Happy

Hi folks. It's been a while. I just thought I should let you know that I am happy. The reason being? Well I could say unemployment/writing sabbatical but really it's probably more likely due to the frequency with which I am catching PT...hardly at all! My life is so much better. I'm driving. Yes using a car! I drive to the gym which is 5 minutes away. Drive to my sister's which is 5 mins away. It's bad for the environment but good for me.

Melbourne's public transport system sux.

You may not hear from me again for a while...I'll be back when I'm gainfully employed.

Alphabet Soup

I wanna swim in a bath of words
like alphabet soup
Dive down and gulp open with
pronouns and syntax abounding

I wanna pull and prod and tear and create
I wanna surround myself with beauty and mystique
and creativity

I want time and empty days
to fill up my life with
I wanna chuck in the towel that mops and wipes up
sweat and toil and boredom

I wanna be light on my feet
I want a smile to play across my lips
I want a secret that only I know
but others yearn for

I want the itch and burn and yes and no
and depressing inevitability of it all
to just go away, just go away

I wanna be a writer!

Flinders St 'Hot Shoe Shuffle'

You know what gives me the absolute shites? It's doing the Flinders St/Fed Square tram stop hot shoe shuffle.

Pretty much every morning I get to the tram stop, glance furtively up Flinders Street to see if there is a tram coming and what number the tram is, then stand in the appropriate spot on the platform to alight said tram.

If the number 1 is coming, followed by the 16 for example, I'll stand in the middle of the platform to get on the 16. And every other bugger on the platform will have the same idea. There will be gentle pushing, commuters shuffling in every direction, all dressed in Melbourne's winter blacks, each person in their own corporate travel pain.

But something always throws a spanner in the works. Maybe there is too many people and I can't get on the 16. Maybe the 1 is quicker, people board quickly, the light goes green, then the 16 comes and stops up the top of the platform instead, too far away for me to push my way to.

And who wants to push anyway? I try not too and I almost tell the bloke next to me to fuck off when he sidles up to me and tries to squeeze on the human cattle tram up St Kilda Road.

Sometimes it takes 10 mins to get on a tram, even though there are plenty coming and I move exasperated up and down the platform, cursing under my breath.

The least they could do is play some music for us. I would love to see a birds eye view of this scene. We must look like Fred Astaire ants doing the hot shoe shuffle.

Summer on the tram

Summer on the tram
Playing table tennis with the flies
from one commuter to another

Summer on the tram
Standing with legs wide
trying to ventilate your privates

Summer on the tram
The heavy pungent aroma of sweat
Both stale and fresh, cos no-one's showered
since the morning...if at all

Summer on the tram
Doesn't matter if it's air-conditioned
The air is still thick and hot
like a black man's...

Summer on the tram
Almost makes me miss Winter...almost.

Beautiful Fuzz

Everything creative, everything fun, everything in my imagination is surrounded by a beautiful fuzz. It's out there all the time, and all I need to do to be happy is connect with it. Being silly helps me to connect. Making people laugh helps me to connect. Singing makes me at one with the fuzz, helps me dissolve into it, roll with it like waves breaking in the surf. And writing, well that does the most special thing of all, it helps me to articulate it. In minute detail. Helps me to express myself. Makes me feel whole, alive, worthwhile. Gives me a voice and a purpose. Even if only during the quiet times when it's just me, the pen and paper and my thoughts.

When I was a kid I could see auras. Well not that I knew that's what it was at the time. And I couldn't really physically see an actual colour surrounding the person. It was more that through their name, their face, their personality, I subconsciously connected with a colour. All my friends at primary school had a colour. I never told them and I never realised at the time that this was a bit unusual. By the time I reached high school this kind of disappeared but if I had to sit down now and match a colour to my friends and family, I don't think it would be that hard.

In my teenage years, my bedroom was my sanctuary. It was a room I could unleash my creative self in. I could paint extra eyes with makeup on my face, burn candles, listen to The Cure and fall asleep curled up in a ball over the ducted heating vent. I could write in my diary about all the boys at school who I had crushes on, but were too scared to tell my friends. I could listen to Prince and wonder whether a boy would ever do the things to me that Prince sang about in his songs. I could write poetry and cry for hours about how my new boyfriend didn't pay me enough attention. I could sing along to all my favourite music and dream about being a sexy jazz singer like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. I could sit on my dressing table and talk into the mirror, pretending to host my own TV show. I could dance in front of the mirror pretending to be a hot singer in a film clip. I could open the window, burn incense and smoke a cigarette, foolishly thinking that the incense would cover the smell of tobacco. I could ignore the rest of the family. I could ignore the dysfunction and the fighting. I could be in my own little peaceful nucleus, exist entirely in the beautiful fuzz of my own creativity. I could be whoever I wanted.

