Friday, January 01, 2010

Finding inspiration in nothingness.

Big changes lately... minute I'm a hotshot guitar player in Dubai, the next I'm in a bar fight with an Arab, and now I'm back in Australia.

I can't say I'm sad about it, although I instinctively keep thinking I want to go eat at places that are on the other side of the planet before I realise. I miss getting paid so much you could wallpaper a room with it all- and that's in 500's! I miss cheap taxis and lebanese food and basically free food every day. I miss my apartment, and the neighbourhood cats, and the weather.

I don't miss the locals. My best friends over there are Syrian and Russian. Emiratis are the most backward-ass retarded race of idiots I have ever encountered...proclaiming Islam while fucking hookers and getting drunk every night. But if you mention anything to do with Allah, watch how quickly they get offended. Same shit, different religion.

I don't miss my manager, who thought he was Michael Caine, but was more Austin Powers. He took thousands of dirhams a month from all of the prostitutes that worked in his bars, and acted as if he was some kind of business mastermind, instead of the sleazy opportunistic woman hater he actually is.

So I came back to Australia a few months early, and went to Queensland to chill out and consider what happens now. My relationship ended, and the feelings associated with that made it very hard to look forward positively. I developed a weird kind of tunnel-vision, seeing nothing ahead but loneliness and desperation. I had no money, using everything I had on bills, living, and just getting back to the country. My phone had been cut off while I was away, and even though Vodafone admitted it was 100% their error, they wouldn't reconnect it. Not a cent outstanding, 8 years with the same number, and "fuck you, it's policy" in return. No surprises there, right?

I don't like thinking negatively. I'm a positive person to my friends, I see good things for them. But when a few major things go wrong, it's my habit to think as badly about life and its contingent prospects as is humanly possible. I take it as far as it can go, kind of like a Hunter. S. Thompson trip- stretching the bladder of life until the inevitable bad urine storm. The point? Well, nothing life has ever thrown at me is as bad as the hell I had put myself through while waiting for it to hand down its decision. I'm left with an enforced gratitude, like "Thank god- I'm not in jail after all", a jubilant celebration of a liberty never really threatened in the first place. A good, old fashioned, level head.

I decided a good thing to do would be to go to the coast, and spend the night in a completely strange town, on the beach. No money, no nothing really. But it was 25 degrees- a warm summer night, and the stars were out, so I had way more than mere money could provide. I had the Universe, turning it on and beaming lights at me from distances that are inconceivable to even rich people, the ocean crashing on the white sand, and no one else around to distract me from the cool breeze and the scene in general.

I don't know when the last time was, when you lay on your back and just watched the stars. I don't want to sound preachy, but you should definitely do it. My mind, no longer constricted by 4 walls and 40 problems, expanded to fill the solar system, and I just marvelled, and wondered, and all the other things children do, when in the same situation. I saw 2 shooting stars, and each time, wished for the same thing...for the same person. I swam in the water, dried off on the sand, on an isolated beach with no one else on it. Well, until 4.30 when the surfers climbed out of their cars and paddled out. It's like a religion with these guys. But they seem to love it so much...that they'd have to to do anything before work other than sleep, and maybe fart a little. It impresses me, not enough to join in, but in a private way for sure.

And as predicted, the sea air melted the shit from between my ears, and I finally got a clear sense of what I want to happen, and how I'm going to achieve that.

On the 31'st of December, 2009, I boarded a plane in Brisbane, headed for Melbourne. Melbourne's not really home, but I have lived there for a long time in the past, constructed a couple of memories, and I seem to know my way around. My things were already there, in a storage space in an old power station. So we were to be reunited.

I know I'll have to take a break before I embark on another music contract, so I will have to find a normal job, doing normal things, in a normal place. I won't have stage lights on me, whatever I'm working on won't be amplified to ear-splitting levels and broadcast to paying customers who like to party.

I think I'll drive a forklift.

So- back to school, get the appropriate license, work at the job, and make some money, find a house, pay the rent, maybe even cook some food. Life stuff.

And the plane starts to descend, through the clouds below. And the plane drops, and the passengers scream, and I catch a mental glimpse of myself, and wonder why I'm smiling.

Then the captain comes on the intercom, and, mistaking himself for Bono, embarks on a verbal journey that far surpasses the actual physical one we were soon to complete, thinking anyone actually gave half a shit about the endless, useless stream of information he felt so desperately led to impart. Flight crew should just fuck up and fly, or serve drinks, or something else that doesn't involve me sitting in my seat thinking "Just fuck up...just fuck up...for gods sake fuck up..." But flight crew think they're rock stars, and we all want to hear them talk at length about absolutely zero. And there I am trying desperately to deal with it, and the captain says "Happy New Years" and everyone that was screaming and crying every time the plane dropped through the turbulence suddenly starts clapping and cheering, and all i can think is "God I hate every last one of you."

I could see the fireworks for New Years Eve exploding under the cloud cover to the east, it looked like Australia was under attack. Again, I smiled to myself...not very patriotic, I know.

It looked like the end of the world, when really it was just life as normal (which is even worse). And then the clouds parted, the plane steadied, and there's Melbourne, fireworks blossoming above it like million dollar pink dandelions, and I thought this kind of action was worth way more than a $150 ticket, pilots and flight crew notwithstanding. The pilot decided it would be a neat trick to land the plane sideways, but I didn't blink...I spent a lot of time in Wellington, New Zealand, where the planes regularly land sideways, and even upside down on account of the massive crosswinds they cultivate over there. And I didn't blink those times either. Pilots don't impress me unless they can fly quietly.

And there I was, back in town, walking through the streets I knew again, feeling connected to the energy that has allowed me to achieve so much in the past.

And I realised, I guess this is my town after all.

This is knifey, from 'the internet'.


Anonymous said...

Melbourne - that grand old lady who envelopes, encourages and nurtures no matter who you are....and telecommunications companies, all the devil incarnate!

Tim said...


now that you're back in town, wanna get a bite to eat one night soon?


Kitten said...

somethings different.

LOSER PAUL said...

Hello! :)

sophia deadbeat said...

good to see you still write.
im glad...