Reed: Why dont you come to canada! We could do a documentary!
Dewse: Yeah I can see it now..
..........................................................
The Lion's den - Writen by Juice
..........................................................
Narrator: Deep in the alpine forest lives a Lion,
Camera pans in on Reed sleeping deep in the alpine forest, butterfly circles his delicate whiskers then lands, his lip twitches then reed jumps to life growling furiously at the camera.
Reed: Growl... (In French as it has a sexy time essence...)
(note: grammy right here)
Then a young attractive lady named Bon Appétit, clad in nothing but forest leaves enters from the side of the screen, a wind blows up and the leaves rustle leaving a hint of fleshy goodness..
Bon Appétit: Oh Lion, you big.. and powerful creature you.. (Spoken in broken English with French accent)
.........................
"Cut!!" Reed shout's across the set, "Dewsey, it's supposed to be a movie about epic adventure where I can display my uncontained talent, not another sweet porno"..
"You do not like my director" (French accent for aesthetic reasoning) Dewsey shrugs across his directors chair with a complexed expression on his face..
What can he do to turn this movie.. It's brilliant, oh the shame to lose it here.
"It's not that, it's just I was hoping to get good money for my sterling ability as an actooor".. Brenton throws his fist from his chest and into the air.. eye's fixed on the lofty clouds above. (Very emotional)
"Hmmm" Dewsey muses, then thumbs thoughtfully at his luscious moustache.. "Yes Reeeeed, you are right! We need more drama and suspense. I have an idea" and he set's off to the directors van..
Three minutes later...
"Okay" he muster's, "take your places" winking at Bon Appétit, and licking his lips with seeming delight.
............................
"Action"..
Reed: Well thankyou Bon Appétit, I am a very powerful lion. And you..(The words linger in the air like the scent of a freshly plucked rose peddle) You are a beautiful lady with fair skin and wild hair.. Oh but not down there (His eye's glance down), I did see when the wind blow through"
Reed chisels a hansom thick jawed grin at her, Bon Appétit blushes and palms down the leaves shyly.
After the resent downfall of the "Teletubbies", a popular children's show on prime time television,Tinky Winky, a once famous actor became suddenly unemployed.. Longing to break into the world of movies and show his more masculine persona, he was ecstatic to hear a small new Canadian adventure film was interested in him for a role. He was later reported saying in a interview with Oprah: "I've watched Rambo a couple of times, It's probably my favourite movie at the moment. And you know what Oprah, one morning after a heavy night snorting eight balls off a cheap naked ladies chest, I looked into the mirror... I didn't see Tinky Winky anymore.. No I saw a new breed of Tinky Winky now, a stronger, a tougher and basically better freak man.. A quickly painted myself in blue and pink fluoro SP30+ zinc which I had lying around in the bathroom. A red hanky tied neatly around my head matched my blood shot eye's and I screamed into the mirror..Adrianne!!!!. Instantly I knew I had what it would take".
Tinky winke (Who is sporting a Flynn style pencil Moe) enters the screen from the left, large deadly sword drawn in his right fist.
Tinky Winky: This women is mine you see, you have no right taking her from me!
The sword waves dangerously in front of Reed..
Reed: Does this coward with a sword speak thy truth fair lady with the perkiest of breasts?
Bon Appétit: Unfortunately this is true strong lion, I was a present from his crew.
Reed: F*#K
Tinky Winky: Prepare to reach thy end oh dearest Lion fool..
Reed: You twat!, I have no use in fighting you, you are but weak and fleshy, an easy meal!
Tinky Winky: But I'th have thy sword laced in LSD... You sir.. Are no match for me!
Tinky Winky swings violently at reed's head narrowly missing his handsomely huge square jaw and jams the blade hard against the tree..Bon Appétit gulps loudly, Reed moves with hast, licking the flat of the blade profusely.. then, with precision gives Tinky Winky a round house kick to the face, Knocking him, and his dangerously sharp sword to the ground..
Reed: Hahahahahahaha (The laugh grumbles from deep inside his belly) Quiet contrair dear good sir you are but... no match for me!
Reed then turn's to face Bon Appétit..
Reed: Dearest gentle women, who has'th come to thy for reason I do believe.. May I fondle thy sweet breast..
Bon Appétit's eye's widen in shock.. she points timidly with her finger..
Bon Appétit: Heee...Heee... Has thy gun good Lion
Reed turns..
Reed: Oh F*#K!
Tinky Winky: You don't think it would'th been thy easy do you?
Reed: Well for a second there.. I did!
Tinky Winky: Hahahaha
Then out of no-where, well no not no-where, Out of the pond close-by, leaps a HUGE Great White Shark.... And on it's back, covered in nothing more then a flimsy pink bikini rides Johnston! The Shark loops forward through the air doing an impressive full revolution, then comes down on Tinky Winky head first and in one swift bite, swollows him whole!
