362 Rescue

Last Wed nite a guy got bashed in the street outside our house. I woke up to the sound of grunts and smacks and indiscernible cries. At first I thought it was the local trippers sparring again at 3am, but no. This was brutal. The cage fighting event I’d recently attended paled in comparison to what I saw unfold under the street lights that nite. It still  makes me feel sick to think about it.

My flatmate FJ knew all about  it too. His room was closer to the action then mine.  I was still half asleep and too stunned by the intensity of the violence to make a move, but FJ had the sense to get our front door open and start talking to the attacker. I couldnt quite hear what he said from my balcony, but it startled the perp enough to send him on his way after emptying the victims wallet.

Taking my cue, I fly downstairs and out into the street shouting to FJ to call the cops and an ambulance. I didnt really know what to expect when I knelt down next to the poor guy. He was very still.  His face was a pulp. His bare chest was already starting to show bruises. I cover him with a blanket and start talking to him. He resumes some degree of consciousness. He tells me his name and that he is from Barcelona.

Soon enough there are a few people milling about including my old school mate and neighbour Scottie. He lives 5 doors down. He kinda strolled up casually dressed like he’d just been shopping. I ask him if he heard the commotion and he said that he couldnt sleep and was ironing his shirts (?!). Scottie is training to be a paramedic so he took over first aid until the ambos eventually turned up.

In the meantime, the cops arrive in one of their riot trucks. Not sure what FJ told them on the phone, but they came prepared. They start taking statements when someone shoots one of those uber cool but highly illegal mega green laser beams down the sidewalk from a couple of hundred meters away. Then then cops get a call on their radio that a group of kids are igniting cars using flamethrowers along the same street that we live on. It takes them a little while to make the  link between what we have told them already and this latest development. They take off in their truck.

When the ambos arrive, Scottie gives them the full brief. No stab wounds thankfully, but our friend from Barcelona is not in a good way. He gets taken away to emergency quietly but quickly.

Afterwards we all stand around for a while in our dressing gowns and boxers. Except Scottie who is as cool as the proverbial cucumber in his jeans and Drop Kick Murphys tshirt. Seems like noone really wants to go home after that ordeal. Another neighbour takes the opportunity to introduce himself  “Hey guys, seen you round, I’m ***. Nice to meet you.”  We exchange war stories about what we’d seen and felt that gruesome hour. It was full on. Eventually we all part ways, but I doubt anyone got much shut eye. Maybe we should have cracked open a beer.

To the Max

Ha! It appears that I almost certainly jinxed myself for a few rocky months after my last post. What with my lofty proclaimations of inner peace and eternal serenity, who could have predicted Ol Fortuna’s bumpy downward spin and my subsequent stress levels peaking out in downtown Saigon?
But I digress. I just want to limber up my digits and get writing again. It is a rusty cog indeed that turns within at this hour but I felt the urge to share my latest greatest excitement… 

1. Mad Max IV is in production.

2. It is being filmed across the road from my house.

Hark! I hear the Grand wheel turning again. And I find myself in exactly the right place at the right time…

ashram

i spent last weekend at a yoga retreat. not one of your fancy massage-and-facial-after-breakfast type spa retreats. the real thing. Ashram.

this word, Ashram, has struck a chord deep within me ever since i attended a techno party of the same name at the then Les Girls in the late 90’s. boy oh boy, that party was a thumper. whilst back then i didnt really know what the word meant and only kinda gathered by the flyer and the party decor that it related to some kind of mystical place of worship, the word felt very good to say from a phonetic perspective (i was studying linguistics at the time). it seeemed to want to be whispered, those hushed sounds suggestive of precious secrets and sanctuary. nirvana. bliss.

i don’t necessarily think  i was a total stress ball before i decided to spend time at the Ashram . in fact, if anything, i have been cruising for some time in an effortless glide at work and at play. sure, some shit gets under my skin from time to time (try living with 3 males) but on the whole 08/09 has been a breeze. i have been steadily ramping up my own yoga practice for last 2 years and noticing some subtle but effective changes to the way  i  handle negativity. then a friend suggested i read Eat Pray Love. Bam. Talk about serendipity.

so, with minimal planning i whisked myself off on a little adventure. i delibratley didnt orchestrate every fine detail. i wanted to improvise as much as possible to remind myself that being out of control is actually a positive thing. a train trip, a bus ride into the wilderness, not really knowing what i was getting myself into or what to expect,  whether or not i should have brought more socks (mental note, yes) and a few hours later i found myself walking into the most beautiful place i have ever been. in every sense.

