For Andrei

“So,” he says, as we sit with our drinks, “Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” I say, lighting a cigarette.
We are on the second floor of a bar, out on the balcony. He looks over the railings, into the street below. It is a beautiful summers day, a little after lunch time on a Sunday.
He doesn’t say anything or a while except “Finish your drink”.
I do, I go get another.
I sit, light another cigarette. Smoking goes so well with drinking, one cigarette at the start of your drink, one at the end.
I do not press him. I know that it will come out, he’s just looking for the right words. We finish our drinks, he goes off to get the next round.
He comes back. His face is set, determined.
“Alright,” he says, “I’m gonna tell you The Story.”

He tells it.

I stare at him. An unlighted cigarette hangs from my mouth.
I raise my lighter, don’t light it, lower it again. I do this about three times. Finally I take the smoke from my mouth and place it on the table. I finish my drink in one long swallow.
“Another?” I ask.
“Fuck yes” he says, grimly.
I come back to the table, pick up the cigarette I had been toying with earlier, light it, and lean on the railings, looking out into the city, sipping my drink. The minutes tick by.
“Is it true?” I ask, without looking at him.
“Yes” he answers.
“How many people know?” I ask.
“You, me, the people involved, no one else.”
“Why do I know?”
“Somebody had to.” he says, finally.
“How do you know?” I ask, knowing already.
He does not speak, looks down into his drink.
The afternoon sun combined with alcohol is starting to affect us both. He nods his head slowly as if agreeing with someone.
“I was there.”
I look out into the city, weighing my nearly empty glass in my hand. I want to throw it down on the sidewalk, smash it right next to someone and scare the living shit out of them. I peer at the booze slowly mixing with the melting ice, decide I need it in me rather than not, finish it and leave the glass balanced on the rail, not stoping to see if it falls, not stopping to say good bye, not looking at him, just walking out of there thinking, well, that is some goddamn story.

Crystal Castles Review.

Crystal Castles at Billboards, 4/2/2009.

The support act was some band from Brisbane, i think they were called UZ or something. I hate to say it but they are not necessary in this story. They were just a peripheral to the event. They were ok, their first couple of songs really rocked out but they seemed to lose momentum and just sort of fizzled out at the end, plus they played for far too long which began to really annoy the crowd. At the end they were pretty much just playing to a big room full of people talking too each other. They finished up, lowered the curtains and we began the obligatory wait. It was hot and crowded in there and people started to get restless, for a while there we actually thought that someone was going to lose their shit and kick off. After and hour they raised the curtain and Ethan Kath came on stage and positioned himself behind his bank of synths and an unknown drummer came out and positioned himself behind the drums. All at the same time the drums started with a Crash! and Alice Glass, who had crawled onstage under the cover of darkness, sprang up, and the huge free standing lights came on and as one the entire crowd lifted up and started jumping. Alice was screaming and the beat was pounding and the whole place petty much went mental. Alice writhed around on the stage, jumped off into the crowd and had to be pulled out be security again and again. The crowd loved her, pulling at her as she screamed and yelled into the mic, hoisting her above their heads as she flung herself around.
It was loud. It was ear splitingly loud. I can not empathize just how loud it really was.
The show was all about Alice really, and in a way it was totally worth it. Ethan Kaths' huge sounds were a prefect base for Alices' antics, and his music was aggressive and angry and loud enough to sustain the emotion of the crowd. The music was violent and raw and the beat unrelenting, it was difficult sometimes to distinguish between the live drums and Ethans synths. They played Crimewave about three songs into it and that's when everybody, myself included, totally lost control. A lot of the music was so loud and distorted that it was almost un-recognisable and Alices vocals faded in and out constantly, it wasn't until the final song that they had her vocals mixed in properly, but it didn't matter, just her running around and having her distorted squeals kick in occasionally was good enough for us. She was a show of her own to watch, she gave herself up to the crowd and the obligingly devoured her. They wanted her sweat, her blood, her body, wanted her to give it all and she just about did. It was entirely sexual and probably had a similar vibe to pack rape.

With their video game inspired sounds Crystal Castles are the perfect music for today's monster children that are the next generation, it was an apocalyptic dystopian nightmare made real. For most of the show the lights were a flat white wash, bathing the stage in a stark cold light. There was an overtly sexual nature to the whole thing, the crowd wanted so desperately to fuck her that the air was thick with pheromones. There was no need for pyrotechnics or special effects, we just wanted some one to get up on stage an tear themselves apart for our amusement. And they did.

Pregnant teenagers make great punching bags.

So it's come out that in merry old England there is a 13yr old boy who just became a father. The mother is a 14 year old girl. He got her pregnant when he was 12. What the fuck? Is everybody in England a filthy slapper? How does his junk even work? How does her junk even work? Why are they putting their junk together to see if it works? I was still playing with G.I.Joes when i was 12. Not trying to fuck other children. You know? And their parents let her keep the baby! If i were the boys dad i would have done a quick "Look over there" then BAM! Falcon punch to the stomach. Now who's miscarried? You have.

