Aloha grey.

It will be four months until my arm is good as new, the doctor says. I’ve managed to get to this age without scars but this is going to be different, I usually rub bio-oil on nasty cuts, but nasty cuts aren’t stab wounds. I like scars though, I have a few of them, but they are fine and you’d have to look hard, one that runs from the bottom of my nose to my lip, I like a lot, I wonder if its more memory than actual its very thin but significant. It’s the birthday of revolution, as opposed to a rebellion or failure, which the rest, visible or remembered are.

People talk about bravery like its a fizzy drink – you call those pop – “I feel like a hero today”, you hand over five dollars and the bar tender hands you a tall effervescent glass fresh from the fridge, and the bottle, just because he thinks he’s in with a chance he squeezes one of the wedges meant for an accountant’s Corona into it, and winks.

I’ve noticed that the difference between a hard man and you or me is between 15 to 30 seconds of mouth, retort, mouth, punch and tears or outright K.O. Men are born cocky, it seems to us not born with balls or whatever gives you the – balls – to court violence like that. Women need an amount of alcohol or your unswerving submission – ok hint’s of it – to get cocky. Though usually it doesn’t take as much to shut us up it does take consistent threat to subdue us. I’ve noticed this, like the Attenborough documentaries is how the wild is.

Come breeding season – which for humans is all the time, imagine if it was once a year? 11 months of peace followed by total war, like that movie “the Purge.” It’s on, men punch it out, the women swoon, nature takes it’s course then he beats her so she should leave. In the wild, not in our hyper-civilisation, money, charisma, how good you look in a t-shirt, this is the new field of Mars. Or that’s what the gossip mags say. It’s actually piss on until you get the courage, to approach one that breaks off from the pack. That’s now brave, horrifying isn’t it.

We are there, you are there because we are alone, and most are too frightened to do anything about it. One line can crush, wound you, hilarious, sweetie you need to get your lip split or the wind punched out of you by a two meter tall hundred kilo predator to know what crush is.

I have two containers full of these kinds of memories, I like minimal living, a post-modern girl who secretly loves modernism. When you’ve lost your past you tend to make keepsakes of the oddest things. Australia lacks the 4 season regularity, the dew this morning tells me winter is coming, February will be like living in the furnace but march is close, by then I’ll be at uni and too busy. I’ve gone to retrieve my holiday things, snorkel, flippers, buoyancy vest, skinny sinks you know, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, unless there is a shark, I’m sure he’d go for the one that’ll make at least a decent meal.

At the bottom of the storage tub I find an old t-shirt, it reads ‘nice ride’ Aloha surfboards. It’s old, I was still a teen when I bought it, I bought it when I got my mini-malibu – fuck tall people – I saw it on a rack at the counter, the men’s bit, there was a small that sort of fit me, I can wear it as an off the shoulder, over my ‘kini. Rebellion, a t-shirt, a scar, that day you stop avoiding his eyes in case he slaps you, you raise your chin to where your mum taught you it should be and you walk over that line in the sand.

Fuck you, this is what I am. I remember I was 17, I’d had enough and I took back, slowly what had been taken from me, bit by bit. I miss that, I miss knowing what I was, accepting I was on the outer and embracing it, wearing it on a t-shirt and not giving a damn.

It was shoved in a sneaker to keep it’s shape, I’m nothing if not anal about things like that, its got holes, its grubby, smells like a chuck that’s been in the sun for too long and salt, wrinkled to the shit house but I took off the ‘nice’ shirt I picked wore it – I am, a fucking great ride.

The king, his steeds, the whore, prices paid and goods received.

There are as many types of whores as there are people, funny that, as far as I’ve seen we are people, and for every one there is a two, or in our case as many as you think you can take. If there is a thing, anything, then there is a kink for it, boobs, hands, feet, shoes, food, cocaine, small mammals, large mammals, republican voters even, shocking I know. This extends to clients and customers both.

Not long after I joined my last ‘agency’ which they politely called it, I was sent to entertain a man who had a spectacular car collection, tens of yummy vintage and collectible cars from the less interesting new fully auto pilot supercars that are like driving a calculator to old 50’s sports cars. He’s told me that women gave him almost as much enjoyment, a polite way I thought at the time of him saying I’d better be good. Then he waxed on and off about cars, which I’d been googling for a day in preparation, so I knew very little that I could offer him, so when he asked me to pick a car to shag on I admitted I liked sports cars but I didn’t know anything useful. So he asked me to pick the one I’d take if he gave it to me and I chose a 1970’s 911 Carrera RS, it was a bit garish colour and sticker wise but it looked fun and my bum fitted just right for his size at the back near the engine intake.

He complimented me on my choice, most girls (uh how many I thought) would have picked the Ferrari’s, Lambos or Astons, yes plural. He’d have said no because they are made of fibre and plastic but the old banger as he called it, hand crafted sheet metal, I’m not heavy but you put 40-50 kilos on a car and fuck it and see what happens. That’s where my affinity for Porsches and this man began, in a large garage on my bum on the bum of a classic car.

