Post phone glory! Shatter pack of joy! Friends golden shower washing my foibles home!

Delicate man, halfbaked bread! The return, take two! Cat has nine lives, how many a man? One? A million? Best side with love, only beautiful thing to do! Cut through the tape and swim in the wine of love! Where? When? Crossword puzzle, there! Then! Angels around the teapot the whole time! All grown up now, the ghost has a home. Temporary but isnt everything? Im a big boy now, fuse burns hard and fast, bright lamb flesh. Dont want to die un-tapped! Waste! Cling film scrunches of nothing, blue tinged regret. Beast work! Give me that, and the juice that every man and woman stews in. Woke up the other day and found this scrawled on the back of a cigarette packet: another night, torn up and discarded. Paper skin and shadows in the cold fire of anonymity. Must have thought it was important at the time. I suppose one of the drawbacks of being in cooped up this donga night after fucking night is re-entering the atrocious world of teenage poetryso look out! Finally got out to the gorges again today on a day tour with five old people. Oldies are Ok arent they, had a couple of right comedians with us. You know these old guys that have to crack jokes, puns, spoonerisms etc every time they open their gobs? [I know, Ill be one of them!] Sort of a situational vaudeville routine that just keeps going. After lunch one of them quipped Well that seriously threatened to ruin my appetite. I quite liked that. We saw what is apparently the oldest paper bark tree in Australia. I say apparently because a: Our guide had a touch of the Munchausen about him and b: How the fuck would they know? It was suitably shaggy and ancient looking nevertheless. I was lucky to go out after the rains because a lot of the creeks and waterfalls that usually do jack were in full flow. Most water around here though is from springs, so water everywhere really all year round. Its like Eden! It really is! And he who was parched said, I am of thirst and see about me only rock and sky. And it was said unto him Look you behind that snappy gum. And lo there was water issuing from the earth. And he did drink of the water. And gave much thanks for its goodness. James 9:12 Before I get too carried away I should point out that while refreshing and abundant, mineral spring water is also loaded with enough calcium to give you a kidney stone the size of Pluto. Bugger all wild life about, massive bushfires last year have seen to that. Almost fell off a cliff perving at some Euro-legs heading along another trail. Hasnt had sex in four months, the longest period of non-coital activity since I was seventeen, but Ive got a handle on it. Boom! Boom! [I should have given that to one of the old blokes.] Forces gathered for second attack on Ulysses. Mounted the beachhead and making inroads into this incredible world. Extremely clever anti-clever anti-novel novel. Theres a character in it called Peter Carey as well. Hmmm. not spooky or anything, common Irish name I suppose. Quickly, and I promise without torture, I feel compelled to say that enfolded in the crime my parents committed is letting me believe, mistakenly, that I was at least in part Irish. I was secretly proud of this of a part of me that wasnt. For Pat, who is, to say Youre more Irish than anyone I know, is of little sustenance. I always get people going all sideways trying to work out my heritage. Must have been in my eyes the whole time: what wasnt there. Im a goddamned sin gypsy! Hit and miss. Kiss and piss. Termite nests! Not ants but related to cockroaches, prehistoric buggers. Amazing structures, waterlines going down twenty metres, need moisture in the cloister. Insides chewed up spewed up plant matter that looks like a big lump of aero bar. The queen, the soldiers, the slave farm underground. The outside of the nest dies and they let it out to mice and wasps. Blind snakes hang around to eat the wasps. Relentless ghetto. Next stop was an old asbestos miners camp in the Yamphire. Pass by in an innocuous remark if you didnt know it was there. Rusted drums, a tip of dull bottles, glass so old and broken it looked like the rocks around it. I wonder if the men were like this? Not a lot to do out here except get pissed. Spectacular and alien place as a visitor; must have been for them as well for the first few days, then a prison. Little creek running by, dry now, Mars with trees. Fiddle? Squeeze box? Gaslight in tents writing to loved ones with the sound of breaking bottles, howls from bearded faces. Remembering some kindness around the fire in the gaps between themselves. Rolling it in the mind as the fingers twisted tobacco. A glowscreen of flames and embers, dead stars, ghost lights. Or else the very same, plus firewater, to burn out those thoughts. White hot, clean and empty. Incredible! In a room the size of an outboard motor Ive managed to lose the good pen. Beautiful day. A quiet sunny relaxed atmosphere. I watched some truck drivers sidle up to their enormous loads against a pinky blue sky, like watching deer in the distance, a strange nimbleness to them surrounded by big machines and big ranges and big sky. Thank god for days like this, everyone in a good mood. Maybe Im still asleep? Annabelles got lumps all over her leg; might be gout. Di just got out of hospital at Tom price, a tooth infection led to a chest infection compounded by the exhaustion of working a ninety-hour week [I shit you not.] Not the complaining sort she got on with it, secretly throwing upNoelene knows everythingand eventually collapsed cleaning the toilets. They put her on a drip for a week.

Thinking about Jackson, hell go in his sleep. Hes had heartburn for twenty years! Hell be around a fire somewhere and then go to bed and thatll be it. Dead in a prefab, surrounded by strangers. Maybe thats how he wants it. Bloody Bluey this morning! Screaming his usual drivel as he approached the dongas. Jackson calls out Shut up you cunt its seven oclock. He used to be a yardie here, drops by sporadically for newspapers and beer. All winks and nods and muttering, a shell shocked soul conscious of his trembling hands. I think of him at sixteen, all wide eyed and eager to please, and now this.