Here are some quotes from those genius' who thought it might be a good idea to propagate.

'"When she found out she was having a baby, I asked her 'Am I the dad?' and she went 'Yeah' so I believe her," Alfie said.' (Glad she said 'yeah' and not 'nah' 'cause like that would have be shite. Also, life lesson here little buddy, people, and i don't want to generalise, but women included, have been known to lie, especially about things like who's the father of their child and how many dicks they have actually sucked in their life. Learn that one quick smart. Would you like an example? Go to your nearest commission flats and ask a quick who's who's.

"I didn't know about DNA tests before, but Mum explained it's when they do a swab in your mouth and it tells you if you're the dad." (Somebody should have done a 'swab in the mouth' other than the other thing)(Also, I'm glad his mother has such a wonderful grasp on science).
"So, if I have that, they can all shut up. But I don't really care what people say. And I don't like them being bad about Chantelle." (Because he is in denial that she is a total slut. Sure, she's only 15, but she fucks like a 17yr old from Leeds)(Which is saying something).

So now other 'men' have come out saying that they might be the father. Seriously, what the fuck? Are you fucking serious? Who would come out after that saying "It might be mine". The first thing i would have done would have been to delete her number from my phone, deny all knowledge of ever knowing her, then I would have gone to a public toilet and written things about her on the walls. Like how she is a young slut and will have a baby with just about anyone. Anyway. How is her father coping? "Have you met my daughter? She's only 15 but takes it 6 ways from Sunday, uh huh." Perhaps not. Perhaps he can't say anything around the shot gun lodged in his mouth.

How uneducated are these people? I mean seriously, do the parents expect the kids to take care of the, well, kid? What are they gonna do for money? She could whore herself out, i suppose, and he could donate sperm, but other than that, they're fucked. They are babies having babies. Now its too late to learn important life lessons like for instance, the importance of contraception, or perhaps, basic math.

"We didn't think we would need help from our parents. You don't really think about that when you find out you are pregnant. You just think your parents will kill you." This one from the mother. Kid, plenty of new mothers need help with raising a child, and these are women of the world (mostly), you, being 15, probably need help using the washing machine. Do you see my fucking problem?

So what they have now done is guaranteed the child a life of poverty and ignorance. Unless the parents of the new parents step in and take control the new baby will be raised on a diet of cornflakes and coke, it won't know how to spell, read or do maths but it will know how to complete Grand Theft Auto, and not everyone can do that.

So what we have is two parents who don't have an income, who haven't finished high school, who aren't aware of the concept of DNA nor DNA testing, who aren't aware of the pressures of raising a child, raising a child. You could not have written a worse story with dumber characters. What kind of ending can this possibly have? Ah, whats the point? I only wrote this because i though the subject matter might sustain the hate. It turns out I am both bored and disgusted, which almost never happens to me at the same time. Generally, it's either one or the other. Or maybe i just couldn't care less.

You know, i reckon that's it.

A thing or two about me.

I love the sluts. Why you ask? How’s about I tell you all about it then.

So I was on the tram this morning and I saw this girl. It always starts like this, 'there was this girl right' but this ones true. I got on the tram and there she was, drenched in imperfections. She had a sore on her lip and her skirt was a little too tight and a little too short, her posture meant that as she stood her ass popped out behind her but it also meant that her stomach hung out from under her tight singlet. Her hair was messy and looked like it might have had cum in it. She was talking on the phone, probably to some guy who had either just taken his dick out of her or was planning to put it in. Her underwear showed through her white skirt and her tits were squashed up in her shirt. She looked about 18 going on total ho. She looked like the kind of girl who has a pair of shitty knickers at home hidden under her bed or somewhere like that. For some reason she looked like she’d be most comfortable down on all fours. I’m sure that if you were to kiss her, her lips would taste like cock.

And I wanted to fuck her. So bad. She was chubby, dirty, looked like she hadn’t showered this morning, or at least, had cleaned her face by rubbing cum into it. Her skin wasn’t quite the colour of ‘shit-stain’ but it was a definite shade of it. She was the kind of girl that you would be hesitant to stick your tongue in her pussy, but you’d stick your dick in her ass with out invitation and you probably wouldn’t get rejected.

In short, she was foul but somehow alluring. Perhaps it was the aura of ‘fuck me and dump me’ that she was giving off. She looked like the kind of girl that you could do anything to and there would be no repercussions. Someone that you could treat with contempt and distain, someone who would not take it personally if you came in her face and ‘accidentally’ hit her in the eye. She’s kind of girl whose hair you could pull and ass you could slap, all without having to make her dinner or even call her the next day.

Re-reading this it comes across like I’m the kind of guy who likes to beat women as he fucks them, which I am not, but I would like to try doing some really nasty shit to someone who was consenting and willing to receive it. It’s not like I want to lay a Cleveland steamer on her chest or have her deep throat me until she spews, its that I’m not opposed to such behavior between two consenting adults. Is all I’m saying.