the experience was truly remarkable. i  enrolled in a program that focussed on yoga in the great outdoors which meant that along with daily practices of asana (yoga poses), prana (breathing), kirtan (chanting), mouna (silence), hatha/karma (cleansing) and nidra (meditating) i was able to dust up on my archery, spend time rambling in the bush, learn a bit of tai chi and just chill out for a few days. total mind, body and spirit rejuvenation. like a personality reset button. like oh-my-god-this-is-it-i-want-to-do-this-forever. powerful stuff this yoga.

i am still floating. i’ve been back for 4 days now and whilst i obviously had to slip back into the regular routines of my secular life, i feel very different. things around me have changed too. i’m beginning to get it.  i hear the whisper.

four to the floor

1. passed my motorcycle p’s. woot!  janis was deemed unroadworthy ( a recurring theme) cos of her bald rear tyre.  i hadda hire one of their teeny tiny toy machines for the exam. not pretty. but i passed first go. funny, i hadnt noticed the shocking state of the back tyre even in the wet. had been fangin about fairly recklessly for months. oh well. i now have spankn new pirelli rubber to burn.
2. playground weekender happened again. this time they moved it to early feb instead of early march.  as usual we arrived just after midday on friday afternoon to secure a primo tent location in the rare shade. damn it was hot. i struggled to get the taj mahal up, took me ages cos i kept getting head spins from the heat. anyhow.  the fest was jus like the previous 2 years except we didnt get flooded and i didnt get busted.  it was also considerably more challenging in the 47 degree heat.   i experienced total amnesia on both the fri and sat nites, prob a combination of a few factors including lots of Tiger beer and heat exhaustion. i woke up on sun morning fully clothed in my space pirate costume . i then discovevered that i had been locked in my tent, with the padlock on the outside. i usually lock my tent when i’m not near it but i never lock it when i’m in it. the plot thickens. with my bladder screaming for attention i then discover that my key is missing from its usual hidey hole. GAH! i have NFI what has transpired here. i eventually find another key in some utterly random place and manage to relieve my guts. my thoughts again turn to the mystery at hand… how the fuck did i lock myself in my tent with the lock on the outside? why would i lock myself in my tent in the first place? did i even lock myslef in my tent? did someone else? why would i need to be locked in my tent? owww this conundrum is hurting my addled brain. hmmm…wait…the most logical conclusion i can come to is that i de-materialized outside my tent and then re-materialized inside it…and never unlocked it in the first place! YES! of course!  thats it! pure quantum physics! simple. (although the missing key is still at large, i have pretty much accepted this version of the truth. its not like certain parties will ever admit to locking me in there…). i am led to believe that i enjoyed myself  thoroughly on both evenings and certain footage captured on my digital camera substantiate this claim. made some new friends who were camped in our hood, we partied with less intensity on the sun day nite and stayed up till 5am listening to the boom chaka coming from the tee-pee village next door. slept in on mon morning then indulged in some camp site lootn after hordes of punters just legged it to the ferry leaving behind their entire festival set-ups. i scored a great lil esky complete with ice bricks, a brand new folding chair, 2 ace picnic blankets and a really mean red pirate flag. i would’ve got shit loads more if i could carry it but my ikea wheels were already maxxed out. committed oursleves to the last ferry so we could just lounge about a bit longer and eventually made it home. another epic weekender.
3. i had the pleasure of attending a “white party” for some 40th. the birthday boy had arranged blonde lingerie waitresses to wait on hand and foot for his guests. around midnite the cops paid a visit and shut down what was really just a mild piss-up with bad 90’s vocal house and a couple of lazers. on the way out the door en route to my waiting cab one of the cops remarked loudly that there wasnt much point hanging around after i’d left the building. a few seconds later another cop, this one was straight outta high school, runs after me and asks me how much i get paid. i ask him why, how much do you get paid? he says how much do you get paid to be a lingerie waitress? LOL i’m not sure if i should be offended or flattered. (for the record i do not moon light as a lingerie waitress, nor was i dressed like one on this particular occasion).
4. birthday shenadigans went well: had the ”annual mex fest with piratical theme” which was basically an excuse to dress like a salty wench, wear boots and get loaded. my costume included a  floor length black leather coat and tricorn hat. there wasnt much underneath, jus a lotta ribbons and corsetry. was a swell nite. suitably maggot, i won the meat tray, got a $100 voucher from the mex joint who fckd up my booking, negotiated $25 per head at gourmet turk place that normally charges $45, then scored the private cushion room with smoking terrace and complete BYO. smiles all round.