Johnston: Gooday'th guys
Reed: Hahahah
Bon Appétit: Hahaha
Johnston: Hahahah
Narrator: And they lived happily ever after..
..............................
The curtain's close and the crowd cheers wildly, reverbarating thoughout the great hall... "It's a master piece" they shout, "Pure genius" another is heard.
.............................
And thats that..
Dewse
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Salmon Shack - Indecent dealings
It was an uncomfortable deranged kind of scene which had a foul odour that lingered long after the joke tasted sour. Down near the beach perched precariously amongst a tall stand of peppermints stood an old decrepit shack, red orca in colour and dilapidated by sight.. Some old broken cars which were parked out front had hidden the windows, and the untamed tree’s blocked out the rest. The door, a broken flywire and lockless gig was located at the side of the house, under a rusty, dainty, two column carport which ever threatened to fall away.. We would hang off the perlin’s to test its strength “This isn’t too bad” I would protest in its defence, “could lift a motor off’a here”, pointing to the centre truss as if to direct the nearest fool to set up a block and tackle in anticipation. Inside there was always a bunch of seedy degenerate drunken types, tattoos, big dreams, swollen heads and little, if any, motivation. They sat up against the wretched free couches which when you sat against the armrest it would stick to your skin like a strong napalm concoction, locking you in for a hell of a ride, we joked amongst ourselves when the girls weren’t present. Who cared we all thought, and we didn’t. We didn’t care for much really except for just maybe, cheap booze and that distinguished unforgettable stench of even cheaper women. It was always like this. “Welcome to the Salmon Shack” I would cheerfully announce through my wine stained teeth, “I hope you enjoy your stay, I know we will” concluding, as if by suggesting a more sinister outcome. I knew this was the Salmon Shack, everyone did. It was written on the back of an old beer carton box and hung loosely across the door. Salmon Hunters!!
Sunday mornings were useless as long as I could care to remember, and today wasn’t any different. I woke with that instant intangible feeling my head was still bouncing to the beat to the music from the night before, long after it had been switched off.. Swiftly and accurately, as if practised many times before, I reached over grudgingly hoping to scoff another handful of pills. The packet of painkillers was empty, just my f*$king luck I thought. Under the bed I rattled through some empty beer bottles from weeks before, clashing and clanging amongst each other infuriating my lousy head until eventually I found what I was looking for, an old green tinged plastic water container full of stale content. It did little for the pain as I brought it firmly against my lips chugging its tasteless fluid. Large drops spilled down across my chest, caught first by last nights stained white button up shirt which I still wore, then dripped carelessly down onto my uncovered mattress. I gasped for some air and then fell back, head against my yellow marked pillow and lonely double bed. I felt weaker now and fell back into another shallow sleep.
It took some time before things came to life but by midday our festivities were in full swing, the hustle of woken disgruntle drunkards carrying on about some fight and strong fists. I could hear the sound of unfamiliar voices calling down the short corridor which wasn't all that unusual, and I shrugged it off as if to get another minute or two of rest. I remember one time when I was drunk and alone on a dark and cold night, casually stumbling home from the Pub I approached the top corner of the street. In the darkness of the night I made out four figures huddled against each other, sitting on the kerb and I greeted them in a chirpy voice which broke the sullen silence. I never thought it be a good idea to ignore someone in the dead of the night, especially when you’re alone. Nothing worse then fearfully looking over your shoulder suspiciously as you had rudely walked on past, not knowing if they had a clenched fist or something worse, prepping to let go of some twisted fear and dreaded anger, cracking on the back of your weak skull for no good reason.. No I’d prefer to know what I’m dealing with even if it’s a crazed goon coming at you full of drink and compounded hate. Anyway tonight was much different, it was three girls and a boy.. Young, I presumed by there story but couldn’t quite make them out in the darkness. “We were getting drunk on the beach, when we were robbed by some guys with a car”. I laughed. They went on telling me about how they couldn’t go home, an intricate lie meant the parent’s house was closed. “Come back” I said, “You can stay at mine for the night”. A little scared I noticed they hesitantly but took up my offer and followed me down the hill then up the steep drive and under the terribly gloomy peppermints. “Don’t worry I’m not a freak” I reassured, but it just made the feeling worse. They stopped in the dark and whispered amongst themselves. I heard one say.. “Should we really be doing this”. Unfortunately I knew they didn’t have much choice and a few moments later they followed me to the door. They came in across the dirty stained brown carpet and sat in the filthy sticky couches. “It’s not much” I assured as I searched though some scattered disc’s which were lying on the floor, “but its better then sleeping on the beach hey”, “Would you guys like a drink”, I put a inappropriate Guttermouth track into the cheap DVD player, then went over to the fridge, stepping through the puddle in the kitchen were it had leaked and pulled out some beer. “No thanks” the boy whispered cowardly, as if answering for them all. “Suit yourself, but there in the fridge if you change your mind” and I opened one, drew hard at the cold firm glass lip then turned back to face them. At first they said little, but soon warmed to me and one of the girls showed some interest in the music. “Do you mind if I change the CD”, “Yeah sure I have some more in the room” And came back with a bag. She was sitting on the floor sieving through the ones already in the room. We got talking, and I drunk some more, and then some more until a tidy stack of bottles were lying on the floor, my eye’s were blurred and I started on some evangelical speech about drink. “You guys shouldn’t be drinking” I enforced loudly with my hazy drunken voice, “How old are you guys anyway?”.. I slurred my way through some serious parenting and bad speech. They nodded in agreement but didn’t say much, they were frozen in bewilderment as some sad delusional degenerate stood up on an old broken soap box dictating some unlearnt message. And I looked back at them, makeup ran down from there scared little faces and they crossed there legs tightly covering up thin cotton underwear which showed beneath short lousy Supre skirts. It turned out they were only fourteen, and I went to bed, grumbling something about wasted booze..
