Love For Sure

I woke at 6:30am as usual. My internal alarm never fails. No matter what time I go to sleep, I always wake at 6:30am. This doesn't mean I arise at this time. Often I find myself drifting off back to sleep for another hour or so, but there's something within my psyche that requires that I be conscious at this hour of the day. As I gained my wits, I felt my left arm was wrapped around Sarah's abdomen and my face buried into the back of her neck. The smell of coconut and lime scented moisturiser filled my nostrils as I took my first deep breath of the morning. I felt comfortable and happy. This is always my favourite part of the day, waking up, at 6:30am, feeling Sarah next to me and realising that I am in love. As Sarah awoke she turned to lie on her back and twisted her neck towards me. We kissed tenderly and I lingered on her bottom lip for a few seconds in order to savour the experience. "Jag älska dig så mycket" I said sweetly as we nuzzled our noses together. "Jag älska dig också" she replied with a grin. We giggled, made cooing noises and held each other tight.

It is approaching two years since Sarah and I met. I had just moved to Stockholm and was in a pretty raw funk. I had been stagnant, bored and lonely in Melbourne and had decided that this move was the appropriate solution. The idea of moving to Sweden had initially been formed in 2004. I was taking Swedish language classes at the Centre for Adult Education and had formed a friendship with one of the girls in the class. Alice, like me, was a drifter, never feeling settled, always believing that something better lay somewhere else. Both of us were full of grand ideas with little forethought to their implementation, and so we formulated the idea of moving to Sweden together. We were positive it was the place where we would both be able to fulfil our dreams; me as a hot-shot writer and her and something different almost daily. Unfortunately, our plans came to a demise several months later when Alice kissed some 40-plus dad-rocker and I refused to speak to her for a month. Although Alice and I weren’t an item, we were very close and I couldn’t handle the idea of someone I cared about becoming intimate with such a regressive and unsatisfactory being. Situations like this had become reasonably common with me. I’d develop close female friendships that would fail to progress; companionships, but never partnerships. It was a combination of my low self-esteem, tendency towards self-sabotage, and my perplexity at what I perceived as the ridiculousness of heterosexual couplings that consistently caused these relationships to spoil. So, whilst Alice decided to flee to Washington D.C., I suppressed my dreams for another year and wallowed in my languor working a stale job in a lonely town; being perpetually consigned to solitude. However, by mid-2006 I had had enough. My perpetual loneliness and inability to inspire and motivate myself required an immediate solution. So I sold my belongings, packed a bag and transplanted myself to Sweden.

The move, however, wasn’t particularly well planned. I knew no-one, had no idea how to secure a place of residence or gainful employment, and my language skills were poor. Rather than spend my time exploring the various districts of the Stockholm archipelago, trying to meet people or find a job, I would instead lie around in my hostel bed pining for the life I had left behind in Melbourne. One day, in order to prevent further moping, I decided to go for a walk over to the hip record store, Pet Sounds, in Södermalm. The romantic fantasy of meeting a girl in a record store was an idea I'd never tired of, and at that time I was desperate to meet someone, anyone, regardless of gender. As I was flicking my way through the racks of obscure Swedish pop and modern day indie classics I noticed that an interesting looking girl had entered the store carrying a small box of CDs. Although I couldn't make out all of the conversation she was having with the guy behind the counter, it was obvious that the CDs in the box were of music that she had made herself and she was hoping that the store would stock them. I felt like this could be a good opportunity for me to make a connection. I had taken a risk by abandoning my life in Melbourne to start afresh in Stockholm, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to take that one further risk and attempt to engage this girl in conversation. I decided I would approach her and enquire about her music; it was the most obvious ice-breaker. I was hoping that the flattery she would feel in having someone ask about her art would cancel out any apprehension she might normally experience upon being approached by a stranger.

"Ursäkta mig, talar du engelska?" I said, knowing that my limited Swedish would falter in a proper conversation. "Ja, I do" she replied shyly. From her initial demeanour it was obvious that in order for this conversation to blossom I would have to do a lot of the work. This was not something I was accustomed to, but if I was hoping to make a connection with this girl I was going to have to make the effort. I asked her if that was her own music in the box she was carrying. She replied in the affirmative and I proceeded to ask numerous questions about her music. She was a modest about the details, but I managed to get out of her that she made bedroom electro-pop under the name Action Biker.