stomach acid

i can’t wait another 10 years. i want to tell him how i feel but i’m stuck waiting for him yet again to get back to me. and it is killing me. my throat feels like someone has their hands around it, its hard to talk without choking up, i feel nauseous and anxious, i can’t eat or sleep, i am distracted at work. every time my phone buzzes i feel like i’m gonna puke, and then when it isnt him, i feel like my guts have turned to acid. i can’t set myself free until i tell him how i feel. this is not healthy and i wish it would stop.

on par

Confirmed. Getting a brazillian done for the first time hurts way more then getting a tattoo or having your leg veins pumped with saline.
Its about on par with splitting your labia during sex, urinating whilst said wound heals, and sliding down the road sustaining a 40cm x 15cm gravel rash injury on the front of your shin.
I guess its all just a matter of perspective.

e.w.j

still here

long time

try to delete you from my heart

don’t know why

i feel you

half full

still fuckn coughin up snot

totally over this flu tell u wot

my throat’s in a tether

i feel worse then the weather

but i’m very glad for the mates that i’ve got

the cardinal sin

today i rode janis into the cbd for a meeting. this was the first time i’d taken her into the city centre during a week day and i was a bit concerned about parking. before i left the office i looked up various web sites dedicated to free parking for motorbikes etc so i had some idea of what to expect.

on approah to my premeditated parking patch, however, i spotted a sneaky lil dodgy park next to this other vespa. it was off the footpath, snuggled in next to a building, all safe and sound. hesitating only slightly i flick my lite, swerve to the left and nestle janis in between the wall and the other moped. it was a pretty tight fit (as i may have mentioned, janis is a bit of a porker).

kill the engine and go to do the ever ungraceful centre stand dance to get her in position when i notice my fatal exception… i’d parked on a bit of tiling that was super slippery so the metal stand couldnt get a grip. i tried and tried to get that mutha licker to stick but to no avail. all that huffn n puffn just kept pushing janis closer to the wall. with me stuck in between.

and then, of course, i lost my grip on her. down she went. over to the right. she went down quite slowly, like the titanic. but then again maybe it was cos i watching in slo mo horror as she hit the deck…taking the other scoot down   in her wake. smash.

AAAAAAAAAGH!

lucky for me a courier came rushing to my aid (he heard my death cry over the engine of his 5 tonne truck). together we quickly got both bikes up and i decided that i should make haste for my planned park down the street. it was at this point that some smart ass came up and informed me that where i’d parked was actually a fire escape (with no signage). i needed no further encouragement. janis and i high tailed it outta there quick smart. it was a crushing moment.

i have learnt the following lessons from this ghastly experience:

- never park on tile. ever.

- motorbikes are very easy to drop.

- vespas are resilient. they hardly dent or scratch and are suprisingly easy to pick-up. must be the full metal jacket.

- someone will probably knock janis over at some point and unless i’m there when it happens, i would never know.

- a blood curdling display of vocal range will get you help very quickly (i discovered this after the push bike incident but its handy to remember for other such ugly situations)

- stick to the parking bays in the city, they are way better then sneaky dodgy cheeky fire escapes that have no signage.

- a good belly laugh after is essential to keeping this shit in perspective. served with beer. 6 pack min.

viva la vespa

ring-a-ding-ding, gots me some new wheels.

aye, she’s a beauty, i’m quite smitten truth be told. she’s pearl white with snake skin trim on the oh-so plush seat. she’s got a massive matching top box and a big fuck off head lamp. the best bit is her size. she’s a lane hoggin monster with 200cc 4 stroke engine which gives me plenty of head room. and she’s FAT. its like sitting on an overfed shetland pony. my flat mates caught me out the back fussing over her tethers and nuzzling in her ear (when she has her cover on, she looks just like a horse). like i said, smitten.

anyhow, i rode her home the other day and tried to organise a small welcoming party. the idea was that everyone would be assembled in the back yard and i would reveal her by fanging around the corner, barging through the gates and come screeching sideways to a well timed halt. of course noone arrived when they were supposed to (dusk, to catch the gleam of the setting sun wink off her flank) so i ended up munching down on the cheese platter and a few beers and by the time everyone rocked up i was pretty well cut. it had also started to drizzle. regardless, we partied on and everyone had their photo opportunity sitting on her well endowed lap. even the palm leaf got busted out for a few of the more burlesque shots - we’d rigged up a makeshift tent thingy with a tarp, broom stick and some string, it looked like we were camping in Cairns.

rode her to work and was grinnin like it was Tweekin circa ‘96. so. much. fun.

i’m in luuuurrrve!

p.s her name is either Pearl, Mercedes or Janis… what you think?