I'm sitting in the roadhouse reading the paper, Jackson's watching Romania vs. England in the world cup, it's two or three on a tuesday afternoon. A woman comes in to pay for her petrol. Jackson taps my arm, "Imagine the tail on her in the morning", he says." tail?" I say, " Her morning log", Jackson explains, " knu' whu' I mean." "Oh for fucks sake Jackson", I say and return to the paper. "Imagine it wagglin' like a tail, just hangin' out o' there, knu' whu' I mean." I keep reading, someone somewhere's doing something to someone. "Then she'll drop it, knu' whu' I mean. Hit with the fat end on the floor, "Pppp" like a rivet, Knu' whu' I mean." "Umm", I say, turning the page. "It'll be sitting up though, like a spike, knu' whu' I mean, pointy." I'm folding the paper to read review's of movie's I'm not going to see, "Jackson, your a sick fuck." "Then she'll get a toothbrush and scoop the top, knu' whu' I mean", he want's to go on but he's laughing too much. Miggs and Jackson are sitting outside the caravan nursing whiskies staring blankly into the fire. Like an Alarm clock has gone off in his muscles Miggs picks himself up and emerges twenty minutes later in army fatigues and sits back down with a high powered Ruger rifle across his knees. He sits by the fire for another hour or so and then get's into his monster ute with obscenities peppering the night like fire flys and drives off with ammunition and a six pack. Caravan people are the oddest creatures. They're like christmas floats on legs. Stork legs, blamange torsos, weird beards. Guy walks in the other day, fat as a house, and clad in bicycle shorts, ankle length ugg boots and a "safe sex" t shirt, and he's screaming, "Have you got any cheese sausages left?" The wonderous fauna of this continent is not restricted to the animal kingdom. This woman books into the caravan park with her blonde angel of a child. She's a quiet, willowy, ravaged sort of creature, the woman I mean, got a sort of a Marianne Faithfull vibe about her. Before you can say "put those two bottles of Yellowglen on my account" I've swanned over with champagne. She thought I looked Jewish and eternal?!? That's the trouble with not knowing where half of your d.n.a comes from, her guess is as good as mine! Nationlities so far foistered upon me are Egyptian, Greek, Italian, Turkish, Polish, South African, Brazilian, Irish. French got added recently, and now Isreali. It's funny what people see, because I don't see anything. I reckon she would have had two glasses before I'd swigged the lot and was slurring "o.k Barbera, let's do it." She turned out to be religious fruit loop. God was watching her, the eye of my penis looked on like a vigilant basset hound, but god alway's wins.

I am now fully armed! Block of Emu Bitter, carton of Malboros, new writing pad and a packet of stamps. Lets open that PO box!!! Finishing a letter to Veronica on the old A3 but wanted to get started on this big spongy new paper like a tramp bouncing on a bed in a hotel room. Does it not strike you as incredible that Christina loves me, but is not in love with me! I know! You could have knocked me down with a feather as well! It just doesnt make sense! How dare she be happy and strong at the price of my grand romantic notions! People eh? Fuckin Rubics Cube you at every turn. The airport from which my frivolity springs is in temporary shut down due to unforseen strike action. Feeling pretty damn lonesome but not depressed, sad but free in a weird way. Sit back and count ma money! Two grand now, where should I go? India? London? South fucking Africa? Truth is Id rather the spilt mercury so far ran from her but that aint to be so Ive got to do something with it! Where shall I rest my bones heavy with the lightness of it all? No doubt in the lap of some bewildered German backpacker who doesnt know it yet! Turn on the sob lights! Im growing a dodgy Mexican bandit moustache because you can do that sort of thing up here. Its good fun playing dress up with a razor, Im obsessed with my beard, or lack of it I suppose, tricky area with me, beards, best left alone. During our brief phone conversation the other day, besides informing me that SHE DIDNT LOVE ME ANYMORE!!!! Christina also mentioned that Ingrids becoming a bit of a lost soul in the shopping mall. I mention this more out of abstract concern than gossip; it is I suppose one of those adult things you have to deal with. Strange to be so close to someone for such a long time and now hear reports that could be about

just anyone. Time filters out the intimacy, and it leaks away so slowly you dont notice until you go to grasp it again and grab at air. Apparently I sound like a like a full on bush rat on the phone! It doesnt take long hanging out with Roo shooters. Its a salty speak you quickly pick up, otherwise youre viewed as a chicken rooter. Im undercover remember. These old cunts know the land, Miggs was driving a group of tourists round: This cunt, fuckin walkin off sayin this is this and that and that an whatever fuckin else. Cunt walks down the gorge and hes sayin oh look at that ya ya tree, two hours later hes bringin em back out an he goes now thats a blade bark, and its the same fuckin tree! You sounded in robust fettle on the telephone. Im in a good mood again, must be the water or something. Listening to Summer DreamsThe best of the Beach Boys. The ankle I broke years ago is playing up a bit, sort of stiff and sore and clicks, arthritis here we come. Ive decided having CDs sent out from my vast and excellent collection is impractical and so am going to send Christina tedious lists of stuff I want taped, if not Ill be wearing a Stetson pretty soon! The boss sidled up to me today and said You know Cookie if you stayed here a year youd leave with twenty grand, not bad for a young single fella. Hmmm. It is an interesting proposition. Imagine how long I could live in some poverty stricken Asian country for that! Still thinking about the merchant navy or the mines, basically sick of every other cunt passing through here going Pah! I cleared twelve hundred a week in Mudfuck. I figure with all the shit gigs Ive had I want to sit back suckin piss and clear a grand a week, balance those scales baby! Another interesting option popped up last week. We accidentally received a fax for a place called El Questro Homestead in Kunnanara. It was their booze account and judging by the wares listed: Bollinger, Stolli, Corona etc. sounds like my kind of office! Apparently its owned by this eccentric English aristocrat and he has a fine dining restaurant out in the middle of nowhere. Reckon Ill be giving those guys a ring! Lorri and Cath are both convinced Im going to do a runner. If I turn up a minute late for my shift you can see them wipe the sweat from the brows. I went to settle my account and Lorris like Settle your account? Why! Why are you settling your account? Because its the end of the month Lorri, and you said you wanted the accounts settled by the end of the month. Did I? Oh yeah I did, youre not going to town are you? hahahaha. Believe me, R&R in Port Hedland would be about as much fun as re-arranging a dried teabag collection, hmmm. Lets visit that pile of salt! The Boss gives me the wink. Young fella like you cookie, bit of cash to blow, you could get a room and a woman. Like its the fucking wild west and I book into a fucking saloon! Jacksons said hes leaving in the next few days since I arrived! I reckon hes secretly in love with Miggs and cant bare to leave him, which sucks because Id get his telly if he does finally bugger off. Surfin USA is on and its bloody raining again! Got some pretty hardcore caravan weirdos hanging about at the moment. I think it must be a disease of destiny that afflicts some couples. First signs are when both individuals become allergic to long pants and shirts regardless of air temperature. Bright fabrics are also shied away from, a pale mint green pair of shorts and what the fuck shade of pink is that? short sleeved body shirt now highly desirable against the skin. At some point the fellow will purchase an Akubra and stud every centimetre with little badges while the female, a generally hatless creature, will have mugged Elton John in 1973 and have the stolen sunglasses welded to her face. Now Ive mentioned the epaulets of a ranking senior male: The badge covered hat. Add to this a paunch and water bird legs. If his partner is not to disgrace him in the caravan world it is necessary for her to balloon in all directions. This impressive life raft like state should also be housed in a t-shirt bearing testament to the wonders of the Marble Bar Pottery Meet 83 or Exmouth Jam Festival. This far out we dont get any fly-by-nights. These are serious life stylers! Theyve got enough gas bottles around the arse of their vans to dig in for years if need be. Give this lot some graded gravel and an ablution block and theyre right to see out the millennia! The advanced caravanites have no need for spoken language. They check in, check out the post cards, and then sit in the roadhouse with cups of tea [his bag dunked, hers squeezed] and avoid each others glance for hours in total silence. This is where ESP takes over, at a point known only to their kind. The male will wander up to the bain marie and return with hot chips and a cheese sausage. Shell pick at the chips and hell dissect and chew the snag, quietly, thoughtfully. Both spent tea bags are placed with silent reverence on a communal saucer. Its intense stuff and not all of us are built for such things! I sigh and look on in awe. Dont Worry Baby is now playing, beautiful melody and staggering harmonies, bummer its about drag racing. Cant believe Ive only been away eleven months, it feels like years! I finish an early and start a late the next day, basically a day off without really having one because Ive got twenty-four hours in between. I go to my donga, get drunk, write letters, then stagger back up to the road house and order mashed potato.