Finally the noise became too much and got out of bed wearily, Craig was resting on the futon at the other end of my room. “Hey man,” and I walked out towards the toilet. It was a small shack and from the hall I could see right into the lounge. Some naked female was busily looking around for her clothes. A sleeping bag pulled up and hung across her beasts. The Parasite was sleeping on the pull out bed beside her, I came out of the toilet without washing my hands, “You should probably see a doctor” I helpfully interjected, and smiled a rotten toothy smile. Twon sniggered from in the kitchen. She was still looking for her underwear with a pained and twisted expression. She hinted a weak smile, a kindly jest. I knew she wouldn’t find her clothes and we’d all sit around and enjoy her feeble efforts. It was The Parasites little game. I taunted her with some more helpful innuendo’s, no time to waste with pleasantries and idol conversation. This girl knew the score when she opted to take a “walk” with The Parasite, and hell, anyway she’d be leaving soon enough. Sometimes they would handed me a number on a scrunched piece of paper to pass on to the Parasite who pretended to be asleep. Other times they just left.
The parasite laughed as he reminisced about the night before. “Oh man, I rooted some fat salmon in the disabled toilets last night! I asked her for a root and she said she would f*^k me for a drink. It cost me a Jacks and coke, what a slut!!..” His voice in a flurry of excitement, “So then I cracked onto the chick behind the counter” Pointing to the now empty space on the couch which was occupied only minutes before.. “Ohhh.. wow.. hoof.., And man did you do a job on her this morning, did you hear her saying that s&%t about me being the joke, all discussed and defensive like she was playing me, And you told her to go see a doctor because you were pretty sure she just got infected with the clap. Ho, f*%k, I was stuffing my face into the pillow trying not to laugh!, Ha, lets head down the beach and go look for some chicks”.. Then he drew a deep breathe, leaping out on the bed naked. The Parasite was full of energy, thin framed, muscular, blonde hair, blue eyes and one serious weapon against the opposite sex.
He is THE Salmon Hunter.
Quite soon we heard the tireless grumble of a V8 coming up the drive. "Oh wait until Daisy hears about this!” he exclaimed all excited, and crashed through the flimsy door. He’d now had a moment to perfect his story, and he was going to lay it on thick. Daisy knew this, as it was the purpose of his early morning visits. Usually he would bound in through the door looking for some remnants of last night’s activities. He was always excitable and energetic in the morning, impatiently waiting for tales of indecent self indulgence and depravity. He was just about to get married, and would joke about living through our eyes. He was the sensible one and he never hung around the shack long.
Later in the afternoon after a tasty feed of indo-me noodles we shambled down the road off towards the beach. Luxury homes loomed up hard against the verge longing for attention from its foreign owners. The foot ball flu wildly through the air bouncing off one of the windows with a terribly loud crack then came hurtling back into the street, and with another quick fumble, it careered off again further down the street hitting a letter box this time flicking up sand everywhere as it came crashing against the road. Bourbon always tasted sweet on a Sunday, I thought to myself. The beach was pretty empty, even for a nice warm summer day and we splashed in the water and threw the ball around waiting for some activity, Parasite, a keen watchman made sure we wouldn’t miss a beat. We didn’t wait long before three slim fit looking girls came along and set up there long colourful beach towels just a couple of hundred metres from where we stood. “Oh it’s on” Parasite blurted “Go long” just like in the movie he ran out over the water off towards to where they sat. I hitched a huge kick and let it loose through the warm stagnate air.. It was a perfect well practised drop punt which landed dead centre amongst them and Parasite was already within a few metres. He quickly started a conversation and I wondered what he always said in times like these, because what ever it was it worked like a charm. It was stupid actually, I remember one time after a few weeks of steroid’s he once walked up to a girl and asked “Who’s muscles are bigger”, a bigot pretender, they blushed bright red and made some move to test it with there hands grabbing at his biceps. These girls had warm radiant skin which drew from the crisp white beach sand, with flimsy coverings of cloth concealed the spoils of our fascination. They smiled at us as we approached and one moved to take off her tight denim short shorts revealing a small delicate pair of red bikinis. I gasped, kinda loudly “Don’t worry about him, he hasn’t had sex in a while” Parasite shot off, and now it was my turn to blush. They invited us to sit down with them and I offered up a drink. Accepting willingly I passed a popular cheap vodka mix, one which none of us drunk but had brought in sly anticipation. They giggled as they took the drink from my hand, we smiled and the sun warming our backs.. “We have some more drinks back at the shack” Parasite later announced when the esky ran dry, “we’ll play some drinking games?”..