Just as I thought the conversation was starting to dissolve, and she would make her excuses to leave, to my surprise she started to ask questions of me: Where was I form? What was I doing in Stockholm? Then when I mentioned that I was having trouble finding a place to live she somewhat astonishingly enthused "You can come stay with me!" She told me there was a spare room in her flat in Gamla Stan. She said the flat belonged to her grandparents, but the confined spaces and cobbled stoned streets of the old town had become too difficult for them to negotiate in their mature age. So they'd decided to move out to Västerås and leave the flat to Sarah at a cheap rent. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you moved in.", Sarah said, "there's definitely the space, and I think they'd take pity on a lost foreigner." I was a little taken back by how she could make an offer after such a limited conversation and I gushed "Are you sure?" several times. "Yes, of course", she said, "you are nice!" As if that was reason enough.


Her home was on the top floor of a building down the south end of Prästgatan, near the old parsonage for the German church. The flat had three bedrooms, one of which was, obviously, Sarah's, another of which she had set up a small home recording studio and the third that, for an initial period, became mine. Becoming acquainted with my new surroundings was a delight. The medieval architecture and confined cobbled streets was a vastly different environment to what I had been used to, living in Melbourne. For a while after I moved into Sarah’s flat I would wander aimless around Gamla Stan, exploring the streets and alleys of the old working class area. In recent years the aesthetic value placed on the antique look of the island had significant changed its demographics. No longer a working class area, the island had become a magnet for the educated and sociable middle classes. Whilst this gave the area a certain stench of pretension, it did provide the area with a wide variety of distractions. Frequently Sarah would join me as I undertake my reconnaissance missions. We would eat lunch in cool little cafés and tea rooms or visit secluded and hip basement bars at night. Our rapport was developing and we were growing rather fond of each other's company. Furthermore, I was not only breaking out of my mental stupor and blossoming as a human being, but also starting to actually enjoy myself! It had become apparent to me that my decision to move to Stockholm was genuinely excellent one.

One day whilst out exploring the neighbourhood, strolling down the alleyway of Nygränd, I noticed a Help Wanted sign in the window of a restaurant. Although I couldn't read all of the text, I could make out that they were looking for a dishwasher. Washing dishes was hardly what I came to Stockholm for, but I decided that I needed the money and that I would apply for the position. The restaurant was called Fem Små Hus, served a combination of Swedish and French cuisine and apparently had quite a reputation amongst Stockholm's culinary critics (they'd plastered their dinning room walls with awards and positive reviews). It wasn't the most ideal job, especially for a vegetarian with an acute mistrust of dairy products, but without a fluent knowledge of Swedish my options were very limited. And besides, I told myself, a job such as this would build character, keep me connected to the struggle of the proletariat whilst I was pursuing my bourgeois dreams of becoming a writer.

As one who the Swedes describe as a "native speaker" of English, I didn't find it too difficult to pick up some freelance writing work for some pan-Scandinavian magazines that publish in the language. I began to write for publications such as Scanorama, the in-flight magazine for Scandinavian Airlines, where I'd compose blurbs about Stockholm’s tourist attractions, as well as the Nordic issue of Vice Magazine who were delighted with my witty and cutting music reviews (something I’d excelled at back in Melbourne). Although my evenings were occupied with washing off the disgusting remains of cheese-infused animal carcasses from pots and plates, the position had the advantage of leaving me all day to work on not only my freelance work, but also a series of personal short stories that I was hoping to eventually get published. I thought that once I was able to compile a number of quality stories I would be able to shop them around to a few publishers in the hope that one might express some interest. The idea of having a book of personal and personality based short stories was to cultivate a singular public persona for myself that I could utilise to gain some sort of leverage and repute for other subjects I would like to write about. I knew I had a unique perspective, it was just a matter of being able to gain some attention.