Cath says to me while Im tucking in I reckon you miss your mother. Its true! Well, I am eating baby food. Without wanting to sound horrid Im trying to give birth to myself. I suppose thats why Ive been so obsessed with the past of late. I want to chew off my own umbilical chord! I figure the first time it was botched by liars, so Im trying again, get it right this time. At the end of the day the slate is clean, and the ball thrown to me is now mine. Spooky stuff freedom, when youre not used to it. I had complete confidence in myself as a kid and that sense of wonder, the energy of it, is trickling back. Inner light, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, a candle that warms the inside of your ribs, that flickers even while your eyes are set on the storm. Oh my God Ive turned into Celine Dion! Just received your last letter so am adding to previous effort. For once its time for me to express concern for you! Whats all this turning see-thru business?! Are you getting a bit Ballad of Lucy Jordan? I find it interesting that we both get a ghostly feeling from time to time, but from polar opposites of experience. Me from the tundra of unfamiliar surrounds and you from the very familiar. Great to finally hear from you, I was starting to think you might have moved house or something. You also answered an enquiry about Monique before I sent it. Pregnant again! Shell run out of American States for names if shes not careful. Whats this one going to be? Idaho? Nebraska? Imagine her and Helenas kids being introduced: itll be like a satellite link-up! Austria, Paris, Copenhagen, this is Montana and Arizona, and their baby sister Wyoming. Finally finished a letter I can send to Ingrid. The first two attempts got so vitriolic [ her charming loser comment obviously cut deeply.] One line I remember, Id rather feel the beauty and terror of this existence rather than air laugh like Im in an episode of Friends, What is it exactly that Im losing? I cant deny that Im a little hurt that the letter I sent her from down South went unanswered, couldnt resist a little dig in this one, I know youre busy Poor Christina! The letters she receives are just a disaster! Start off OK but just crumble into Scott Walker sentiment. Been up here at Orana three weeks now and not minding it at all. Ive settled in well and am well liked by my strange crew of fellow desert dwellers. Without making an effort Ive already saved about a thousand dollars. Whoa! Just had a shot of some cheap ouzo Jacksons given me as part of his donga cleanout. Hes leaving in a couple of days and Ill miss the old bugger. Whats Miggs going to do? Ashley, the young aboriginal station hand has become part of the furniture, follows Miggs everywhere like a duckling, Miggs Jnr! Mentioned one day if Miggs got a Roo Id make a stew out of the tail. Ashleys eyes lit up and he wouldnt stop talking about it! He was like a kid in the back of a car going Are we nearly there yet? for three fucking days! First thing in the morning hangover and coffee accompanied by So! Roo stew ayy! to mopping up at night with him walking past the window thumbs up mouthing the same. Finally Miggs bags some for the dogs and Im like For fucks sake cut and strip the tails so I can shut him up! Its strange, Miggs is a professional Roo shooter thirty Ks away from camps and Aboriginal stations that buy the same tails he cuts, but only after theyve been put on ice, sent to Perth, frozen, and then trucked back up again. Otherwise its classed as not fit for human consumption! So heres Miggs shooting Roos within campfire sight of the eventual customers, but the same meat is Ok for dogs, and then people after the pay off of freezing and transport back to the place it came from! Im curious to know the state of every person who means something to me. Its like a stock take. If I recall them thus they must be important, signposts, harbingers, undercover angels. When the soul is shaken down certain glimmers of gold must wink in the muddy flow! Veronica a librarian! Its fucking perfect! Sitting in my donga now I long for the dead dread of our drunken nights, tell that firewoman to write me! Words? Music? No: its whats behind. Bloom looped, unlooped, nodded, disnoded. Bloom. Flood of warm jimjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in desire, dark to lick flow, invading. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Tup. Pores to dilate dilating. Tup. The joy the feel the warm the. Tup. To pour oer sluices pouring gushes. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrop. Now! Language of love. Numbers it is. All music when you think of it. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Vibrations: chords those are. One plus two plus six is seven. Do anything you like with figures juggling. Musemathematics. And you think youre listening to the ethereal. [James Joyce, Ulysses.] Received a letter from Christina. Shes fucking a REDHEAD! A fucking ginger pubey! Its disgusting! They should be quarantined that lot, kept to their own kind. They have different enzymes and they smell weird. Funny really, when I lived in Norwood all I wanted was to be somewhere else and now all I want is to live in Norwood. Duality thou art my god. Thought of them doing it to my CDs.

