wouldn't it be nice.

Over a drink a few months back I met a girl. She was older than I was, about ten years older. that made her beautiful, and the fact that she was beautiful made her even more appealing. We had our hellos and that was mostly it. See I was there with some friends of mine, and she had flew into town for a day or two on business. She hadn't even made it to her hotel yet because her luggage was on the floor next to her in the pub. She told me I was beautiful and asked if she could kiss me. I told her no. She asked for my phone. When I gave it to her she called herself so that she now had my number. That was that. That was months ago, until just this past week.

She sent me a message saying she would like to see me. I told her it wasn't possible because she lived in one area and I lived in another, and I couldn't justify buying a plane ticket to see someone I didn't know, and didn't know if I even wanted to know. So she bought the tickets, and rented the hotel, and asked me if I would like to meet up with her for dinner. I told her yes.

It was a long day for me at work, not the longest day I'd had in the past few weeks, but a solid eleven hours for two days straight. I made my way to the city. I was meant to meet her around seven, but at seven I decided to pop into a pub and have a beer. That particular pub had a particular beer I enjoyed very much. So I was late to meet her. She seemed nervous as all to see me. She really didn't know how to say hello, and went for a handshake. So, I took her arm by the elbow and pulled her in a little, then leaned in a little, kissed her cheek, and told her it was nice to see her.

We had a drink and tried to sort plans for the evening. I had such a long day at work that I told her it would be good for me to have a shower. She recommended the hotel for a shower and I agreed. It was a lovely room, small, but nice and comforting. The most extraordinary part of the room was the outdoor garden. We had an entire alley way garden filled with creeping vines and flowers and plants from floor to the tops of the buildings. We had an outdoor table and lounge chairs. It would have been a great place for a late wake up, slow and steady morning meal.

The door to the shower was a sliding door. It didn't shut all the way. The bathroom itself was made for very little privacy. There was a large open shower with no door within feet of the toilet, which would get wet from the water splashing off ones body. I didn't shut the door all the way and undressed. I could see that she snuck looks of me when I was undressing and when I was in the shower because the room was that open, and I allowed it.

She had changed outfits when I was showering and after I was clothed we were ready to leave for dinner. We also had to meet up with a friend of hers. We were late.

She wasn't a large girl by any matter. Actually, she was only about five feet one or two inches and quite thin. She had blonde wavy hair just past her shoulders. She had a surfer girl look to her, which made sense when I heard of her childhood and growing up years around the beaches and in the water. Her skin had a great colour and she smelled of the sweetest things.

She told me that she couldn't actually believe that I had met up with her. She told me she thought for sure that I wouldn't come. But there I was, with her. She was so nervous that we were actually together. It was hard for her to finish her thoughts and she just kept stopping her talking and laughing that something she wanted was actually happening. She said that a lot, that her life never seemed to work out, and here something was, something she wanted and took a risk on, and it had been working out. She was standing a foot or two away from me and I was sitting on the bed putting on my boots. We were nearly the same height, I was just a little lower. She told me she was so nervous one more time, so I pulled her into me and kissed her. I told her not to be nervous.

We stayed kissing for a while, nicely and slowly, as we should have. I could tell by her breathing it was feeling stronger for her, and i felt the same. I stood up from the bed and in doing so picked her straight up from the floor. I had all her weight, all her body in my arms and it felt like nearly nothing. She through her legs around me and i moved to the other side of the bed and sat back down with her around me. We kissed and moved together for a while, laughing and stopping to stare at each other from moment to moment. After a smile we would kiss again.

We both needed more. I started to undo the buttons on her blouse. One by one. Kiss by kiss, as slow as possible. When i got down to the last two buttons she stopped me and told me she didn't want me to look at her stomach. I told her she was insane because I didn't care what she looked like at all. We kissed again and she stopped me again when I went for the button. She seemed really nervous and asked if we could turn the light off because she didn't want me to see her stomach. I told her know and I would only look at her face.

To this, the buttons were apart, her shirt was off and i had given it a bit of a toss across the room. Again we kissed. She wasn't nearly as gentle as I was with her when she removed my shirts. She took them both off in one big pull and through them even further away. She then crossed her arms in front of her stomach and leaned in to kiss me more. A few minutes later she remembered we were meant to meet her friend and were already thirty minutes late. We decided to hold off on our physical feelings and have our night out before we had our night in. She tried to stand up but before she could I pulled her in closer and kissed her again. I stood up, her still around me, all her weight in my arms. I walked across the room kissing her, bent down and picked up our shirts kissing her, sat back down on the bed kissing her, and put her shirt back on for her, button by button, kiss by kiss, until she was safe again in the light.