Over this time Sarah and I evolved our friendship into a familiar and meaningful bond. The logistics of our lives became intertwined and I exhibited an ease in her presence that I had never experienced previously. We shared similar ideas about culture and politics and a disdain for ridiculous social conventions like drinking coffee. When our opinions did differ our debates were lively and robust, yet never without respect and regard for the others point of view. I had begun to believe that Sarah and I should take our relationship up a notch and express our fondness for each other in a physical manner. Unfortunately, broaching such a subject is not the easiest of tasks, especially when I felt uncomfortable ethics of heterosexual couplings. This has always been a major problem for me. How could I, as a man, justify intimate relations with a woman? Specifically such a beautiful and amazing woman as her. To me, heterosexuality just doesn't seem equitable. It seems grossly unfair to the female participant. It’s like having a dish from a Michelin Star restaurant on the same plate as a week-old, rain-sodden Big Mac. It makes little sense to me. If I were to become sexually involved with Sarah would I be perpetuating this raw deal women have received since the beginning of time? Surely it would be a selfish act for me to inflict such an injustice on someone I care for? Yet there was an undeniable fire that burned in my loins and the tension that it caused between my principled rationale and my animal instinct was becoming a source of frustration for me. I tried to sooth this anxiety by telling myself that, although Sarah deserved better than the ceaseless and wretched shortcomings of masculinity, at least if she were to become involved with me, my hyper-sensitivity to man's flawed essence, and my willingness to rectify this, would go some way ensuring that she would be treated in the respectful manner that she deserved.

My concerns became redundant when one night, whilst Sarah and I were watching a documentary on 18th century Swedish emigration to North America, she leaned over and planted a kiss sweetly on my lips. I couldn't help but reciprocate, yet when we separated I smiled and asked, "What was that for?” "I've wanted to do that for the longest time. I just couldn't resist any longer. I hope you don't mind?" she replied. "I'll only mind if it was just a once off" I said cheekily, and we fell back into an extended tender and passionate merging of souls. Kissing Sarah was a phenomenal experience and I had never felt so good before. My extremely limited exposure to physical intimacy until that point had given me, what I believed to be, an appreciation of the activity above those who experience it regularly and I felt compelled to savour every micro-moment. Despite my previous apprehension, when locked in embrace with her the idea of us being together seemed perfect. I looked at her directly and gushed "I promise to love and respect you for eternity. I know that's a rather maudlin thing to say, but it's important to me to express this sentiment. I don't want to be like other guys." She laughed, "I know you are not like other guys. This is why I have fallen for you." We embraced again and my heart sighed, wiped its brow and grinned expansively.

#######

I hate having to leave our bed in the morning. I could just lie there and snuggle with Sarah forever. There is nothing that makes me happier. Unfortunately though this morning we had to rise not long after our 6.30am wakening. Sarah had a show that night in Malmö and I had organised an interview with controversial Faeroes pro-independence politician Høgni Karsten Hoydal that afternoon across in Copenhagen. We had borrowed Sarah's parents’ car in order to drive the 6 hours south, so time for snuggling was unfortunately just not available. I consoled myself with the fact that I would at least get to spend the day with her in the car and that after the show that evening we would once again be able to express our affection for each other in an intimate and amorous manner. As we had one final kiss before having to arise I couldn't help thinking how wonderfully my move to Stockholm had turned out for me. My writing was going exceedingly well, with my book of personal short stories having been recently published giving me the levity and self-confidence to pursue topics of my choice. But the most important element to my spiritual contentment was the fact that I had finally found true love. Sarah and I knew that we were to be together forever and that, regardless of any of my other successes, was what made me the happiest.

High On Diesel And Gasoline

Before the inevitable cocktail of smack, crack and old age kicked in, Brett Anderson was a lyrical genius. Now before you all choke on your Pitchfork Media bookmarks, just hear me out.
Whilst the less self-conscious amongst the music intelligentsia will be willing to admit that the band's self-titled debut and its follow up, Dog Man Star are great albums, the general consensus is that Suede's quality left with Bernard Butler. This, however, is entirely false, for the band's third album, Coming Up is quite the masterpiece. Far from being some bullshit Britpop brush-aside, Coming Up is a knowing and clever pop gem. What people fail to realise about this album is that it is pastiche. It knowingly apes the cultivated public persona of cheap and sleazy glamour of their previous material, as well as the band's style and mannerisms. "Maybe, maybe it's the clothes we wear, the tasteless bracelets and the dye in our hair...maybe, maybe it's our nowhere towns our nothing places and our cellophane sounds." That shit is witty. Bands who shift units like Suede did are not supposed to be that self-aware. But for me the killer line on the album comes in the 7 minutes epic The Chemistry Between Us where Anderson sings "Oh, class A, class B, is that the only chemistry between us?". To me, that line is a good summation of the band, it's a line loaded with wonderful imagery. The thing is no-one credits Anderson with being able to be that wry. In light of some of the abysmal lines that he was to write on subsequent releases maybe it's best to be cynical, but I like to think that he had a knowing smirk on his face when he wrote that lyric.
Beside being such a literary masterwork, Coming Up also contains some of the best glam-pop hooks Bowie never wrote. Where previous Suede albums were much suited to being consumed smacked out on one's bed in a dingy council flat, Coming Up is a motherfucking party starter. The Beautiful Ones is mandatory for any UK-centric club night and Filmstar should be on every single one of those bullshit "driving songs" compilations they sell at motorway service areas. Unfortunately, due to the band's lack of coolness amongst the tastemakers Coming Up is destined to be one of the great overlooked albums of the nineties (that said, Dog Man Star is better).