2006...
Sunday mornings were useless as long as I could care to remember, and today wasn’t any different. I woke with that instant intangible feeling my head was still bouncing to the beat to the music from the night before, long after it had been switched off.. Swiftly and accurately, as if practised many times before, I reached over grudgingly hoping to scoff another handful of pills. The packet of painkillers was empty, just my f*$king luck I thought. Under the bed I rattled through some empty beer bottles from weeks before, clashing and clanging amongst each other infuriating my lousy head until eventually I found what I was looking for, an old green tinged plastic water container full of stale content. It did little for the pain as I brought it firmly against my lips chugging its tasteless fluid. Large drops spilled down across my chest, caught first by last nights stained white button up shirt which I still wore, then dripped carelessly down onto my uncovered mattress. I gasped for some air and then fell back, head against my yellow marked pillow and lonely double bed. I felt weaker now and fell back into another shallow sleep.
It took some time before things came to life but by midday our festivities were in full swing, the hustle of woken disgruntle drunkards carrying on about some fight and strong fists. I could hear the sound of unfamiliar voices calling down the short corridor which wasn't all that unusual, and I shrugged it off as if to get another minute or two of rest. I remember one time when I was drunk and alone on a dark and cold night, casually stumbling home from the Pub I approached the top corner of the street. In the darkness of the night I made out four figures huddled against each other, sitting on the kerb and I greeted them in a chirpy voice which broke the sullen silence. I never thought it be a good idea to ignore someone in the dead of the night, especially when you’re alone. Nothing worse then fearfully looking over your shoulder suspiciously as you had rudely walked on past, not knowing if they had a clenched fist or something worse, prepping to let go of some twisted fear and dreaded anger, cracking on the back of your weak skull for no good reason.. No I’d prefer to know what I’m dealing with even if it’s a crazed goon coming at you full of drink and compounded hate. Anyway tonight was much different, it was three girls and a boy.. Young, I presumed by there story but couldn’t quite make them out in the darkness. “We were getting drunk on the beach, when we were robbed by some guys with a car”. I laughed. They went on telling me about how they couldn’t go home, an intricate lie meant the parent’s house was closed. “Come back” I said, “You can stay at mine for the night”. A little scared I noticed they hesitantly but took up my offer and followed me down the hill then up the steep drive and under the terribly gloomy peppermints. “Don’t worry I’m not a freak” I reassured, but it just made the feeling worse. They stopped in the dark and whispered amongst themselves. I heard one say.. “Should we really be doing this”. Unfortunately I knew they didn’t have much choice and a few moments later they followed me to the door. They came in across the dirty stained brown carpet and sat in the filthy sticky couches. “It’s not much” I assured as I searched though some scattered disc’s which were lying on the floor, “but its better then sleeping on the beach hey”, “Would you guys like a drink”, I put a inappropriate Guttermouth track into the cheap DVD player, then went over to the fridge, stepping through the puddle in the kitchen were it had leaked and pulled out some beer. “No thanks” the boy whispered cowardly, as if answering for them all. “Suit yourself, but there in the fridge if you change your mind” and I opened one, drew hard at the cold firm glass lip then turned back to face them. At first they said little, but soon warmed to me and one of the girls showed some interest in the music. “Do you mind if I change the CD”, “Yeah sure I have some more in the room” And came back with a bag. She was sitting on the floor sieving through the ones already in the room. We got talking, and I drunk some more, and then some more until a tidy stack of bottles were lying on the floor, my eye’s were blurred and I started on some evangelical speech about drink. “You guys shouldn’t be drinking” I enforced loudly with my hazy drunken voice, “How old are you guys anyway?”.. I slurred my way through some serious parenting and bad speech. They nodded in agreement but didn’t say much, they were frozen in bewilderment as some sad delusional degenerate stood up on an old broken soap box dictating some unlearnt message. And I looked back at them, makeup ran down from there scared little faces and they crossed there legs tightly covering up thin cotton underwear which showed beneath short lousy Supre skirts. It turned out they were only fourteen, and I went to bed, grumbling something about wasted booze..
