Fixer’ that set the tone for the 8 tracks to follow.

Matt Cameron’s drumming takes centre stage right from the outset because if there’s one thing O’Brien knows well, it’s how to get a drum sound that refuses to play dutifully in the background while the guitars get all the glory.

But that’s not to say guitarists Mike McCready (lead) and Stone Gossard (rhythm) are slacking off on this album, if anyone’s slacking off it’s bassist Jeff Ament, but then again he usually slacks off (give me one killer Pearl Jam bass riff and I’ll eat this review).

 

Look at him slacking off there, that's no way to play a bass guitar!

Look at him slacking off there, that's no way to play a bass guitar!

 

The halting, half picked, half strummed riffs that make up ‘The Fixer’, the quick and dextrous opening to ‘Supersonic’ and the complex melody that is the second track ‘Got Some’ are all examples of how Gossard and McCready are masters of their art.

But the thing that surprised me most about Backspacer is that after 19 years of screaming his lungs out, Eddie Vedder’s voice is still just as powerful as it was back in 1990 when he first growled out ‘Once upon a time I could control myself…’

The man is a vocal God. If you could bottle the magic that makes him sing the way he does, it would sell for millions. He also writes all the lyrics on this album and does so with his customary minimalistic and honest style that comes across as sincere without being preachy.

There is even some influences from Eddie Vedder’s solo album he recorded for the movie ‘Into the Wild’ in tracks like ‘Just Breathe’ and ‘The End’, which add a welcome change from the otherwise riff-heavy tracks that define Backspacer.

 

Watch this movie if you haven't already

Buy this CD if you haven't already

 

The only flaw in Backspacer is that all in all, it’s nothing we haven’t heard before from these surviving grunge rockers. The experimentation on the album is kept to a minimum and it can’t stand up to past gems such as Yield or my personal favourites No Code and Riot Act.

It’s a solid album and fans will love it instantly, but I suspect a lot of people might find Backspacer boring on the first few listens, but give it time, it’s a solid album and like all Pearl Jam albums, you’ll catch a track from Backspacer in years to come that will play like an old friend in your head and you’ll be thankful in that moment for bands like Pearl Jam who stick to their guns and do so with style and undeniable charm.

Final Verdict: 7.5/10

27
Oct
09

2mm

It was my Dad’s birthday today and we did our customary thing of all going out for dinner, according to our ancient family tradition.

Other families have rich cultures that span back hundreds of years, they wear special outfits and play traditional music and dance traditional dances and eat traditional food.

 

Why can't I dress up and rock out like these Dubrovnikans?

Why can't I dress up and rock out like these Dubrovnikans?

 

But us? We go out for dinner. We don’t care where, as long as the food’s nice and expensive and the service is brisk and impersonal.

We don’t have any kind of heritage, but these days, who does? I’ve never seen anyone all kitted up in their traditional garb unless it’s at some festival or other and to be honest, I always thought they look a bit retarded.

In the globalised world of tomorrow we will all worship film stars and traditional food will be served 24/7 at McDonalds, and it will be full to the brim of Ecoli, which comes from shit, nom nom nom.

Now J-Rab’s reading this over my shoulder and telling me that I’ve already done the whole ‘my family has no tradition’ diatribe and that all my readers are gonna remember from the time before and think that I have a ratty memory.

Problem is I think you need to actually have readers in the first place for that to happen.

Now she’s tickling me incessantly and making funny squeaking noises and I’m laughing like a bastard 🙂

But anyway, at dinner this evening my Mom was telling us how she saw this show about airplane accidents (she watches shows like this for the express purpose of fuelling her already plentiful reserves of general paranoia) and what happened with this one plane was that the pilot undid his seatbelt!

(This is how she tells stories. She inserts pregnant pauses mid story to try and build up the suspense while an ad break plays in her head).

And the next thing you know! The entire windshield in front of him was sucked out in a tremendous BANG! And soon afterwards, he followed too!