The Book Lovers

A trip to the psychologist.

Doctor Veronica Clarke: Hello, Grant. How are you?

Grant Wyeth: I'm feeling great, Doctor Clarke! I met a girl!

DVC: That's excellent. What's her name?

GW: I don't know yet.

DVC: You don't know?

GW: Well, I haven't actually spoken to her.

DVC: But you said you'd met her?

GW: I know where she works.

DVC: OK.

GW: Borders, in the city. I go in there every few days just to see her.

DVC: So this is a girl you do not know, have not engaged in any conversation with, yet you go to her place of employment every few days to see her?

GW: Yeah, but I don't know when her shifts are, so I've only seen her the once. Which is unfortunate. I'd really like to see her again.

DVC: Do you not think that this behaviour is a little creepy? I mean, it could be said that you are stalking this girl.

GW: But, she doesn't know that I'm going in there all the time. She hasn't been there.

DVC: I'd say that still constitutes stalking. You're still attempting to see her, even if she's not there.

GW: No, it's only stalking if they catch you doing it. The next time she is working and she sees me, she'll just be like "Oh, there's that cool guy who was in here the other week." She won't know how many times I've been into the store in the meantime.

DVC: But, the fact that you are attempting to see her each time you go indicates you have some sort of fixation with her. Regardless of whether she is there or not your behaviour could be deemed inappropriate.

GW: I think it's nice.

DVC: Nice?

GW: It's nice to have someone think that you are special. I would like it very much if someone would attempt to see me on a regular basis. I would find in flattering. And besides, it wasn't even me who first noticed her. It was Katy Stevens. She's the one who told me that I had to make her my girlfriend so she could borrow her dress.

DVC: That sounds like something someone would say in jest.

GW: No, I don't think so. It was a lovely dress. Why wouldn't Katy Stevens wish to borrow it?

DVC: I'm sure it was a lovely dress, and I'm sure that Katy Stevens would have liked to have worn the dress at some stage, but instructing someone to get involved in a relationship with another person just so they can borrow an item of clothing isn't really a serious suggestion. And for you just to blindly follow that suggestion is a little disturbing. Did you find the girl in the dress attractive of your own accord?

GW: Yes, of course! I thought the girl in the dress looked fantastic as well. Although, I think she'd look better without any clothes on at all, if you know what I mean?

DVC: I think it's fairly obvious what you mean.

GW: Well, it's just an expression.

DVC: Usually it's used after a statement a little more subtle and ambiguous than the one you used.

GW: No it's not, it's just used to indicate sexiness.

DVC: Well, there was nothing sexy about what you said.

GW: Yes there was, I said she'd look good with her clothes off. That sexy. You can't have sex with your clothes on.

DVC: You can. But the point is that sexiness is usually a little more nuanced than that. Being blunt is rather crude. It's fairly unappealing.

GW: So what you're saying is that I shouldn't try and get this girl to remove her clothes? That I can have sex with her with her clothes on, and this is, in fact, a better form of sex?

DVC: No, that's not what I'm saying at all. I merely meant that when verbalising sexual interest it is much better to be subtle. It is less intimidating and more imaginative. That said, I'm speaking in general terms here. I'm not suggesting that you attempt anything even remotely along these lines with the girl at Borders. Unless you are able to engage with her in a natural manner.

GW: So, if I engage with her naturally, say, I ask her about a book or something, and then when we become acquainted we should have sex with our clothes on?

DVC: Ok, look, just forgot about having sex with your clothes on. It's completely irrelevant. In fact, sex in this whole topic is irrelevant. What we are discussing is the appropriate way for you to approach a girl that you are interested in, and this doesn't not involve stalking her at her place of employment.