Finally the noise became too much and got out of bed wearily, Craig was resting on the futon at the other end of my room. “Hey man,” and I walked out towards the toilet. It was a small shack and from the hall I could see right into the lounge. Some naked female was busily looking around for her clothes. A sleeping bag pulled up and hung across her beasts. The Parasite was sleeping on the pull out bed beside her, I came out of the toilet without washing my hands, “You should probably see a doctor” I helpfully interjected, and smiled a rotten toothy smile. Twon sniggered from in the kitchen. She was still looking for her underwear with a pained and twisted expression. She hinted a weak smile, a kindly jest. I knew she wouldn’t find her clothes and we’d all sit around and enjoy her feeble efforts. It was The Parasites little game. I taunted her with some more helpful innuendo’s, no time to waste with pleasantries and idol conversation. This girl knew the score when she opted to take a “walk” with The Parasite, and hell, anyway she’d be leaving soon enough. Sometimes they would handed me a number on a scrunched piece of paper to pass on to the Parasite who pretended to be asleep. Other times they just left.
The parasite laughed as he reminisced about the night before. “Oh man, I rooted some fat salmon in the disabled toilets last night! I asked her for a root and she said she would f*^k me for a drink. It cost me a Jacks and coke, what a slut!!..” His voice in a flurry of excitement, “So then I cracked onto the chick behind the counter” Pointing to the now empty space on the couch which was occupied only minutes before.. “Ohhh.. wow.. hoof.., And man did you do a job on her this morning, did you hear her saying that s&%t about me being the joke, all discussed and defensive like she was playing me, And you told her to go see a doctor because you were pretty sure she just got infected with the clap. Ho, f*%k, I was stuffing my face into the pillow trying not to laugh!, Ha, lets head down the beach and go look for some chicks”.. Then he drew a deep breathe, leaping out on the bed naked. The Parasite was full of energy, thin framed, muscular, blonde hair, blue eyes and one serious weapon against the opposite sex.
He is THE Salmon Hunter.
Quite soon we heard the tireless grumble of a V8 coming up the drive. "Oh wait until Daisy hears about this!” he exclaimed all excited, and crashed through the flimsy door. He’d now had a moment to perfect his story, and he was going to lay it on thick. Daisy knew this, as it was the purpose of his early morning visits. Usually he would bound in through the door looking for some remnants of last night’s activities. He was always excitable and energetic in the morning, impatiently waiting for tales of indecent self indulgence and depravity. He was just about to get married, and would joke about living through our eyes. He was the sensible one and he never hung around the shack long.
Later in the afternoon after a tasty feed of indo-me noodles we shambled down the road off towards the beach. Luxury homes loomed up hard against the verge longing for attention from its foreign owners. The foot ball flu wildly through the air bouncing off one of the windows with a terribly loud crack then came hurtling back into the street, and with another quick fumble, it careered off again further down the street hitting a letter box this time flicking up sand everywhere as it came crashing against the road. Bourbon always tasted sweet on a Sunday, I thought to myself. The beach was pretty empty, even for a nice warm summer day and we splashed in the water and threw the ball around waiting for some activity, Parasite, a keen watchman made sure we wouldn’t miss a beat. We didn’t wait long before three slim fit looking girls came along and set up there long colourful beach towels just a couple of hundred metres from where we stood. “Oh it’s on” Parasite blurted “Go long” just like in the movie he ran out over the water off towards to where they sat. I hitched a huge kick and let it loose through the warm stagnate air.. It was a perfect well practised drop punt which landed dead centre amongst them and Parasite was already within a few metres. He quickly started a conversation and I wondered what he always said in times like these, because what ever it was it worked like a charm. It was stupid actually, I remember one time after a few weeks of steroid’s he once walked up to a girl and asked “Who’s muscles are bigger”, a bigot pretender, they blushed bright red and made some move to test it with there hands grabbing at his biceps. These girls had warm radiant skin which drew from the crisp white beach sand, with flimsy coverings of cloth concealed the spoils of our fascination. They smiled at us as we approached and one moved to take off her tight denim short shorts revealing a small delicate pair of red bikinis. I gasped, kinda loudly “Don’t worry about him, he hasn’t had sex in a while” Parasite shot off, and now it was my turn to blush. They invited us to sit down with them and I offered up a drink. Accepting willingly I passed a popular cheap vodka mix, one which none of us drunk but had brought in sly anticipation. They giggled as they took the drink from my hand, we smiled and the sun warming our backs.. “We have some more drinks back at the shack” Parasite later announced when the esky ran dry, “we’ll play some drinking games?”..