Borrowed a mountain bike today and trundled off into the hills. Found a cave, sat about in it a bit watching bugs. Saw some rock wallabies. That would be a good name for a crap band, The Rock Wallabies, country pub circuit. Saw what were either two small eagles or two large hawks. Amazing to watch, look menacing as fuck gliding up from the rocks and slowly spiralling higher, black against blue grey rain clouds. [yes, its raining again.] Must look like jet fighters to rodents. Wish Id bought a camera with me. Deceptive landscape up here, maze like but appearing easy going. Perspective changes every few steps, or stumbles I should say, they should just call the Pilbara the ankle snapper. Things you thought were ridges turn out to be cliffs when you get there, still, great land to wander. The Orana is turning into a honky tonk refugee camp! Caths daughter and meatpacker aint allowed to drink no more husband and their twins have erected a sort of shanty near the toilets. Noleen filled me in; apparently they always end up here. Im not being mean but the twins do look a little deformed. So you walk past and youve got a fat mammy peelin taters, Travis [thats the bloke] with his hand drill and Loretta tattooed on his chest, and these two filthy gurgling offspring all waving at you, and yes, I do hear hillbilly music! Oh and while I remember, Noleen has a daughter called Joylene: isnt that excellent. Mad toy they sell in the roadhouse: Clacky Balls. Balls on a stick that sound like firecrackers when they strike together. Hours of hilarity it says on the packet in big red letters. Is this some fiendish experiment in infanticide? Rock up, tired sweaty arsed and irritable after driving all day and then buy your eight year old, whos already pissing you off, a device as sure to further detune your nerves as watching a person without any teeth try to eat a tomato. Why not just chuck a bit of black board and some false nails into some moulded packaging and call it Scratchy Fun! Pretty sure Im going to come back to SA in early September. I want to get my passport organised, plus theres no fucking way on this earth that Im turning thirty here. Want to stick it out until then though so Ive got enough $$$ to leave again. Better tell Douglas to start training his liver! Got a letter from Paul, a lean account of whale watching and kitten naming [Salo: typical.] I reckon hes in Dunsborough for good because hes just bought a 4WD. Wonder what would have happened if wed ended travelling together? Havent heard from Eamon for a while. Christina sounds like shes steaming ahead. It was great to talk to you on the phone the other week, your constant faith and love mean a lot to me, Im really looking forward to seeing you again. And why cant I be a sailor? Eugene ONeill was a sailor, so was Gore Vidal. So fucking what I hear you say. Anyway I phoned a company in Queensland for a cruise ship directory, so I may well be bound for the hi-seas. Also thinking of going over the Northern Queensland. Have I told you we have a pet pig? Sara Jane, sometime on the back of a truck and just left here, now penned to eat the scraps. Cute as a small car sized button. Original plan was to eat her but I reckon thats all gone by the by. I love to watch her eat! Into it, poking, oinking, bizarre fuckers up close, the shape of them, like a weird canoe, monster feet and udders [do pigs have udders?] quivering like half set jellies as she pigs it down. Jasmine situation has calmed down somewhat, but like the Vietnam situation still a befuddling state of affairs. Travis just stopped by on his way to pick up the washing. His front teeth were knocked out by a horse kick. Checked out his tattoos, not prison ones, but done around campfires off his face as a younger man. Asked him what the sword on his leg signified and he said fucked if I know. A tattooed replica of a photograph of his mother on his right hand, the word love on the knuckles, old time tattoos. Five children from a previous life running around somewhere. Twins in the first marriage and now in this one. You can see a strong body broken, trampled and kicked during a life around livestock. Still a glint in his eyes though, a child smiling in sun and hoof torn skin. He gave me a guided tour of his stitches. Old and not so old caterpillar trails into the land of Frankenstein. Saw an unusual and quite beautiful moth on my towel this morning. Transparent pink wings folded over its body and antennae like orange bottle cleaners. Jacksons sitting at the fire sans Miggs and getting agitated for company. Come an sit with me you ignorant cunt! So I best do my duty. No, false alarm, JBs there now and theyre fiddling about with electric switches; that will entertain him for a while. Jasmin, once the stupid child, is now their best mate! A week ago it was hardline aggression and now she do whatever the fuck she likes! We laugh about it, Jasmin and I, its so pathetic. A autistic chess game of fear or favour depending on which bitch is feeling the heat. It is just complete silliness but I cant help but get tangled in its tawdry machinations. No wonder none of this lot like cities, you know, where people just mind their own fucking business! Money makin money makin super disco disco breakin [The Beastie Boys] Im a Pilbara mammoth with glitter on my fur! Stabs of pop culture leave me dead when they leave. Cant be two places at once I guess, though it seems I mostly am. God it was true to be held and kissed, is that weakness? A moment of peace? Wish someone would pick my melons. In between shifts, always tricky. How dare she be intimate and then cut it off! Its un-fucking-natural! Like tying a knot in the end of the Murray. I wish we hadnt kissed but at the same time wouldnt swap it for anything.