GW: So how do I meet her then? Her place of employment is the only thing I know about her. That, and she owns a nice dress.

DVC: You just can't be constantly going into the store just to see her. Maybe, if there is a book you wish to purchase you can go to the store and if she is working then that is fine. But you can't just keep going in constantly.

GW: But the more often I go in the better the chance of her being there.

DVC: Well, that is true, but it's inappropriate. It makes you seem obsessive. Something that is deemed suspicious by most people.

GW: So how often can I go in? Once a week?

DVC: There's not set amount of time. You should only go in when you are in need to purchase something form the store.

GW: What about when I want to read a magazine? That's the best thing about Borders. You can just go in and read magazines. They have chairs and everything. You can sit and read the whole magazine if you want. You don't even have to buy it. I do it all the time. I totally swindle them.

DVC: Yes, but magazines aren't released daily. You don't have to be in there every day reading magazines. What I'm saying is that whenever you require something of the store, that's when you should go there. You shouldn't go there just in order to see if this girl. And if she does happen to be working the time you go in, then that is a lucky coincidence.

GW: Ok, so say she is working when I go in to purchase a book or something, what do I say to her?

DVC: I don't know what you say to her. That's not what I'm here for. I'm not a dating instructor.

GW: But you must have some handy hints? I mean, you're a woman, what do you like to hear from a potential lover?

DVC: That's a bit personal, don't you think? I need to maintain my professionalism.

GW: Ok, well, just, like, stop the clock and let's talk about it just as two friends.

DVC: I'm not going to "stop the clock", you're here for me to assist you with your psychological problems, not for me to help you get laid.

GW: But aren't they the same thing? I mean, if I had a girlfriend I wouldn't need to come here. Everything would be fine. In fact, it could be said that you are hindering my attempts to get a girlfriend so I will continue to give you money. That's why you don't want me to go into Borders on a regular basis because I might actually get somewhere with her.

DVC: Do you truly believe that? Do you think I would act in such an unprofessional manner? Furthermore, I think your problems are a little more complex to just be solved by your entering into a relationship.

GW: But isn't that the ultimate goal here? For me to be able to be a proper functioning member of society and have a partner like everyone else?

DVC: Is that what you think, that having a partner is a sign of being a functioning member of society?

GW: Of course, that's what it's about, isn't it? That's when you've won, when you've got a partner.

DVC: What do you mean by "won"?

GW: You've been victorious. You've achieved the aim of life. Being in love, surely that's the goal? Everything else is rather insignificant.

DVC: Well, I guess that is somewhat true. But I'm a little concerned that you see that as what you need to achieve in order to be happy.

GW: Why, because you don't think it's achievable for me? You don't think I'm able to have a girlfriend?

DVC: That's not what I'm saying. What I mean is that for you to see this as your primary goal might be placing a large amount of pressure on yourself.

GW: Pressure that I can't handle?

DVC: No! It just seems like you have this obsession that finding a partner, it is your sole focus. You need to not be so myopic.

GW: So what else should be be focusing on?

DVC: Anything, your university work, or a hobby.

GW: What, like fishing or something?

DVC: If that interests you.

GW: It doesn't.

DVC: Why did you say it then?

GW: I don't know, that's the sort of hobby normal people have. You know, going away, getting outdoors, shit like that. I hear that's the sort of thing people do. It happens all the time. I can't say I understand it though.

DVC: What don't you understand?

GW: The outdoors, going away.

DVC: Well, it's just about spending time away from the hustle and the bustle.

GW: But, I like the hustle and the bustle. In fact there's not enough hustle and bustle. Everything is in the city, why would you leave?

DVC: Well, not everyone thinks like that. Some people can't handle the pace of the big city.

GW: Well, it's hardly a "big city", you know? This city is kind of weak, it needs to be bigger and busier, like a proper city.

DVC: Is that something that would interest you, being in a bigger city?

GW: Yeah, it would, I find bigger cities more interesting. A plus, the more people in a city and the greater the chance of being able to meet someone.

DVC: Jesus.

GW: What?

DVC: You want to move to a bigger city because you think this will increase you odds of meeting a potential partner? I tried to engaged you in conversation about something else that might interest you and you just bring it back to finding a partner. Is there nothing else you think about?

GW: Not really, no. Sometimes I get hungry, but that's a fairly easy dilemma to solve. It doesn't take much effort.