The story is actually pretty cool because the guy survived. His foot got hooked somehow and he flapped around outside the plane for 14 minutes before they managed to pull him back inside. But get this, the temperature outside the plane at that altitude was minus 20 fucking degrees!

Later on, they discovered the windshield malfunctioned like that because there was a screw that had been made according to incorrect specifications.

It was 2mm too short, and it nearly cost that pilot and everyone else in the plane their lives.

A terrible thing happened at the park where J-Rab worked up until Wednesday last week. It’s a small zoo and they have everything there from Ocelots to Servals to the big guns, Lions and Tigers.

Anyway, behind the part that is accessible to the public, there are a few more enclosures with Tigers and Lions which are kept off exhibit so that they can breed in peace, without visitors filming them and putting it on YouTube.

 

Lion-porn - if you look carefully you can see their bits! Siff!

Lion-porn - if you look closely you can see there bits! Siff!

 

On Sunday afternoon, Vicky, an intern from Belgium was chilling in off exhibit with a guy that volunteers at the zoo every weekend and knows the animals well.

At least he thought he knew the animals well.

Tequila is a 4 year-old lioness who J-Rab describes as a ‘poor, angry, caged wild animal’ and who lives in off exhibit with her mate, Chaos.

The dude who volunteers and Vicky were petting the lions through the enclosure fence, something I myself have even done before, when Tequila decided ‘fuck this’.

She bit down on Vicky’s hand and pulled her arm through the fence up to Vicky’s shoulder.

Tequila then got a hold of Vicky’s arm, this time much higher up, and did her level best to try and tear it from Vicky’s body.

By the grace of whatever powers might be, Tequila eventually let go of Vicky’s arm, but the damage was severe. Vicky collapsed on the ground with a broken collar bone, a broken humerus and enough tissue and muscle damage to her arm that the doctors were saying yesterday it’s doubtful if she’ll ever be able to use it again.

In the car on the way to the hospital, Vicky nearly died twice, but luckily one of the other girls there knew basic first aid and was able to keep Vicky alive.

After the doctors examined the damage, they discovered that the reason Vicky didn’t die outright from the mauling was that Tequila had just missed Vicky’s artery.

It was 2mm. 2mm closer and her artery would have been torn open and she would have bled out in the car on the way to the hospital.

And that really is the thickness of the barrier between this life and the next and in some cases it’s even thinner.

It shouldn’t have to be so extreme, but until you’ve nearly died, you have no idea how lucky you are. Life doesn’t owe us jack-shit, but we owe everything, everything to life and while it might be difficult and shitty at times, it’s also the best thing we’ve ever known.

And if that isn’t worth fighting for, I honestly don’t know what is.

-ST

26
Oct
09

Short Story: King of Spades

King of Spades

I never thought it would be like this, when I was planning this move, I never thought it would be like this. This is better than I could have ever imagined. I thought she’d completely flip out, I thought she’d be hysterical, crying and screaming, shaking and moaning, like in the movies when this kind of thing happens, but it’s nothing like that.

Movies are full of shit, written by people who get off on living vicariously through fictional characters. She’s standing facing me, a little way up the driveway, her left hand is covering her mouth and her eyes are wide and tears are spilling from their aquamarine depths and splashing silently on the bricks. I’ve never seen her so beautiful.

She’s different from how I remember her, her hair is longer, jet black and streaked with auburn it falls in soft tresses on her tiny shoulders that are heaving in a syncopated rhythm as she weeps.

Her face is more compelling than I remember it, and looking at it now makes me certain that God took the time to sculpt her himself; took an eon to carve the soft almond arcs of her febrile eyes, took a millennium to craft her delicate cheek bones, her aristocratic nose, her neat little chin and her lips – Jesus! They were his masterpiece.

I’ve never known a woman with such beautiful, full lips, lips that haunted me with every kiss and hypnotized me with every smile. I can’t see them now, but I can imagine how delicately their shapely bows are trembling. This isn’t the first time I’ve made her cry.