2006...
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
A rough scetching
... a world full of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn't really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deodorants and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of 'em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures... Jack Karouac
Eye’s watering, lungs stinging, legs burning. My well greased “Mutiny Burlish” bmx careered down a ridiculously steep Hume road.. An easy 80 clicks I’ll assume - by the way the front wheel wobbled stupidly – reverberating through to my firm grip. I focused laboriously on the traffic lights at the bottom of the hill – praying for a safe passage. With hast I glanced over my shoulder checking for the traffic coming up behind.. A big Toyota 4WD dashing down the hill close behind.. But I’m pulling away effortlessly, putting distance between me and this concoction of death and ignorant one man mediocrity – the hill keeps descending. I focus again on the goal.. a crash at this speed – nothing other then a loose worn pair of boardies, a singlet and a set of clean Dunlop volleys – would have me grinding bone against bitumen.. Fleshy skin folding back like a knife to warmed butter. I bow my head down so my teeth almost bight the cold stiff metal handle bar, with my arse millimeters off the open rear wheel which is spinning ferociously – as to expelling some drag, lightening speed….
It’s a balmy afternoon - here in Scarborough - a coastal suburb north of Perth. The sun hovers somewhere on the horizon, just a lazy slack burning light illuminating my path down this reckless atavistic bum slid.. No brakes.. Sweat cools against my skin as the air bursts across my flush face.. I’m scared. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.. That flooded river in the bows of Tasmania maybe– too deep to cross – too strong to attempt – just waiting, praying, my only path of refuge lay seventy odd kilometres south. Seventy kilometres of leech infested waist deep mud, rain, mountains, rivers and dense overgrown shrub. Cut from the world I know and love, left here to ponder - the stone cold soberness of reality grabbing sharply at any loose nerve ending. “I could die here” I though as I watched the tannin coloured river pace forcefully through the brush and trees on the flooded banks. I had woken startled in the middle of the night as some rat like creature clawing at my arm, seeking refuge from the hellish cold and wind. I ignored it at first, the pain in my leg muscles being my primary focus, but then as it moved closer around my face I gave it a gentle shove.. “Get me the f*&k out of here”, waking dad from his drowsy slumber. He had few words, sour and twisted.. He grumbled some then rolled over and unzipped the tent, stepped out into the darkness. “You got to be kidding me, come check this out”. By this stage I was wide awake, barely sleeping to begin with, as the pain of torn muscle worked feverishly to repair itself on an insufficient diet of dried food. I folded out of the layers of warmth.. my thermal liner and duck down bag – searched around in the darkness for my head light which floating up around my makeshift blow-up pillow. Finally I found it in the darkness and switched it on – stepping out of the tent. Instantly I felt the freeze between my toes and as I looked around I become somewhat dumbfounded.. Everything was covered with over an inch of icy hail.. It was thick, like nothing I’d seen before. I hurried myself out of the cold and into the tent now, huddling into the warmth of my sleeping bag. A wave of depression rushed over me, and I listened intently to the mad rush of water 20 odd metres over.. Was there any hint of slowing, would we be able to cross tomorrow?
I slammed my foot between the tire and the seat stay.. at first the tire just burned across my sole until it jammed hard enough to lock the rear up.. The back end skidded wildly over the road, clinging to the bars defying I summoned the front to stay in line. I was close to the bottom of the hill when it all went wrong. The lights had changed and I could see a long line of traffic now rushing forward.. I was out of control and had few choices.. I guided the bike towards the curb – now worried this sudden change in speed would have me dead with the force of two tonne all metal madness rushing me down flat. I hit the soft curbed and ejected myself over the bars, taking a short dive into the grassy verge. The bike toppled over and came to rest nearby. My nerves went full steam into electrifying chaos… I lay there momentarily gripping myself from the inside.
That morning I woke restlessly, looking at the roof of the small tent.. Some leeches moved slowly across the fly working relentlessly trying to find the quickest path to my blood. I flicked at them, sending them off in another direction.. I shook the bag off myself quickly, and rushed through the zipper.. I hoppled swiftly to the banks of the river.. I had read in some guide book that flooded river’s recede quickly.. But not this cold and icy morning. The river was now higher then the night beforehand. Another wave of depression hit… the pure isolation left me shaking. Such a desolate place, so venerable and lonely.. Dad and I chatted a little but it was too somber to carry on. I wasn’t hungry and neither was Dad so we huddled back into the tent and waited.. The day was long, cramped and cold. I turned intermittently when my back ached too much, or my hip got sore through the thin thermal mattress. The whole time, flushes of stress gripped at me as the realization came that I was stuck.. There was no way back and no way forward.. I was forced to be still, to meditate. By chance, I was reading at the time the philosophy novel “The Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”.. kindly lent to me by Alex, one of the intrepid two from earlier adventures. Maybe it was fate.. Page 286 – “Some people are true master’s of stuckness”.. I got up and walked around camp a bit, trying to stretch my tired legs and meditated on those few words. I had left in such a rush – and I knew I had left something behind. A piece of puzzle that was hidden under the couch.. like that silly game I would play on my brother when I was younger.. I’d hide a piece so that I knew I could finish the jigsaw puzzle at the end. But this time I hadn’t, not sure why, but I knew I hadn’t and now I was firmly stuck. Stuck in this rut of life I had built around me and stuck next to this stupid f%$king river. It seemed so clear now, not then.. I needed to go home, back to WA, tally ho! But first, this creek!