DVC: Before our next session I want you to try and find something you are interested in. A sport, playing a musical instrument, anything that exists purely for its own enjoyment, not something that you are interested in solely as a means to find a partner. Can you do that?

GW: I guess so.

DVC: Good. Well, I'll see you next week.

GW: Alright. Bye bye.

DVC: Good luck. [whispers to herself] You'll fucking need it, nutjob.

I Need All The Friends I Can Get

It wasn't supposed to be like this. This isn't how I envisaged it. I was meant to be the campus hero. The cool and interesting mature-aged student, worldly and hip, everyone should have wanted to be my friend. But it's been two semesters now and there is still no-one I have an significant relationship with, in fact, there's no-one I really talk to at all. When not in classes or lectures I sit in the library by myself, not getting fucked up on vodka in the university bar, or gossiping in a café over warm beverages about whether Jennie is really having it off with the Sociology lecturer, Mr Pingus. It's sad. These are last years I have in order to enjoy myself, once my study is over only a life of responsibility and hardship awaits me. Maybe I just don't make enough effort to engage with other people, or maybe I'm just not as likable as I think I am.

One night late last year I was preparing myself for bed. As I was slipping into something more comfortable in order to sleep I looked down at my penis and noticed that the eye of the appendage bore a striking resemblance to a human mouth. "This is rather interesting", I thought to myself and I opened the drawer of my desk and grabbed a black marker. I drew two eyes, a nose and some hair onto the penis in order to compliment its mouth. It gave the penis a bit more personality, something that, due to its limited usage, I felt it thoroughly deserved. I retired to my bed and thought nothing further of it. The next day I was working in the library at university when I felt the urge to urinate. As I walked into the toilets I noticed that not only were each of the stalls occupied, but the urinal trough was also heavily populated. Unfortunately, my urge to relieve myself was too strong for me to wait and I decided to utilise the one empty space available at the urinal trough. As I pulled down my zip and removed my penis from my jeans I noticed that the man standing to my right twisted his neck slightly in my direction and peered down at my manliness. Then I heard him scoff. He had obviously noticed the face I had drawn on my penis and found this to be both amusing and disturbing. I finished my business and returned to my studies, slightly embarrassed, but too occupied with my work to dwell on it.

Several weeks ago I decided that I'd had enough of being friendless at university and I resolved to do something about it. There was a girl I had noticed throughout the semester in my politics lecture who not only seemed like a lovely and charming young lady, but also dressed in a manner that I found enticing. I saw her studying near me in the library and realised this was my opportunity to befriend her. Unfortunately, being rather shy, I wasn't confident enough to approach her and begin a conversation. So I tore a page from my notebook and I wrote "Hello. You are the best dresser in the whole university!" in green ink. I walked past the desk where she was studying, dropped the note next to her laptop and kept walking. I didn't leave my name or number as I felt this might be too strong of an action. I just thought she would notice me as I left and the following time we crossed paths the note would be an amusing ice-breaker to aid us in the commencement of our friendship.

It has been several weeks since I gave this girl the note and we are still to have our first conversation. Rather than be a potential friendship instigator, this note has instead resulted in this girl shooting me suspicious looks whenever we have been in each other's vicinity. Initially, I failed to comprehend this and it quite upset me. I mean, I'm a super-nice guy, I'd say reasonably good looking and definitely harmless, I didn't know why she wouldn't want to be friends with me. But then it struck me. Of course, it is obvious now. I am the guy who has a face drawn on his penis. The man at the urinal would have undoubtedly spread this information as widely as possible, he would have found it irresistible to do so, and it obviously must have reached the girl from my politics lecture. It seems not only this girl, but judging from my overall popularity, a significant percentage of the student body believes that I am some sort of weirdo. And so this, it seems, is why I haven't become the campus hero I expected myself to be.

A Face Odyssey

Simple is the brand I use for most of my feminine hygiene purposes. I started using Simple back in the day, at the time my skin wasn't so flash. Not that it was really fucked up or anything, but I had a few blemishes. The main problem was that as I felt it was absolutely essential to shave daily I would inevitably shave over these blemishes constantly preventing them from having sufficient time to heal and disappear on their own accord. It was during a (northern) winter, early on in the year, that my former best friend Katey Lee suggested that I not only grow my beard for a period in order to give my face a chance regenerate itself, but also that I use an oil free facial wash, one that wouldn’t irritate my skin any further and establish a clearer complexion. Simple was the brand she suggested. Although the idea of growing a beard repulsed me, I took Katey Lee's advice and within two weeks the results were obvious. Once I could see through the thick bristle of my hideous growth that my face was blemish free, I didn't hesitate to remove said facial hair and revel in the beauty of my new found smooth spotless skin. I was a new person, not only did my face have the pure clean looks of a 9 year old Norwegian boy, I was able to harness the confidence that flowed from such an attractive appearance.