The night was a fun, fast, lovely blurr. We took our taxi. We met her friend. We had our dinner. We had our drinks. We had our talking. We took our taxi. We had our room at the hotel. We had each other for about five more hours until she had to be at the airport, flying home to be in time for work.

She was nervous about the scars she had on her stomach. Scars from the three operations she needed growing up. She was ashamed of them, but she was beautiful and absolutely lovely with or without them.

The sleep we got was short. Just enough for her to miss her chances of making the plane. I woke up around six thirty because I needed to be off for work. We talked for about ten minutes as I clothed, hydrated, and got her her toothbrush and toothpaste that she wanted so she felt safe to kiss me before I left. She told me she could die that day and be happy. She was so happy something in her life had worked out for her. Something she took a chance on. And it was great. I told her none of it would have been so wonderful without her. On that note, I tried to leave three more times before I actually shut the door.

It was the first time I was late to work in months. I showed up one minute late, but that last minute was one I will always remember.

She sent me a message the next night saying she hadn't re-booked a flight and would be staying an extra night if I wanted to meet up with her again. I ignored the message. She spent that second night the exact same way I spent that second night. Alone and thankful for it. No reason to ruin something so lovely.

Note to self. Open your eyes and slow down.

By the saving grace of Peter Wilcox I am here today. He lent a hand to a fallen man, a man who had gone astray. His simple words they were a gift that lifted a sunken head, and in that lift, a sudden shift that saved life from the dead. He saw me pained, he heard my sufferings, he knew my swollen grief. In one breathless heave, he then took his leave, as I turned over a new leaf. "It's just a part, and not the whole, life will take it's course. Matter of fact, just don't look back, the future should be your source." And with that I soundly stepped away from what held me down. For Peter Wilcox was the only man I knew who's words were sound. I left the pain, the angst, and dread, and headed on my way. Into the light, or was it night, I'm just not sure to say. But off I went with both eyes wide and quickening my pace. I ran straight and fast far from my past and life became a race. And at the end I slowed my feet and came to a tired rest. I looked around and then I found that I had failed life's test. I ran too fast and ran too straight, eyes focused on what was ahead. I missed what spice can come in life, the living, before the dead. I just took off and never stopped and went on my merry way. I left too quick and didn't hear the end of what Peter Wilcox had to say. "Life can bring you down my friend, the past is a toll you pay. So look ahead, but also all around, and take life day by day."

Thank you Australia.

Well this is a touch early. I still have two weeks left before departure but there are things in my head now that I do not want to forget in those two weeks, which my head is capable of doing. So.... thank you Australia for.....

wedges.
hungry jacks.
My black pride t-shirt (black is the colour, it says pride on it).
cheap white sneakers.
cash work.
Cricket.
AFL, ehh.
friends.
old friends.
new friends.
visiting friends.
sunburns.
oyster beds.
Beach day.
Australian Open.
Three day dates.
large bats and friendly possums.
kangaroos.
eating kangaroos.
chasing a wallaby.
the great ocean road.
5 wonderful mid december late nights.
Sydney.
Melbourne and thornbury.
Cat, of course, of course.
Adam.
Em.
Sam and Natalie. And their wedding, and everyone here for it.
TREVOR my lover.
Lachlan Dansie
Kelsey and James.
D.K.
Kendy Gable.
Dan Flemming for sure.
Sasha for sure.
Dave Lamb.
Finding out I can open up to friends.
Falling in love.
Time for music and writing.
Soccer.
Primary Cafe.
32 Bradley.
Making me ride a bike everyday.
teaching me i don't hate walking.
Seeing how talented people i know are.
giant hail stones.
Brunswick street.
high street.
Ancient Memories.
Not being in a fight since I've got here.
The Avett Brothers Live.
The cave.
Trams and public transportation.
Home brewed beer.
Gomez.
I think I cried for the first time in years.
plastic money.
nearly six good months.
letting me get away.
helping me find great people.
helping me find a great person.
AND EVERYTHING I WILL PROBABLY NOT REMEMBER IN THE NEXT TWO WEEKS!!!!!