I collected myself from the gutter and hopped back on the bike.. All nerves now as I peddled off up the hill on the other side. The intrepid two were having a BBQ and I was going to drop the book off and have a few quite ales. Back at the river Dad and I woke for the second morning. Our hopes were high that the river would have settled. We had observed the day before that it was receding slowly, and it hadn’t rained too hard during the night. At first sight it didn’t look like it was any lower, but as I peered into the water I could just make out the bottom.. Not what I had hoped for but it would have to do. We rushed to pack the rucksack’s again – dad talked about technique which left me concerned.. His mind seems to be deteriorating in his older years and I tried explaining that he should keep his weight high and lean against the sticks, but he was adamant. “face the flow and lean into the current”. He was scared, as was I.. But the adrenaline had taken over his rational. As we approached the water I suggested we get in high as it wasn’t flowing so hard, but Dad in his crazy fueled flurry dropped straight off the bank directly into the fury of the rapid – following quickly with few words I grabbed at his pack… He went ridged, all stiff without words, eyes fixated against the opposing bank – as white as a ghost. He couldn’t move and the water soon started to overpower his stance, slowly sliding him across the slimy stone underfoot. I wrenched him back from the strap of his pack and he lost his balance, then forward as I used my extra weight to move to the safer, shallower water. Dragging him and his heavy pack all the way.. “I told you to get into the section which wasn’t so fast moving” I angrily reaffirmed – totally terrified – then marched off into the shrub leaving him to contemplate. I wasn’t going to leave him here like this – icy cold desolate river.. I needed him.
It was only Day 6…
(Sorry guys I haven't been posting or commenting.. I've been drunk and having way to much fun. Anyway I hope you haven't given up on me yet. Talk soon)
Eye’s watering, lungs stinging, legs burning. My well greased “Mutiny Burlish” bmx careered down a ridiculously steep Hume road.. An easy 80 clicks I’ll assume - by the way the front wheel wobbled stupidly – reverberating through to my firm grip. I focused laboriously on the traffic lights at the bottom of the hill – praying for a safe passage. With hast I glanced over my shoulder checking for the traffic coming up behind.. A big Toyota 4WD dashing down the hill close behind.. But I’m pulling away effortlessly, putting distance between me and this concoction of death and ignorant one man mediocrity – the hill keeps descending. I focus again on the goal.. a crash at this speed – nothing other then a loose worn pair of boardies, a singlet and a set of clean Dunlop volleys – would have me grinding bone against bitumen.. Fleshy skin folding back like a knife to warmed butter. I bow my head down so my teeth almost bight the cold stiff metal handle bar, with my arse millimeters off the open rear wheel which is spinning ferociously – as to expelling some drag, lightening speed….
It’s a balmy afternoon - here in Scarborough - a coastal suburb north of Perth. The sun hovers somewhere on the horizon, just a lazy slack burning light illuminating my path down this reckless atavistic bum slid.. No brakes.. Sweat cools against my skin as the air bursts across my flush face.. I’m scared. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.. That flooded river in the bows of Tasmania maybe– too deep to cross – too strong to attempt – just waiting, praying, my only path of refuge lay seventy odd kilometres south. Seventy kilometres of leech infested waist deep mud, rain, mountains, rivers and dense overgrown shrub. Cut from the world I know and love, left here to ponder - the stone cold soberness of reality grabbing sharply at any loose nerve ending. “I could die here” I though as I watched the tannin coloured river pace forcefully through the brush and trees on the flooded banks. I had woken startled in the middle of the night as some rat like creature clawing at my arm, seeking refuge from the hellish cold and wind. I ignored it at first, the pain in my leg muscles being my primary focus, but then as it moved closer around my face I gave it a gentle shove.. “Get me the f*&k out of here”, waking dad from his drowsy slumber. He had few words, sour and twisted.. He grumbled some then rolled over and unzipped the tent, stepped out into the darkness. “You got to be kidding me, come check this out”. By this stage I was wide awake, barely sleeping to begin with, as the pain of torn muscle worked feverishly to repair itself on an insufficient diet of dried food. I folded out of the layers of warmth.. my thermal liner and duck down bag – searched around in the darkness for my head light which floating up around my makeshift blow-up pillow. Finally I found it in the darkness and switched it on – stepping out of the tent. Instantly I felt the freeze between my toes and as I looked around I become somewhat dumbfounded.. Everything was covered with over an inch of icy hail.. It was thick, like nothing I’d seen before. I hurried myself out of the cold and into the tent now, huddling into the warmth of my sleeping bag. A wave of depression rushed over me, and I listened intently to the mad rush of water 20 odd metres over.. Was there any hint of slowing, would we be able to cross tomorrow?