Ive enclosed a short article on the Pilbara from the weekend paper. Ive been hanging around on the oldest place on earth! The Kimberleys are babies at 360 million years. The big P clocks in at 3.5 billion. Lovely twenty one year old from Bendigo called Marni working here now, and she has a car! Went out to the gorges yesterday and up to Wittanoon to swim in Cathedral pool. Weathers beautiful, blue crisp warm days. We stopped in a little shop on the way back and I bought a tigers eye necklace, beautiful fossilised asbestos that looks like brushed gold. Not normally into jewellery but I wanted a piece of this place on me, mojo voodoo stuff! Driving back saw the range blue grey against a dusty magenta dusk, an embryonic moon floating in the changing colour. Miggs is back from the hospital fit as a fiddle, well, a tuba maybe. Doctors reckon he had pleurisy. Have I mentioned that Lorri is pigeon toed? Annebelle has a profound talent for drawing the ominous from the mundane. Anything I ask her she goes Whatdayamean? with her face all worried. Been privy to some of the most inane monologues the language has ever had to endure! Words like a kite caught in a tree. The way this lot communicate, its like anti-speak. Too pre-occupied with all this Jasmin stuff to read Joyce at the moment, Ill get back to it later. On par with the master class bitching sessions is the advice to young persons bureau. Ruth can be helpful to the point of violence. Whatcha doin luv? Dont know. Fu fucks sake James! And she thrusts application forms into my pocket. Apparently if I dont spend the next decade on a mine site Im a Fuckin idiot. Jackson, the biggest bitch of the lot, is meanwhile saying stuff like I know a bloke in Broome, nice bloke, pearling bloke. And then changes the subject to goanna genital sizes. He talks about male genitalia a lot when hes pissed. All I know is that Ill be in Broome on my thirtieth birthday, with an eighteen year old, and that were booked into a room at the Palm Resort. Its a very meat in the sandwich deal, Jasmines in Perth right now fucking her boyfriend, and one that bubbles with euphoria and regret, a superb way to usher in my third decade. We have slept together, just naked touching, affection and warmth as opposed to, alas, beastliness. Its just so fucking strange I have to see it through. Hard to express feelings through words. The heart translated onto bark by a bear with a blowtorch. To try and paint the invisible and close some gap. Write all you like but you live in the arms of others, maybe Im just lonely? Holy hermit thing happening up at Beagle Bay. A priest lived in a paperbark shack for eighteen years, died, and then another priest came and took his place. Locals built him a tin shack. Focuses his being on meditation and love. Daily rituals combining the mundane and the ultimate, eating and shitting and unconditional love for his fellow man. Im thinking thats hardcore and beautiful. Rough gig but someones got to do it. Do you salute someone who gives up the flesh or do you call them in-human? I suspect we all have our strange churches inside us. Ah food and sleep: Building blocks of sanity. Just cooked myself the best steak, seared rare coated in finely chopped chilli, broccoli and garlic potatoes on the side. Exist amongst little earthquakes of feast or famine on all levels of late. All in my mind of course, heart sickness dissolving under its own weight. Muddy mundaneness clogging the delta and Im waiting for my ferry. Just found one of Jasmines hair ties in under the bed while I was looking for a lighter. An innocent object of desire, I can smell her in the stretchy circumference. Her fruit salads still fermenting in my fridge, and yes! It does smell like perfume! Jungle by Calvin Klein. I should go into the grooming gig, not enough humour in cosmetics. Could give eye shadow weird names like in paint catalogues: Antelope, Wheres my sock, Pickle thief. Putting off washing my socks as long as I can, laundry area a hive of social activity lately as honky tonk is cleaning the guest villas [Villas: theyre fucking motel rooms!] and lording over the machines. Normal person could get this job done in a few hours but shes churning sheets into the night. So youve got Travis and Annebelle washing their clothes and their kids in the same tub, Marni next to them doing her undies, JB folding and ironing his jeans, because he likes that nice cricket umpire crease. Jackson and Miggs just dont wash. Eventually Im going to have to stagger amongst them all looking for a discreet receptacle for my stink. Last time one of the mutant offspring grabbed a sock, seriously embedded with the dried fluids of Hades, and sucked on it like a lollipop. Shed be fucking him right now. Christina would be fucking him right now, Vicki would be fucking him right now. Im not jealous, I just wish I had someone to fuck right now! And yes I am jealous! Whats my day? Masturbation and laundry. Warm enough to sit outside at night now in just your shorts. If you try an knock me youll be mocked/ Ill stir fry you in my wok. [The Beastie Boys]

Honky Tonk has gone to Perth for a dirty weekend and Im thrashing her stereo. A week at the Burwood Casino doused in enough cheap musk to knock out an elephant, scraping her sheep teeth against cigarettes. Dirty weekend? A disgusting crime against humanity more like! Bitchiness like cancer here, strive to rise above it, but when the cells sing youve got to grab an accordion and join in. Jasmine rang from Perth. She crashed her sisters car and got mild whiplash, yeah right, wild lipsplash more like! Weird to share someone you havent even really touched. Listening to The Very Best of the Eagles now and theres bugs everywhere. Nest of daddy long legs by the urinal, blow on them lightly and they all freeze and play dead. Bright green beetles scuttle around, and these extraordinary red dragonflies. Broome! Broome! Broome! Broome! Broome! Broome! Broome! It was actually her idea, going up together. She said there was no fucking way she was letting me spend my birthday in this shit hole. Like I planned to! She was adamant. Wed stay somewhere nice, and. who knows. Thats why she went back to Perth, to say good bye to whats his head. Please do not read this decision to not come home yet as rash and insensitive. I know I know what I said on the phone. And while I find the idea of coming home for my birthday cosy in a Big Chill kind of way I also find it odiously, well, cosy, and bound to lead to disappointment. I dont know if that came out right, I mean I do miss my friends incredibly I will see you, because I love your company, but without all this other shit ticking away. Besides an adventure is looming, you know what I mean? Ill get it together before Klees old enough to ask uncle James about shaving. Its one am and I have to go to bed [dont even feel slightly tired] because Ive got to cook breakfast for some miners at five thirty. I hate having to go to bed. The sunrise out here is magnificent. Fire in the sky literally, a new day embers. Cop's smoking with truckies comparing tattoo's as their shadow's bleed long and knobbly across the gravel toward the low but knarly hillocks winking a geology lesson back at you. This'n here is gold country! yeh yeh yeh, Iron and all that, gold country! Weird old guy's sitting around talking a nugget the size of an eye, a breadbin, a table, a fucking small car! Fossilized asbestos as well. A sliver in Switzerland would buy you a house. " Me an' this cunt got a piece the fuckin' size like fuckin' this [ pincers his fingers together ] That fuckin' thick mate! " Lenny, a friend of the boss, set up an alfresco karioke unit. Finish nine hour shift and step over the heavy red stones towards the sound of his tones[ dodgy country singer who apparently has an album out somewhere]. Thing's kick into gear with scotch licked version's of " Love on the rock's" and " Like A Virgin", carefully changing to a male protagonist! Laughter and general good feeling ensue. The night plods on and Steve the Helicopter pilot gives it some George Benson and then I have a go at " Love is a many splendored thing". Out of nowhere,well ,the caravan park, appears Olga. Seventy Four year old Gynecologist mad princess that sang like an angel. Seriously, her voice was superb. World weary Jazzy drag, pitching it like perfectly delivered soccer ball's. By popular demand we duetted "I left my heart in San Francisco". I felt like fucking Dean Martin with a shorter, huge boobed Sammi Davis, it was great! Night gets sloppy so, gentleman that I am, I offer to escort Olga back to her caravan as she is now so blind drunk that she can barely walk. She only tries to pash me as soon as we cross the bridge! I cut it with affection and sensitivity, she grabs my head and goes all gypsy. " You'll meet her, and you'll love her and be very happy". I kiss her baby head and tuck her in. Tonight was magical, wierd, surreal, fun, brilliant. I'm glad I trusted my heart, so many hings of late have told me not to. Getting stronger by the minute and rewarded with helicopter rides and odd disco's in the middle of nowhere with the beutiful low light changing the hills of the Hamersley's all around. God know's when you'll get this. There's only one mail run a week and on one seem's to know what day it is.