Thank you Australia and an early goodbye, in case i forget.

someone please get married

i've felt your needle prick a thousand times before
you were my medication for a while.
you made me well when i was unwell.
you made me high when i wasn't high.
those lonely little words you let creep from your lips
i know it's a long way back to the ground.
the last little bit of my dollar i called a dime.
i saved it week by week for the right time,
but it's never the right time.
i'm back in the late night with no one to hear my whisper.
i'm back in the late night with no one to pull me close.
i think i'll hold on to that until you feel it again,
or until i feel no more.
you're such a supremely wonderful girl
and i'm glad i know it.
i'd like it to be as simple as i hear it can be.
i just want you to know it.
i might even give you the first sip or bite and not care.
someone please get married, maybe i'll see her again.

I say, it's fair to say i love you.

the girl within the story Galbray

i've seen you in a moonlit pasture.
i've watched you be beneath the rain.
we have been in light together,
and in darkness had our play, our playful play.
as the blue moon faded i kissed your face
and i saw you changing colours.
i looked into your eyes and it's when, i saw
my reflection of the beauty i was looking on.
as a last ditched effort i have had to say goodbye
because i know the goodbye was flying in, on its way.
and i wasn't built to live this way forever.
and i wasn't built to feel this way forever.
it's a simple place i am and i'm a simple kind of man,
it's difficult to ask much more of me,
but here i am. here i am. here i am.

i've fallen in love before, but at least then
i've been able to fall back out again
and oh, i've seen enough things
to know that life lives in you girl.
and oh. i've come to find
that i am no friend of mine.
and oh, i've come to see
in everyone, in every being
there is but one that holds me so
the only one that's let me go.
but here i am. here i am. here i am.
but oh. oh no. oh no.

Surely not love at first sight.

It would have been a bad day for most people, or creatures alike, but even more so for the homeless, thirsty snail that was doing nothing more than trying to cross a road, in order to make it to a slightly dewy grass, just before the protection of some woods, so that it could re-equip itself with a sturdy home. It's previous home, so abusively snatched from it by a one-eyed crow, and mostly blind in its one eye, that mistook it for road kill not four feet back, had cracked completely, and after having survived such an ordeal the snail merely wanted a little bit of peace. And from wanting that little bit of peace, and a small replenishing of liquids, was soon left squished and dead because of the navigational mishaps of a homely curtain maker, and the uncharacteristic walking patterns of a crude and vile man.

Knowing that all of this was upon the poor snail, well, knowing it now because it is aftermath, if I had known it then I would have done my best to save the snail, but not changed the circumstances of the incident because the circumstances themselves have provided mostly a pleasant aftermath for yours truly, it would have been better for the snail to just have been a bit thirsty.

It was an odd job for Chandori, to be that of a curtain maker. Such prize-full skills she had beyond thinking and forming curtains. She was swift with a needle and machine. She had ears quite large enough to be a over-hearer, eyes keen enough to be a sightseer, a nose profound and professional to be a sniffing dog, and it was curtains she chose to spend her days with. She made beautiful towels and blankets, throw-overs and duvets. She could spin a silken scarf so sensationally, yet still, curtains were her mark.

Chandori wasn't a pretty girl, with such ears and nose how could she be, her eyes though perfect in their machinery were kind of dull and brown. Her skin forever porous and brows never plucked. Her chin just a touch on the sunken side and her hair always in knots. Not a bride wanted by most men indeed, but a happy girl, sweet, and kind. Softly spoken, but always thoughtful, and playful with her words. She would make a fine telephone lover, though she rarely talks to strangers, and knows very little of eroticism, for she makes curtains, not late night house calls.

She likes to bind the fabrics and find the just colours for the intended room. She asks people the colour of the paint in their houses, she asked the kind of decoration and number of sun providing windows. She asks about the carpet, tile, or wooden floors. About the most often company and accompanied artificial lighting. She crafts the curtains for the persons lifestyle and well being, not just for their pretty show, design, and reason. She asks of furniture and picture boards, they can often throw off the mood for a proper curtain fitting. She does this all for the people of purchase, through good intentions of herself.

Chandori was a quiet girl, and still is for the better part of her time. Not many friends as a younger lady, but no enemies as well. Her complexion changed, as did her looks, between the rough ages of developing womanhood, she lost a little of her looks, the little most would have liked her to hold on to. But she wasn't a girl looking for a boy looking for looks, or a girl looking for a girl looking for looks for that matter. She wasn't a girl looking for anyone for any reason come to think of it. She had her business, that of which her mother gave to her, she had her curtains, and she had her peace. She had a small house, with fine curtains, she had a front garden and a box for mail out front. She had a small floral design on her mailbox, she wasn't a fan for solid colours, unless they suited the purpose of a place. She had a cat, or she did a few days back, before that cat ran away. It often ran away though, for weeks and months at a time, but would either willingly or unwillingly return. The cat, its name was Rascal, but for now the cat is gone.