Her hand drifts from her face, the clouds drift from the moon, she tilts her head ever so slightly, and says, ‘Why did you do that? Why did you do that, Chris?’ Her tone is soft, her voice is almost a whisper, she isn’t angry, she is sad, disappointed.

I stare numbly at her and try to think of something to say, some way to explain my actions, but it’s been so long, I don’t know where to start, I can’t find the words to tell her how hard it’s been without her. My emotions are rising, my face is blushing and I can feel my vision blurring, I stammer, ‘B-baby, I –’

‘You’re scaring me,’ she says.

‘Don’t be scared, don’t be scared, it’s just me, you know me. I promised you I’d come back for you baby, and I did. Things have been bad, they’ve been really bad for me, but this is the start of a new life for us. We’re leaving this place, I’m taking you somewhere safe, away from here. Come with me.’

‘I can’t,’ she says, but I’m not sure she understands.

‘You don’t understand, you don’t understand how much I love you. I’ve never been able to put it into words, there are no words for how much I love you. I have something to show you, and when you see it, you’ll understand, you’ll know how much I love you.’

‘Chris, plea-’ And then in an explosion of light and sound I show her.

I show her and she sees. She sees what it meant to me all those years ago when we first fell for one another, when we first kissed, when she first told me that she loved me, when we first made love.

I show her how important the days we spent together were, how I cherished those languid afternoons spent basking with her in my arms in the sun, reading under trees, eating ice cream, cold, sweet kisses.

We are walking under jacaranda trees, we are holding hands, we are walking the streets of Paris, she is laughing at a story I’m telling her, her laugh is like little bells, it fills me, glows inside me.

I am waking up next to her in the morning, I am whole, she is getting up, getting dressed, I am making her cheesy toast for breakfast, we are brushing our teeth together, we are starting our day together, we are there for each other, she is there for me…

She is pulling me out of the car, she is crying, telling me that she loves me, I am waking up, she is crying, crying, thank God, thank God you’re alive, there is blood, there is blood everywhere, my hands are ribbons, they have to stitch me back up, I ask what about Ricky? I ask what about Ricky again and again, in the hospital she tells me… that night we hold each other like I’ve never held anyone and I cry until I can’t anymore, and she is there for me, she means the world to me, I want to die, but she’s keeping me alive, she’s the only goddamn thing in this world holding me together, I show her and she sees…

She is much calmer now, she isn’t scared anymore. I move towards her, how many times have I dreamed this moment? I cross the divide that separates us, step over his body. I let the gun fall and we embrace and it feels good, it feels like home. I breathe her scent in, let it fill me. Tiny atoms of her drift into my lungs and are absorbed into my blood, they course through my veins and flood my senses.

I bury my head in the gentle, sloping alcove of her neck and shoulder and crush her to me. ‘We need to go baby,’ I whisper through the soft curtain of her hair, ‘we need to leave this place and never come back. My car is parked around the block, we need to go, you can’t take anything with, you won’t need anything, you have me, you have everything.’

I hold her as we walk, it’s been so long since I’ve held anyone. We round the corner and I help her into the car and bundle her up in her favourite blanket, I brought it with me because I knew I could win her back, and I have.

I pull the car out into the street, gear up, let go the clutch and floor the accelerator. We drive to the city limits and beyond, we drive until the sun starts to streak the sky in pink and crimson hues.

I talk to her as I drive, I tell her how lonely it’s been without her, I tell her about how in the beginning, I would wake every morning into madness because my half-slumbering mind kept thinking I would roll over, and there she’d be beside me, warm and sleepy, peaceful, happy.

I tell her about how I started drinking, drugging, spending my nights with hollow, ugly woman, in hollow, ugly embraces, trying desperately not to feel. I tell her about how many times I wanted to phone her and beg her back and about how I never stopped following her life and her amazing successes and how I never stopped dreaming of her.