You know, it would be hard to actually incriminate myself anymore than I already have. Awesome. Good luck finding a sexual partner in the future Mr. Punchcock. Aw fuck it, I’m going to go masturbate over amputees.

There's a fire.

My favorite quote from the recent bushfire disaster is this one:

"At one stage on Saturday night I saw a sheep alight running through a paddock ... it was just horrific."

I think that sort of surrealism really puts into perspective just how far outside our usual sphere of existence this whole disaster really is. Its like something out of a Spielberg movie. Cue flaming sheep running across foreground cut to surprised fire fighter zoom into the reflection inn his eye of dancing flames. No soundtrack, only the agonised bleating of the sheep and the crack and pop of the fire around him.

Its crazy up there. People opening car doors to have bodies tumble out at them, whole areas sealed off, entire towns that exist in name only now. If I truly were a callous bastard I'd be making jokes about how there is probably some sort of alien invasion happening up there and they are just saying its a fire where as really, its probably like "Mars attacks". I'm sure I've seen the flaming sheep thing somewhere, oh yeah, it was in "Black sheep". Anyway, from all reports the ground is littered with charred bodies and the Firemen, after 3 days of no sleep and being surrounded by such awful devastation, are losing their shit.

Can you imagine what it would smell like up there? If you glance at some of the photos you could be forgiven for mistaking them for picturesque, snow covered mountains, when really, everything is buried under a layer of ash. Sifting through the remains they hope to identify people by their jewellery and teeth, if they can find any.

Problem Yes! Solution No!

I have discovered recently that I am indeed part of the problem and not part of the solution. I am a hater, a proud supporter of the tall poppy syndrome and I only really enjoy art if someone is suffering for it. If I go to a concert and the lead singer throws themselves off the stage into the crowd only to be mauled and then dragged out by security, all the better I say. I want to go to an exhibition where the artist opens a vein on stage and tries to paint a self-portrait before they bleed out, if someone in the crowd hurls, either vomit or abuse, then I am all the more interested. I’m the kind of guy that as soon as the scalpel hit the artery I’d shout “You’re doing it wrong” to elicit a laugh. And I am the kind of awful fuck that will laugh at his own jokes made at other people’s expense.

I like seeing people in worse off positions than me, the homeless alcoholics, the degenerate junkies, cripples, people with mental disabilities. Actually, that last one saddens me. I always wonder if they have the ‘quality of life’ that we have. If they don’t are they better off, you know, dead? Its high time I wrote a will, but one of the things that I’d put in it is that I were ever involved in some sort of accident and were rendered paralyzed or brain damaged that I be euthanized. Just put one in my head or if you haven’t got a pistol, load me up with smack. I don’t ask for much, but the one thing I do ask for is that you have the strength to do what’s right. But I’m getting side tracked here.

I am the sort of person that does not acknowledge the ‘Whatever’s’ people as the traditional owners of this land. I’ve had things stolen from me over the years and do I still consider it mine? No, it’s gone. I admit that I wasn’t man enough to lock that shit down so I have to let it go. Sure it’s a blow to the pride but you know, years of denial has to be worse.

My favorite jokes at the moment are rape jokes. I know so many people who have been raped or assaulted or ‘had a bad experience’ that I really should join some sort of support group. Whenever I have violent fantasies they usually involve me saving someone from being raped. Yet give me the opportunity and I will bust out some of the most offensive things you could imagine. I made my parents watch ‘The Aristocrats’ on DVD once. My mother, at 53, did not find it very funny. But I didn’t stop it. Her being desperately uncomfortable was too amusing to pass up.

Once when I worked in a bookstore I had a lady who was buying her daughter a book about quitting heroin. Because junkies love to sit down and read that shit. Anyway, she was quite naive and obviously from Toorak/Sth Yarra so I convinced her to buy “Junky” by William Burroughs, the book that most glorified heroin for me. I wonder how it all turned out, but seriously, in the spirit of up-selling I really should have tried to sell her a copy of “Train-spotting” and told her it was educational. Then “In my skin” by Kate Holden. Just so she knows what to expect when her daughter becomes a whore.

I once watched an old lady fall down the steps of Flinders St station. The only thing I could do was think, “She looks just like a dead fish sliding down there”. Someone yelled at me “Don’t just stand there!” so I turned around and walked away.

I don’t know why I do this, chronicling all the terrible things that I have done. Its like I am a recovering drug addict and am pacing the 12 steps, only I am not recovered. Maybe I just want you all to hate me as much as I hate myself so that it’s not so disappointing for you next time we meet.

I don’t want your sympathy, all I want is next time I slither out of my hole and curse and spit and try to bite everything around me, all I want is for someone to go “Its ok, we know how you feel”.

Filled with poison, filled with hate.