This morning I ran out of Simple's Softening Facial Cleansing Mousse, so I took a walk from my parents place (where I was attempting to write an essay, away from the hustle and bustle of my inner-city neighbourhood) to the Priceline at the Mt Waverley shops. Inside the store there was an array of beautification products, obviously some more effective than others, yet I knew what I wanted. I located the skincare aisle and headed directly to the Simple range, immediately I grabbed a bottle of Softening Facial Cleansing Mousse from the shelf, but as I headed toward the payment counter something within the Simple range caught my eye. I swung back around and took from the shelf a container of Age-Resisting Facial Wash. Now that I am getting older I have become quite concerned that I am losing my youthful good looks. My face is starting to show significant signs of aging and, quite frankly, I am worried that this will reduce my (already low) chances of finding a female woman to procreate with. Upon further inspecting the Simple range, it seemed that they had a series of products titled Regeneration that were specifically aimed at those consumers who were weary of the unfortunate effects of aging. As I further inspected the label on the Age-Resisting Facial Wash I read that the product's ingredients would ...help stimulate your skin's own immune system...improve skin tone and conditions...and leave the complexion visibly clearer. These were all positive attributes, I thought to myself. With this new compulsion to reverse my horrific seasoning I decided that I needed more of these products to assist with my appearance. So I also plucked from the shelves Simple's Smoothing Cleansing Scrub, and although I am not quite through my Shine Manager Moisturiser, I decided to also purchase the Replenishing Rich Moisturiser as well. I am hoping that frequent use of these products will help me to become the beautiful boy I so desperately wish to be and assist me in becoming appealing to female women.


Now it is all very well attempting to prevent blemishes and wrinkles on one's face, I mean, this is something we all have to deal with, however, unfortunately, as a man, there is one further issue that hinders my presentability. Facial hair is something I completely detest. I find it extraordinary that this apparently "civil society" that we live in tolerates such an overt display of masculinity. Not only is it an blatant demonstration of the brutish beast that lies within, but also the scratchiness of said facial hair is completely unfair to the female partners of these men. I mean, these girls are already getting a raw deal by being attracted to men, they don't need a raw face to go with it! This is why I believe it is essential for me to shave on a daily basis. Not only do I believe that it is a far more attractive look, but I also need to prove that I am actively protesting against the deplorable and selfish instincts of men. Unfortunately, however, this constant shaving comes with some untoward side-effects, namely shaving rash. Whilst I have been successful in removing any blemishes from my face that incubate beneath the skin, unfortunately I am yet to find a solution to this problem that is generated on the outer layer. So whilst I was in the Priceline I decided to search out a product that my help me overcome this problem. Now, for many years now I have not used a shaving cream. I've found that they tend to clog my pores and decrease the effectiveness of the facial washes that I use. Instead I have used said facial washes as a lubricant themselves. I have found them to be reasonably effective in this regard. However, it has become apparent that in order to prevent this shaving rash from occuring I needed a product specifically designed to deal with the problem. Luckily I was able to find Trishave's 3 in 1 Anti-Rash Shaving Crème. According to the packaging it functions as a pre-shave cleasner, provides a soothing shave and is also a moisturiser that leaves skin feeling soft and looking re-hydrated and healthy. It seems to be just what I need to solve my shaving rash problem and help me exhibit a beautiful and respectful appearance to all those who cross my path.