I just cant fucking believe it! Jasmines back and all over the place, words coming out like a fucking Whitney Huston song, I went to say good-bye but ended saying hello. I mean Christ! You know me and Steve have got something really good. She was being all quiet and wise and I just wanted to fucking. I know you understand James. Yeah I understand that Ive been hoodwinked into staying in this godforsaken swamp of petty misery for her sake! Ive got the money to leave! Ive had it for ages, but we both agreed to wait until shed saved some more so I fucking stayed! All I wanted was a few days in a nice hotel eating good food, getting drunk, and having sex with an attractive teenager. Is that too much to ask! Now Im stuck here on my fucking birthday! Talk about cutting off my dick off despite my brain! Makes sense in some ways to spend it alone. I just want to get it over and done with. Fuck though its painted me into the corner of a bewildering canvas. Might do an Orlando, sleep for a week and wake up as someone else. The stunted children are tumbling about spastically on an old mattress outside the caravan. Theyre more sedate than usual, growling with delight. Travis is probably slipping them gin. Im looking at them now: soft eggs shells.

First stage almost complete A walled city to wander Amongst the alleys Shining with joy Shivering with sadness. Bubbling, weeping. Red crystals cling. Sugar sweet like ant eggs The grit you flick away Sticks to the tongue Shiver yawn and stretch Cells tingle with private sex Quiver stretch crackle Hands fused spastic Pleasure current sets up telegraph Body bleats yes to this popping cinder Shooting through it super train. I told you the teenage poet was coming! Got busy the other day and honky tonk exclaimed [in all innocence] I swear if we dont get more pies in the bain marie those fella are just going to eat me. Accidental entendres are always the best. Mark Hunter joke: What was Dragons last single? Take me to the April sun in tumour. Awful business being a celebrity. Not only do you suffer like normal people but youve got dick heads you dont even know making jokes about it. Life through their lives and laugh through their demise: good value. Jackson in camera shy shocker! Gregarious as the day is long but pull out an instamatic he goes all girly. Di and Pete and leaving in a few days and Di wanted a snap of her co-workers, [she keeps an album of past co-workers][!?] Im keen because I want this stupid moustache caught on film, Miggs is up for it because hes a vain silly old buggerBut Jackson cringed behind a palette of onions. Coaxing just made him gruffer, Fuck off! Irish weirdness ahoy! Look at the charts: You, Pat, Eamon. And now an Irish girl called Ruth coming to work up here. Whom finds whom I wonder? Imagine if you replaced my Irish thing with Eskimo and I was called Gerald and worked for a large financial institution. Sitting at a board meeting one day looking at my nails and the boss says, And Id like to introduce a new member of our team, this is Yukulkuhha, he lives on seal blood for six months of the year Make it like a game of Battle Ship. On one axis Nurse/ German/ Vegetarian, and on the other Irish friends. Itd sell like lo-fat hi-cholesterol medically approved soda bread hot cakes! Possibilities are endless. Like say you had a thing about cauliflowers and Italian footwear on one axis, and say, Red heads on the other. Meet a guy in a pub, get friendly, start seeing his sister. Honky dory, happy as, barbies on the weekend, snooker den dissection of the footy game. Daryl Drainwhites drab drum up in defence, Walter Waintights wonderous wild catch, Seymour Sendris stealthy seconding. Umpires unilateral obviously umbilical strangulation caused idiocy in arbitration. Cool as the coconut chicken and coriander kebab in your clasp. Bianca wanders in, for it is she, your love. Plants a cold melon kiss on cucumber and kelp balmed sunburnt ear lobes, and an announcementto abscond. Fellow she met, hair red as your blood aflood with love! Humorous exchange in the fruit shops what did it, eyes always look like theyre just out of a heavily chlorinated swimming pool. The cake of sleep on their lashes and in the corners of their mouths, they secrete slower, their spits thicker, strange smell like the back of a bakery. Thief! I shout. His pale blue eyes look back, Only doin what comes natural. I quake, fair enough, this and that happened and then this and this and that and that and then this and then before you know it its too late to go back. A peel bright afternoon. He loosens his shoes, pulling at the laces with fingers too stiff for the exercise, claws at maiden hair, laces knot like his muscles with anticipation, smell of zest in the air, clean cotton, a wind chime of street sounds. Ripple of engines idling and bright peaks of comment and laughter from passing citizens heard like underwater as he enters her. Getting pretty slack health hygiene wise. Often sleep in the same stuff I wear to work the next day, no reason not to. Brush my teeth when I think of it and see in the mirror a fucked up waste of talent and [after a shower] a gifted and handsome young man. Its like one of those before and after commercials constantly changing places. Travis is in the laundry with his kids in the top loader again, not on of course, hope I didnt give that impression. They just sort of splash about like two big soapy amphibians. I wonder if Ill end up committed? Dad wasIts in the genes yusee. The gleamy beans we hide upstream. Excitable fellow apparently, made bomb threats to shops. Ah the old fella, a mystery, keeps it so or