And now...I just need to find a way of transporting that freedom out into the world. I just need to find a way of carrying around a little piece of that beautiful fuzz, everywhere I go. I just need to find a way of doing something fulfilling with my life. And soon...

I highly recommend you DON'T get on a bus

Even though I love Frank Woodley and think that he is a comic genius, the Í highly recommend that you get on a bus campaign' that he starred in, really gave me the shits. Why? Well buses are actually the worst form of public transport. They are slow, have random routes and get stuck in traffic just like cars. They don't have their own private landscape like a train, or can ding ding a car into embarrassment, like a tram can, so it moves off the tracks. No buses are the worst of them all.

There's not a hell of a lot of mileage (ha!) I can get out of why buses are the worst mode of transport, but I felt it needed to be said. Over and out.

The Happy Coach

My friend and I recently went on a 3 week holiday up the east coast of Australia. We flew to Sydney for a couple of nights, then flew to Byron Bay. And of course, a stay in Byron Bay is not complete without the obligatory 'trip' to Nimbin.

Enter 'The Happy Coach'. We went to a tourist info centre that ran two tour buses to Nimbin, one 'conservative' bus took passengers to a candle factory and to look at native aboriginal stuff, the second, more 'radical' alternative was the Happy Coach. The lady in the shop wouldn't specify why it was radical, we were expected to fill in the blanks for ourselves.

We were picked up outside our amazing flashpackers (if you are ever in Byron looking for cheap, clean accommodation with all mod cons including plasma TV, I recommend Nomads) by a very dodgy looking dude. His name was Fred and he had the most intense stare of anybody I have ever met. I guess it was all part of his act, but first thing in the morning it was a little too much to take. He was wearing clothes that looked like he'd been sleeping in them for the last week; a saggy stained wifebeater, some kind of cutoff cargo pants, and a long mane of dirty dreadlocks down his back. He definitely fit the part of a seasoned stoner and I knew we were in for a bumpy ride.

After Fred had picked up all the passengers and we were suitably concerned by his dodgy demeanour, he proceeded to give us a rundown of what the journey to Nimbin would involve. He relayed his jokes with candour and put in a good effort, considering he has probably said those same words a million times over. Something along the lines of, if you don't like my driving close your eyes, and if you notice my eyes are closed, don't worry the road is in the same place it was yesterday. Typical Aussie dry wit - love it :)

The range of people on the bus was interesting, lots of young American/Canadians but also a few middle age Europeans and a local who was just hitching a ride. Fred blasted the stereo and surprisingly I was in love with the soundtrack. Every song was upbeat and 'who gives a fuck' in its mentality, stuff like Aussie hip hop band 'Butterfingers' and Bob Marley.

We stopped at Minyon falls and Nimbin Rocks on the way (yawn) but really the whole reason anybody was on this bus was to get to Nimbin and experience the hippy culture for themselves. Fred dropped us on the main street and gave us maps to navigate our way around. He told us in no uncertain terms that it was illegal to buy drugs in Nimbin. He told us to stay away from the police station. He told us where to eat in case we got the munchies.

That said, scoring drugs in Nimbin was a piece of cake...hash cake that is...or so I've heard ;)

There were so many dodgy characters walking around the streets it wasn't funny. They could smell a tourist a mile off, actually they probably just sit and watch for the Happy Coach to pull into town. Most people you walked passed were hissing an offer at you, it reminded me of Amsterdam.

We chatted to some Canadians who were on our bus and one guy had managed to get totally duped by a dealer. He bought some green play dough that was meant to be a cookie but smelt and tasted exactly like play dough. Disgusting.

Anyway, the tour was well worth the $25 we paid. It was the wackiest, zaniest bus ride I've ever had and although the bus was old and filthy, I sat deep in my seat and enjoyed the mellow vibes man...