Thursday training for the military.
Thunder cracked overhead.
In the blue corner we were worn and weary.
In the red corner were spikes, spurs and pauldrons.
The guts kept spilling.
Hand over hand, minds recoiling.
Moments clatter together in a whirl –
As life is wrung out, dissipating.
When you say something to someone else over the phone about a person ‘not attending’ (but the person not attending is with you while you are on the phone).
I/You say ‘It’s only me that will be attending, such-and-such will not be attending, so you’ve got the diet coke version of the team, Team Lite, if you will’.
Obviously suggesting that I/you are less than the full compliment, however the second (accidental) interpretation is that; the other person is fat.
Thus I/you realise the dissonance of message – what I/you said and how it was may be received might be at odds. Alas we often communicate things that are understood in ways that were not originally intended.
Sadly, in this case we were too afraid to name the potential misunderstanding for fear of the the potential harm it might have caused. Because if I/you explained it – by implication we’re admitting to have spoken without thinking the full potential implications. Then, in ‘naming-up’ the different ways such things could be interpreted it shows that those things have a potential of being ACTUAL views, expressed by both parties (the reality of things). And so, it falls into the too-hard-basket. Good graces, and common courtesy meant that a silent slight registered. Meant or otherwise; it fell from our heads into our hearts. Pangs of worry and toxifying our mind and making us giddy. A bowling ball gleefully knocking down our fundamental principles of respect, care and dignity landing in a pool of deep-deep red.
Hope and good faith were afterthoughts. In honesty, I’m not sure this all made sense. Different readers will have their takeaway, for that there is no shame. We only ask for the benefit of the doubt. The guilty action, the innocent mind, I/you.
To the recent question: ‘Do you feel like an adult yet?’
The answer is probably ‘Yes. A sad, confusing adult’.
‘You’ve got enough money. Just get on a flight to Switzerland and end it if you’re so unhappy.’ This was how every Sunday afternoon played out, with mum trying to clamp down on Gran’s complaints about being old and frail and forced to carry on without Poppa. I poured coke and orange juice into my cup by halves. Gran frowned, and I knew instantly that it was because I’d poured my cup first. I handed her a plastic cup, filled the the brim. Brown lizard was her favourite. A guilty treat that we both delighted in; to my mothers reproach and eventual resignation. I’d nod through her annoyance, knowing that Grandma wouldn’t let me pour out the sink. When I smiled, victorious, mum would redouble her efforts, saying ‘that smile won’t last if you drink that garbage’. Mum was a real straight shooter. At home, the options were soy milk or water. Occasionally we’d have a small bottle of sparking apple juice to share, if we were stranded in town between busses on the weekend. That was years ago. Before Joey Romance came on the scene and poisoned our Sunday’s with aftershave and scouts. The same full decade, during which Mick Comain stole my gameboy at recess from my back pack and Laxel the wonder dog had to be put down. She only had three legs and constant distemper – but we loved her so much we never replaced her with another puppy. It’s always been a harsh muddle or memories and feeling reflecting on my youth. The shrinking horizon of dreams, possibilities and imagination came with the knowledge of things like: daylight savings, wearing underpants, electricity bills and making my own lunches. When I go to Laxel and mum’s grave, I’m not sure if it’s out of habit or choice. I wanted to be an astronaut, now I can barely spell it without the help of auto correct. Staying on the path has been easy, breaking away will be hard.
Loving and trying to express thanks – experience only : no parables, to be had.
I walked into class. Checked in, because it’s 2021. The gent at the counter mentioned my birthday.
‘Oh you’ve got it all’
What a strange breach…
I might just grab a small takeaway coffee please.
Just a large capouccino?
No a small flat white.
Scrolling through some old memories with my partner.
‘Oh, look at you there, you look so different.’
‘Really? I don’t think so, same guy’
‘Yeah, I think you were a little bit thinner in the face, see here’
I thought about this, about being “thin faced”. Does that mean I have a fat face now? I am eating chocolate while I write this. Do I wish that I was still as thin faced? I recall having a mental collapse around that time – I wonder if that had anything to do with it? Either way, if I’m unhappy now and I was unhappy then, perhaps I should focus on reclaiming my thin face. Right after this chocolate. Perhaps I’ll focus on these shallow details at the end of the year. Pursue that modelling career and stick it out there for everyone to see. Doesn’t sound very healthy to me, but what would I know anyway?
This is why I rarely look back on old photos.
We’re closing at 5. We’re closing at 5. We’re closing at 5.
Luminous being of truth and reason. Guardian, guide and shepherd of wayward flocks.
Slow to anger, but will resort to outlandish swearing when pushed. e.g. “what kind of shitfuckery is this?!”
Person 1: “CAP left the team”
Person 2: “I’ll miss his leadership and the way he swore”
Captain, Bossman, Bignuts, The Brass
Perhaps I have evolved to keep a safe distance. Change occurs, people leave, people die, get angry, get hurt.
‘What’s the distance,’ I wonder.
Perhaps this ingrained response is a survival mechanism. A social tick, presenting as knee-jerk humor and suspicion. Empathy saved for private lonesome moments by the campfire which are few and far between.
Just like I cannot smell the slaughter house, see the carcass, or witness the death – I do not feel it. This distance is measured because I know not to be heavy handed. The scales do not simply move ‘up’ and ‘down’. The weight bearing structure of my soul moves side-to-side and groans in my inability to take distant changes seriously.
Have I fallen? Is this a malign form of self preservation?
Keep a safe distance, everyone.
The owners “good knife” took the hit when opening some coconuts we found on the beach. Naughty.
We took the Tupperware that had mouldy wraps in them. Of course we threw away the off food and washed the plastic container. We put leftovers inside so that we’d have lunch the next day. Breaking and thriving.
“No good thieves have pranged my best knife!”