fill in the gaps? Who gives a rats in the end. If mystery ends then feeling of mystery escapes my bones and then what voice have I got? Ive shaken this cage for so long. New blood! A Perth girl named Jasmine. Shes here to save some money for a nose job [theres nothing wrong with it now.] I laugh at her and with her and have told her as much, she IS funny! Only thing she bought with her was a hair dryer. Shes formidably attractive in that tall, lithe Sports Girl sort of way. Extremely confidant verging on arrogant but a faade I suspect, sitting on thin ice. Normal people just do not come up here! As Im the only one here under a million shes decided to hang out with me and she is not unpleasant company, and why did I grow this stupid moustache now! Steve and Travis both under Booze watch. How many beers have you had? Suzis always saying, Is that your third beer? etc. Piss eh? Leg opener when you meet promoted to marriage breaker. Travis sneaks cans of Rum and coke down to the caravan while Annebelles working. Hes asked me a couple of times to get him some and Ive said no. Not because I give a fuck wether he drinks or not but because of the backlash if Annebelle found out Id supplied him. Feel sorry for the prick though, stuck with those monsters all day in the heat with no telly, no radio, nothing. He reads a lot he reckons. Jackson and Miggs have gone out to rescue some old couple that have got lost in the gorges. Miggs grabs a dozen cans and says, Old cunts out there, gotta fuckin go get em. Noelene came up to me today and I cant recall how or why but we were talking about weight. Well yes, she said, I was a size twenty two when I arrived, but now Im a size fourteen, well a fourteen below and a sixteen up top, you know [dramatic pause] because Ive got large breasts. She says this last bit in a hoarse whisper with her bottom lip loose and Im looking at her spectacularly tarred and chipped teeth thinking ummm.Im getting hard! Jackson now refers to me as Eddie. Apparently I look like some Argentinean soccer player. Odder still I call him Sir Smythly Smythe. Someone should write a paper on the psychology of nick names. Suppose its bonding via re-written personal myth, the dream worlds stamp of recognition. The sling shot of myth is already taut within us, we just have to decide which particular stone we want to load it with. Assimilation of a moniker only we understand into a story that we dont. Went for a walk with Jasmine. Perfect conditions, cloudy, warm, but a little breeze. Shes a long limbed bag of nervous energy, reminds me of Erin in some ways. [Youre reading this now arent you going no! Noo! NNOOOO!!] I was giving it some old bushman, picking up rocks and pointing into the distance. She asked me if Id ever been married, sweet child! When the last echoes of laughter had finished ringing she said, I guess not. Were going to try and get out there a few times a week together, depending on our shifts. Good physical and mental exercise, plus I get to do some broody windswept gazing at the horizon. It works too: she reckons I look French! Glad I was on the late shift and missed what Im about to report: Rod, in a cuntish mood, verbally attacked Suzi to the point of tears, so Steve threatened him with a knife! Still got hear about it about two hundred times. Woke up to the sound of heavy rain and opened the door expecting to shiver but it was like a sauna outside. Washed my hair and its still moist ten hours later. Travis and Annabelles shanty deluged, shorted out the electricity and the children are screaming. Theres a film crew staying in the villas. Theyre here to film a segment in Yampire for an ad for the Olympics. One of those epic numbers, inter cut scenery around Australia as a backdrop to two models [one white, one black naturally] running around with the torch. Interestingly the black model is not Aboriginal but a stunning African. Miggs took them location scouting. Theyre a Sydney mob and all they had was a photo taken in summer, so they said to Miggs, Find us that. Miggs said, Well my vehicle wont get you there. How about the helicopter? No mate, a time machine! The directors poking about in the Spinifex, Wheres all the snakes and lizards? Miggs looked at him incredulously, Theyre asleep. Its winter! Indonesia. Wonderful word dont you think? The way it rolls and sighs at the end. Known for its beaches, and the sound of a beach in its name. Containing and releasing in one mouthful: oohhhahh, Indonesia. Words are strange arent they? An arboretum about our tongue exotic birds and butterflies all clicking and whooping. In the dead of night in this stunted place put on the cloak of words the way a lonely hunter polishes his rifle, its something to do! A folly, a hobby, masturbation substituted with convolutions. Sticky kitten in its own web. Wake up leave an imprint of twigs and dead moths. Smell of ash and dirt, stagnant furnace. Pete and Dis going away do. Drinks around the fire as usual. Gnomes on the road theyll be, basically for Dis health, air fucks her lungs up, a lot of fucked up lung people here. The old Honky Tonk brigade hates Jasmine. Young, flippant, flower of potential souring their faces. Shes pretty determined to stick it out but theyre not making it easy. Had a chat with her last night, big brother style, cut down on the sarcasm and just take it I said. Only way to survive really, just say, Yeah no worries, regardless of the madness around you. I got caught up in trying to work it out and it just beats you in the end. Everyone assumes that Jasmine and I are sleeping together, unfortunately this is not the case, shes got some boy in

Perth she rings everyday. We both talk so loudly we keep waking people up. Everyones shitty at her and thinks Im an idiot. Noses out of joint all over the place! I wanna say Cmon baby lets blow this joint! Or at least I would if I didnt think it sounded ridiculous. She showed me some photographs of herself naked, but I was too drunk at the time to let them soak in. The moustache is gone, bedding washing, incense lit. If anything at least I smell better. Quite like being infatuated, people have always said I should find a hobby. Dont like being infatuated anymore! Growing out of control, cant eat, cant sleep, fucking up at work. Sick of it but cant seem to shake it, her face just. When she laughs its electrifying, very confused. In our usual habitats we wouldnt look twice at each other, at least not kindly anyway. If I saw her in a pub Id peg her as a bit of a princess, and if she saw me looking at her shed probably think whats that derelict staring at? But were the only kindness each other have out here, and I can feel it just about to fuck up! Irish Ruth is here. An Ulster woman, tough and sassy, definitely not Honky Tonk [thank god!] Shes another swearing genius, and has this habit of fluttering her eyelids and rolling her eyes back when she talks to you, like shes channelling. Jasmine and I sucked dew off gum leaves. Its like the water here; the artesian basin gets all fucked up after the rain, break out in sores and cuts dont heal, hurts your stomach to drink it. My sediments have been stirred is all, Im sure Ill settle again. Prolonged conversation is helping. Shes flinty at the end of the day, too old and too young at the same time. Feeling grey and finding it hard to concentrate [writing this is an effort.] Mood swings. Sick of this fucking place and its petty dramas. Feely sorry for Travis, the way these women treat him, like a packhorse. He should just give the bitches the finger, but the kiddies yusee? Oldest trick in the book. Him and Steve both the same: Wild cards tamed by a good woman Probably figure theyre not going to do any better. Marital bliss to these boys is not being told to shut up. Silent with a bomb growing in their guts [A quick salute to Joe Orton right about here I think] Travis is showing the strain, little comments here and there, Saved by slavery mate! Clamp on the heart, hotwire to the brain, peg on the mouth and dick packed in dry ice. ohhahhh Pack the future in mothballs and bring it out for Christmas parties. Scream in hell, Ice lakes, cold sun, sound of a mower on a Sunday afternoon, living room ticking with stillness, the repeated motif of distant bird song. Beginning like bells underwater ends like after sex, Indonesia. Roll over, limbs light, white ceiling, nothing to do ohhahhh. Can smell it like cabbage, hear it like a baby crying. The groom in tune with the bride astride her pride. Pavlova palaver, Champagne migraine, a pebble in the confetti, possum specks in the salad, eyes heavy like lead filled tennis balls rolling over a hot summer lawn. Dreamt last night I burnt the kitchen down, right until I woke up. Staggered into the pre dawn thinking it might not be there. Dreamed as well about this guy I used to go to school with, Matthew Allan. I was looking through his stuff trying to find pictures of me. Ol Matty boy, wonder what hes up to? Something tragic no doubt, lazy intelligent fellow that he is. Handsome face made intriguing by scars from being in a fire as a toddler. Wonder if hes grown into them? Filled them with sufficient passion to render them charming. Last I heard he was working for the tax dept, but before that he had a job in a saucepan factory, the guy before him lost his fingers in the pressing machine. Imagine that! Standing in your kitchen looking at a pot thinking, I made the fuckin things now I cant even boil an egg! Handles of all kinds teasing like nipples under thin dresses. Walk past tobacconists and see ready rubbed and hand rolled and have to wipe the tears from your eyes with your wrist, same when you read ads for Bongo Workshops. Jasmines gone to Newman to see her mum, who also works in a road house. They sound like space stations: Auski, Capricorn, Sandfire, Pardoo. Ruth giving me the third degree, wheres Jasmine? Why didnt you go? Ive cut out spirits; I was just downing scotch like beer and then WHAM instant psycho and then pass out. Woke up one night talking to myself. After the relative sensuality of Jasmines company I now find the fireside routine unbearable. Wish she hadnt come in a lot of ways, Im like a mangy dog now shes gone, waiting for her to come back and fill my water bowl. Maybe turn thirty and split into two? Leave one of me here and take the other home, which is.? Was reading this afternoon and just stopped mid sentence and masturbated thinking about her. Its the spectre of sex thats polluting. Caught off guard she is beautiful. An earthiness beneath all that cocaine grandeur. Nineteen days! I should leave with just over five thousand dollars, sounds pathetic doesnt it? Skimpies in Kalgoorlie make three grand a week, I wish I had breasts. Donated pornography litters the floor, cant play music now, everyones asleep, snore patrol guarding the dead waters. Oh to tangle limbs and fall asleep with breath on my shoulder. Oh my god James Taylors just walked in! Hes tuning his acoustic! Well Ive seen fire and Ive seen rain/ Ive seen sunny days I thought would never end/ Ive had lonely times when I could not find a friend Thanks man I say, Now fuck off before someone sees you here! Feeling much better today. Jasmines still gone so the bitch squad have let down their hackles. Weathers really agreeable, apparently in summer it gets to 50+ [Fuck that!] Jackson has to be leaving soon;