She’s getting sleepy now, but there are still so many things I want to tell her, I want to tell her about how a man has never loved a woman like I love her, I want to tell her about how she will never have to worry ever again, I want to tell her that her life will be perfect from now on, that I am better now, that I was sick for a long time, but that I am better now, but these things will have to wait, she’s tired now and she is silently nodding off to sleep beside me.

I brush a strand of fallen hair from her face and kiss her tenderly on the forehead and tell her that I love her, and though she’s sleeping now, I know if she’d heard me, she would have opened her eyes, those dazzling green eyes of hers and she would have smiled that magical smile that she kept for me and no one else in the world she would have told me that she loves me too.

The city melts away from us until there are no more buildings, just the road in front of us and the sun above. I find a lonely copse of eucalyptus trees by the side of the road and pull over. Their shade falls in dappled patches where sunlight penetrates the thick foliage above us and shines down in rays that are reflected in the dust the car has kicked up.

I get out of the car, light a smoke and take a piss behind one of the trees. I wonder if that petrol station I passed has any decent pies? Better get to work, I’m fucking starving. I open the boot of my car and take the spade out.

25
Oct
09

Saturday waking

Thing about fish, we discovered later, is you gotta be pretty vigilant when you’re cooking it on an open fire. This is by no means to suggest that we don’t know how to braai fish, Graum’s braaied a good couple fish in his time, many of which I’ve eaten and they’ve all turned out to be pretty damn good.

 

What a fish braai kinda looks like... if you're homeless

What a fish braai kinda looks like... if you're homeless

 

The problem we had was with the vigilance part of the deal. Graum was the only one keeping an eye on things and we were all on a pretty potent mix. The fish was excellent, people said, but slightly overdone.

The day I guess also turned overdone at the end of everything – a good 90% of the remaining troops were fast asleep on the couches in our flat by about 9 at night, myself included. The camera tracked through all the glass bottles and the images of all our sleeping bodies stretched and contracted slowly in muted colours shining from the TV screen.

J-Rab was the first to do gown, she looked warm and happy in her sleep, completely oblivious to the noise of the rest of us getting up between movies. Graum and I rented two DVDs, the first one we watched was ‘Human Nature’, and then we tried to watch ‘Mirrors’, a psychological thriller with Keifer Sutherland, but that’s what put the rest of us down.

The braai didn’t get rained out in the end, but the sky hang low and dark and four about five hours the light was strange and silvery and it looked like we were paused on the edge of a kind of perpetual twilight.

 

5 Hour Twilight

5 Hour Twilight

 

In the end it was Graum, M-Class, Jenni-fuh, the Hindian, Action Jackson and his girl, Slitterpuff. Last person to join was Glazyboy in a fetching grey vest and hiking boots that got him a lot of attention.

We laid a couple of blankets out on the grass by the pool and did our best to enjoy the weather. Thing is it was warm, just cloudy and later on, well after the sun had set, Jenni-fuh, J-Rab and I stripped to our underwear and swam for about 3 minutes before the cold water froze our bits off.

Back in the flat afterwards I started to initiate a tequila smack down. The Hindian looked like a brave dude, so after making him fetch the plastic table from the pool area (about 500 meters) from the flat, I poured him a tequila and he hardly said a word after that.

Well, not that I remember anyway, except every time something weird happened in ‘Human Nature’, he’d say ‘No!’ in total disbelief.

Funniest thing was J-Rab was sleeping in my lap during ‘Mirrors’ and randomly woke up during one of the scary parts, so she half-shielded her eyes with the back of her hand, her elbow up in the air. Then she drifted back to sleep, but left her elbow up there.

A couple of moments later, her elbow starts swaying backwards and forwards slowly so I burst out laughing and lower it back down for her and she smiles contentedly in her sleep, snuggles up closer and drifts way off again.

Good times I tell you, good times 🙂

-ST




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