She wore little slipper shoes, never trainers, sneakers, boots, pumps, or heels. Just little slipper shoes that showed the last little cleavages between the last few toes on the outer part of her feet. They made her feel grounded and pleasant. She liked long skirts, but mostly wore pants. She liked pretty shirts and blouses, but mostly wore baggy jumpers and long sleeved tops. She had knotty hair, as you know, and would often wear it up, tangled as it is. She had many belts, but never wore them because she had the hips of a mother, but wanted no children of her own as of then. She didn't drink, she didn't smoke, she didn't lose control. She liked her bike, she liked to walk, she spent most of life alone. But she was happy with that, not looking for companions, company, or fruitful banter. Not needing chatty Kathy's for her afternoon tea. Just pleasantly content, alone, where she was familiar.

And as it goes for such a person, comfortable in their life, on came a tidal wave in the form of an older man, with a harsh tongue, unpleasant and un-pretty. Now he was once a kinder person, when he was younger and well off. Well off in friends, and wealth, and love, and things to do. When he had motivation, and ambition, and questioned the roots of his being. When he wanted to know what he wanted to know, go where he wanted to go, bed who he wanted to bed, and talk with those he wished to talk with. But that was years ago. Since then he has become a mutant of a person, turned callous, cold, and unquestionably discontent.

This is because he found out what he wanted to know, he went to and became disappointed with where he wanted to go, he had lay down playful time with those he wanted to bed, some of which left him more than just wrinkled bedding and that smell that sticks with you a bit after the act of which is being eluded to but not said outright for the sake of a younger reader, and he found little more than ideas he didn't agree with by those he thought would make good conversational companions. He felt the world he wanted betrayed him, and it was not his fault, but a worlds fault. A world he lived in, a world he wanted more from.

And this man, once dressed in fine clothes, smelling of fine things, talking as a gentleman should talk, doing as an honest man should do, now was a lie, a cheat, and a vagabond dusty to his core, black in his apparel, and always a face of scorn to be seen. And here he was, being distasteful and utterly unaccompanied, to his own liking, walking where he wanted to when, when not so pretty Chandori, with a basket full of new gold flake infused canvass material from Eritrea she had spent many a saved earnings on for a small curtain she wished to make for one of her two guest rooms that never saw guests, hit him on her bike as she tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid what looked like a naked snail.

As it happened and she was thinking it was his fault, he was thinking it was her fault, but mostly the fault of the world against him, the snail she had hit and run over just before who was just having a bad day thought it was his parents fault for leaving him with the slow gene, a squirrel trying to cross a telephone and electrical wire overhead carrying far too many acorns in his mouth slipped because it was swooped by a passing hawk, fell from the wire onto the ungrateful and cold man, and if had had little squirrel pants on, would have shat himself doing it, but instead had a quick shit on the hat of the angry male. It was a rare, unforgettable, and unpleasant occurrence for both Chandori and the beastly second party.

Now this caused quite the commotion and confrontation for the aforementioned two. One of which, Chandori, was neither ready for or accustomed to such verbal badger and confrontation, and the second, this vile tidal wave of a man, had through many arguments, upset words, non flattering conversations, and general ill will, had become quite masterful at. And after berating, spitting hatred towards, stepping and rubbing into the dirty floor of the road the gold flake infused canvass material that was saved for for many months, and calling the weaker of the two parties a "lumpy git of a girl with poor navigational skills and a silly chin and sideburns," Chandori replied with a sharp slap to his unshaven face, a quick kick to his left shin and a "No thank you for that tone of voice, Sir."

And saying that, in that way, with nothing left out up until now, that is how I met my wife.

waking up.

On a day I've spent my time wishing I was somewhere else,
in the mind of someone else I've had a day of bliss,
for the day was spent in the eyes of happy talkers,
and the pains that hold me back always stem from this.

Once the man that was the figure figured out his role,
and for that price he had to pay so we can have our spoils,
finer things can not be done and better words not spoken,
than by the man who gave his hand to end his peoples turmoil.

From our failings he is the wound that bares our heathen heart,
we poach our time to understand that what we miss is fine,
his life begins again knowing that he's changed a mind,
and lighter is this side of things and the soul of all divine.