He took me for rides in a lot of those cars, I loved the older ones, new supercars are wild yes, insanely fast and quick off the mark but nothing beats the crazy shapes, sexy detail of older rich men’s toys. My favourite in the end turned out to be a 70’s Dino, not at all fast compared to most of its time and downright slow compared to say a 599 and even more dangerous than a 360CS though for safety features not power that outclasses handling and breaks.

My client saw that I did have a genuine passion for speed and so he advised me, gave me some tips, told me where to go to learn how to drive and when I did have the coin what I should buy, from whom and how much to pay. So now, I’m quite sure I could whoop your arse, given matching hardware.

He wasn’t an attractive man, he’d have been old as my grandfather at the time, not particularly polite, very direct and not at all disposed to foolishness but he did take a shine to me, all through my last few years I saw him regularly and he treated me very well. As rich as he was he only tipped me once, early on, I think that was to let me know I should favour him if needs be and I did. He’d kept things businesslike all the way through and despite him being married – and let me just say most men are he never lost his cool or head about us.

I’ve come to understand over my life that the small word love has many many meanings and flavours, and I did love him in a way, as I think he might have me, in his way. I appreciated him not bullying me or being possessive either, as a lot of long term lovers do, you cease to be a person after familiarity has had its way and you become a thing that should be just so. This is a hard wiring most people have I think, there is a way people like things to be and that includes friends, lovers and other people.

Over time I think this is a significant force in the way the human condition panned out, why we have wars, gods, why we need a science to map our cage and an  afterlife to give us hope it is escapable, that the hard things we did and do day by day have a reward.

Unsure as I am if I am what sane is I am equally convinced that I can see good and bad, recently I’ve read some very nasty assertions about people online and in the media and I have been dumbstruck at how deeply the poison of hate as travelled in humanity, where once that word meant to describe decent attributes now its a descriptor of a horrible animal that infests the bones of Eden.

Perched here on my first floor roost, not feeling kin to them I fancy myself different, and I have been put here by force so I will indulge myself. Tramp I may be, but if I am inhuman then I am glad of it finally, after a half a live of yearning for a past humanity I’ve discovered my exile might have done my soul – if there is such a thing a harsh mercy. Vain, lascivious, disbelieving and traditionally immoral as I am at lest I have some pity for the wretched and weak and don’t wish to annihilate them for king and country.

I’ve met precious few people who I think live and live up to their morality, strange and unlikely as it seems a good part of them I met either being a whore or talking about it here, with you readers.

So thank you, its been a terrible year, the result of many, and you’ve helped me see the light so to speak.


Hard river stone
Ages in eleven years
disappointment and bruises

Yes I am cold
That’s the way
They wanted me then
Bleeding and butchered

For I am cold
Now, and permanent
See – walk away like death
Taught and lustrous

And nothing I ever believed in
And no one I ever believed in
Kept me safe
But me

And now I’m hard
The type I had to be
It’s all that’s left for me
Smithed and forged

The wind it changed
Like you said mum

The wind it changed
Like you said dad

The wind it changed
Like I knew it would

So now I’m cold


One of us

I can’t wait to feel the feel of a ring on my finger
I can’t wait to feel the feel of me playing Cinder
I can’t wait to feel the feel of becoming a drinker
I can’t wait to feel the feel of how I’ll be injured

Oh lie, lie to me
Lie to me, make me free
Oh lie, lie to me

I can’t wait to dream the dream of a picket fence
I can’t wait to dream the dream of adequate penance
I can’t wait to dream the dream of the joke condense
I can’t wait to dream the dream of a shattered face

Oh lie, lie to me
Lie to me, make me free
Oh lie, lie to me

I can’t wait to face the face of your space
I can’t wait to face the face of the rat race
I can’t wait to face the face of the human race
I can’t wait to face the face of your straight face

The lie

As much as it killed me to read it, I couldn’t stop myself
You and her, the little phases you used to use on me
They must be a tool of yours, tool, I should call myself that

I can’t let things lie, and lies are the things that kill
What we are, who we are the one I fell in love with, lie
The blade grows a serrated edge as you pretend its me

So now, should I just lie with you, let you have me
For an apology, I’m actually sorry for all of this, lie
My smile is like your smile hiding something sinister

I’ll go now its over and done, at least for myself
You be you, make a joke as you do unto others
I’ll go and be dismayed that is was so easy, lie

The Greater Good

What is a friend when times are good
Hugging and loving is easier then

What is a friend when you are bored
The length of time seems to bend

What is a friend when you are in need
They where elsewhere unable to attend

What is a friend when you where insulted
They cannot take sides and you’ll mend

What is a friend when you can do without
You realise how easy its the end

The Moth

I wish it weren’t a test but everything is, goodbye
Heartless is only that because it doubts, why
Idyllic as it might be worse still, naive
Within the slightest flick of gaze, proof
This is enough for me

Motes of love specks and microbes
Wash from the keyholes to your heart
The idea of it is not the thing
I can’t even say it any more
Through the barrage of mouth hail
To myself, I told you so

I wish it weren’t a test but everything is, goodbye
The final scene closing act of a romance, farce
Heartless as it might seem still, kinder
Within the slightest hint of violence, fuel
This is enough for me