hes due in Germany in seven days, unless of course hes making the whole thing up. Miggs son and his girlfriend are here for a visit, havent spoken to them yet, I wonder if Miggs will make a play for her? Havent heard from either Ingrid or Erin, saddens me a little, youd think theyd at least make the effort wouldnt you? Should be able to post this in the next day or so. The yellow sound of crickets. A television on in the background, the screams of the mutant children playing in the shanty yard. Ranges look warm and hazy, snappy gums glow white in the golden pre dusk Spinifex. Steves helicopter a heavily pregnant dragonfly going back to its nest. Colours darkening like toffee on the red earth. Underneath of Miggs caravan lit up, honeyed light fingering the tins and bottles and finding rubies there. Swirling cigarette smoke through which wattle like flowers peak and dip. Caravan park full of silent tombs. Im out of here August 28. Present her sex on a platter garnished with breathy words wont make a scrap of difference, lifes too short for maybes! Im thinking Mining site. Dont laugh! Good money and good conditions in the right spots. Going to apply with the big catering companies. Elle McPherson did an ad for the West Australian Tourist Commission. Her in a bikini draped over a rock in Weano Gorge. Elle: Behold the wonder of the Weano. James: Behold the wonder of my peano! [Camera crew busy themselves rearranging reflectors and protagonists repair to the trailer.] Elle: My god! You look French! [ Ms McPherson begins to remove her flimsy garb.] I am reminded of my first husband. James: Keep your leaves on willow tree, Ive got patties to cook. Elle: Mysterious creature! I shall name a lotion after you. Missed the mail run. Asked to leave the womens shower block. Woke up outside my donga 5am holding a hammer, must have had decorating plans. Turning thirty; so agitated, has history given me the hard sell? I mean its just another year isnt it? Not like Im going to sprout wings. But there is an atmosphere of bewildering ceremony about it. The goannas are back! Hibernation over, feed them wingdings their your mates all summer. Ruth gave Sara Jane some chocolate and she went ape shit, must be cocaine of the pig world. She likes jelly snakes too. Mozzies out in force, Jackson squirts fly spray direct to his skin. He reckons Ruths a Lying cunt. Reckons shes not Irish but from Liverpool because she says sweetie. Shes Northern Irish: I know the accent. Bizarre exchange we had earlier: Hey Ruth. Whats the score luv? Fuckin top night ay. The blue shirts run luv? [pause] Do they? Yeah luv. Beautiful night! Whats the spesh luv? Stir fry. I gonna have blue socks luv. Are you? They run luv. Figured later she was talking about a bet on the footy.

Jasmine and I have kissed, shaking I was. And she wants to come to Broome with me! Laughing now just thinking about it! Everythings gone fan tailed. She said the nicest thing, I love the way you think. Sitting on the patio outside the dongas with a hot wind blowing, summers coming. Wonder if one stamps going to be enough to send you this fucking log book! Tingles though that a fantasy has evolved into fact during its construction. Theres a flower up here that blooms green. Miggs has also muttered about a type of pine tree found in the hills thats kin elsewhere was finished off a century ago. Mutant children screaming in the background as usual, born premature, theyve got their own language, look in their identical eyes freezes your blood. Wish Travis wasnt under booze watch, love to crack a few with him, you can see hes done hard physical and emotion labour. Unseen cog in other peoples machine, teeth broken and spat out, back fucked, could break off just above the hips any minute the way he tells it. Annabelle speaks of the widows pension

like a light bulb that needs to be changed. Jasmine bought me back a copy of Rolling Stone refreshing to be able to flick through a mag and not play amateur gynaecologist. Sun sitting on the roof of the dongas, a retina burning pendant, the familiar surrounds pulling on the shirts of long shadows, the pendant tucks into the folds and the hills look misty, Earth a sleepy child at the end of the day. Sitting outside taking refuge from a strong cold wind in a weather screened corner. Its late, no idea what time, midnightish maybe, acutely aware of having to be quiet, can hear the snores and murmurings. The flying doctor came and took Miggs this morning, lungs fucked, JB leaving for Pt Hedland tomorrow so he can post this. Hope hes going to be OK, Miggs I mean, strange to walk past the fire tonight and see it fireless, maybe him and Jackson are secretly rendezvousing on an Island to love each other? Wonder if Jackson will cry? Wonder if hes ever cried? Jasmine things fucking me up, kissing and tender last night, today like it never happened, in a bay with hot and cold cross tides, confused to a point my atoms are talking Spanish, not so much heartbreak as hide and seek, which is obliquely heart breaking in itself, Im a floating man, cant wait to get out of here, where will the current lead? Fuck I cant wait to get out of here.