I slammed my foot between the tire and the seat stay.. at first the tire just burned across my sole until it jammed hard enough to lock the rear up.. The back end skidded wildly over the road, clinging to the bars defying I summoned the front to stay in line. I was close to the bottom of the hill when it all went wrong. The lights had changed and I could see a long line of traffic now rushing forward.. I was out of control and had few choices.. I guided the bike towards the curb – now worried this sudden change in speed would have me dead with the force of two tonne all metal madness rushing me down flat. I hit the soft curbed and ejected myself over the bars, taking a short dive into the grassy verge. The bike toppled over and came to rest nearby. My nerves went full steam into electrifying chaos… I lay there momentarily gripping myself from the inside.
That morning I woke restlessly, looking at the roof of the small tent.. Some leeches moved slowly across the fly working relentlessly trying to find the quickest path to my blood. I flicked at them, sending them off in another direction.. I shook the bag off myself quickly, and rushed through the zipper.. I hoppled swiftly to the banks of the river.. I had read in some guide book that flooded river’s recede quickly.. But not this cold and icy morning. The river was now higher then the night beforehand. Another wave of depression hit… the pure isolation left me shaking. Such a desolate place, so venerable and lonely.. Dad and I chatted a little but it was too somber to carry on. I wasn’t hungry and neither was Dad so we huddled back into the tent and waited.. The day was long, cramped and cold. I turned intermittently when my back ached too much, or my hip got sore through the thin thermal mattress. The whole time, flushes of stress gripped at me as the realization came that I was stuck.. There was no way back and no way forward.. I was forced to be still, to meditate. By chance, I was reading at the time the philosophy novel “The Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”.. kindly lent to me by Alex, one of the intrepid two from earlier adventures. Maybe it was fate.. Page 286 – “Some people are true master’s of stuckness”.. I got up and walked around camp a bit, trying to stretch my tired legs and meditated on those few words. I had left in such a rush – and I knew I had left something behind. A piece of puzzle that was hidden under the couch.. like that silly game I would play on my brother when I was younger.. I’d hide a piece so that I knew I could finish the jigsaw puzzle at the end. But this time I hadn’t, not sure why, but I knew I hadn’t and now I was firmly stuck. Stuck in this rut of life I had built around me and stuck next to this stupid f%$king river. It seemed so clear now, not then.. I needed to go home, back to WA, tally ho! But first, this creek!
I collected myself from the gutter and hopped back on the bike.. All nerves now as I peddled off up the hill on the other side. The intrepid two were having a BBQ and I was going to drop the book off and have a few quite ales. Back at the river Dad and I woke for the second morning. Our hopes were high that the river would have settled. We had observed the day before that it was receding slowly, and it hadn’t rained too hard during the night. At first sight it didn’t look like it was any lower, but as I peered into the water I could just make out the bottom.. Not what I had hoped for but it would have to do. We rushed to pack the rucksack’s again – dad talked about technique which left me concerned.. His mind seems to be deteriorating in his older years and I tried explaining that he should keep his weight high and lean against the sticks, but he was adamant. “face the flow and lean into the current”. He was scared, as was I.. But the adrenaline had taken over his rational. As we approached the water I suggested we get in high as it wasn’t flowing so hard, but Dad in his crazy fueled flurry dropped straight off the bank directly into the fury of the rapid – following quickly with few words I grabbed at his pack… He went ridged, all stiff without words, eyes fixated against the opposing bank – as white as a ghost. He couldn’t move and the water soon started to overpower his stance, slowly sliding him across the slimy stone underfoot. I wrenched him back from the strap of his pack and he lost his balance, then forward as I used my extra weight to move to the safer, shallower water. Dragging him and his heavy pack all the way.. “I told you to get into the section which wasn’t so fast moving” I angrily reaffirmed – totally terrified – then marched off into the shrub leaving him to contemplate. I wasn’t going to leave him here like this – icy cold desolate river.. I needed him.
It was only Day 6…
(Sorry guys I haven't been posting or commenting.. I've been drunk and having way to much fun. Anyway I hope you haven't given up on me yet. Talk soon)
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