What I See

I Will Truck by the Dirty Projectors is without a doubt (or hyperbole) the most extraordinary sounding song ever written in the entire universe. It is taken from the album The Getty Address, where main-man David Longstreth sings from the perspective of The Eagles' Don Henley as a Spanish conquistador going in search of the shape of love. It also has some shit about 9/11 in there, but, you know, these days what doesn't? And if that doesn't make you want to rush to your local record emporium or illegal internet downloading facility, then surely the sight of Longstreth on top of a truck warding off sword-wielding ninjas with his trusty nylon string guitar will go someway to enhancing your boring little lives. Some arsehole called James Sumner (no relation to Bernard), in wicked act of osterntation, has made clips for a good three quarters of The Getty Address (although unfortunately he's left out the album's second best track Tour Along The Potomac) giving it the air of gravity and pretension it so richly deserves. And I, in turn, have posted the clip for I Will Truck here on my blog, giving my taste in music and art the air of gravity and pretension that it so richly deserves. Emjoy:

That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

Katy Stevens just got back from a trip to Japan. By all accounts it was a pleasant and enjoyable adventure. Having reasonably good relations with her I was fortunate enough to be presented with a gift upon her return to Melbourne. The gift was a cute little red fish bag, something she knew I would find appealing. I thanked her for her thoughtfulness and generosity. However, upon opening up the bag I was met with something a little more intriguing. Inside the bag were two penile protective sheaths, commonly used in sexual intercourse to protect the participants from pregnancy and/or disease. Now most people know I'm not the sexiest guy in town, I mean, I try super-hard with the ladies but I just can't seem to convince them that I am a worthwhile man to make love to. In light of this information, of which Katy Stevens is well aware, it became apparent that giving me a pair of condoms was her idea of a joke. A joke that I found far from amusing. I mean, it's akin to buying gloves for an armless man or one of those Magic Eye books for a blind person, some may find this sort of dark humour amusing, but I'm not one of them.

So for the first time in my life I am in possession of some hardcore sexual paraphernalia. It feels rather strange, like I'm finally moving into the adult world. As I see it there are two main issues concerning the carrying of condoms. On the one hand I'm very much of the opinion that men should be entirely responsible for whatever is discharged from their bodies, and therefore I believe that the wearing of condoms should be de rigueur for all male participants of sexual activities. So in this regard I feel like I would be a responsible and ethically vigilant man for carrying these contraceptive devices. However, on the other hand it's fairly presumptuous to not just purchase condoms, but carry them around on your person as well. I mean, only a real arsehole would leave the house every morning fully expecting that they not only deserved to be engaged in sexually intercourse, but also this expectation would most likely be met. Furthermore, in regards to my personal track record, I believe that for me to carry a condom in my wallet would not only be an extra presumptuous, but also a somewhat ludicrous, decision for me to make.

However, there is the possibility that the vibe that a man emits from carrying a condom on his person is the key factor in him being able to engage in sexual intercourse with a woman. Maybe if I started carrying one of these prophylactics with me at all times then I just might give off the confidence of a sexual active person and find that my fortunes with the ladies will change for the better. And if this does occur, well, then the joke will most definitely be on Katy Stevens.

Only Skin

It's always struck me as odd how girls can be attracted to men. I mean surely girls realise that's their bodies are much nicer than mens'? I'm not just talking vaginas vs doodles here, or the obvious appeal of boobies, I'm mostly talking about skin. Girls have lovely soft and smooth skin, men have hard and rough skin. Surely everyone agrees that the former is more appealing? This has always bugged me. I've often wondered how any girl would be able to find me attractive when my skin is less beautiful than theirs? It doesn't make any sense. Why drop yourself down a level? That's why I've always tried to look after my skin with a quality moisturiser. I can't actually comprehend how girls can be attracted to men, however the attraction of girls is completely obvious. Therefore in order to make myself attractive I believe that I need to make myself as feminine as possible. But it's not just the texture of the skin that is the problem here. There's also a little issue of hair. Body hair is not in any way appealing and I refuse to take anyone seriously who claims otherwise. I have a major issue with the way society expects females to remove their body hair yet does not expect the same of men. Why are heterosexual men allowed to touch and kiss beautiful skin, but heterosexual women aren't afforded the same privilege? That's not fair. It's just plain wrong. I must say I do approve of girls who go against this social convention and do not removal their body hair. However, due to girls having less body hair than men this form of protest doesn't quite cut it. The only real way to achieve equality in this regard is to make it socially unacceptable for men to have body hair as well, and frown upon (and deny sexual activities to) those who refuse to comply.

So in order to make myself a more attractive person, and also to express my solidarity with heterosexual females who I believe get a raw deal in the sack, for the last ten years or so I have have waxed my body hair.


I believe this is not only the most ethical thing to do in regards to showing respect to the sisterhood, but I also cannot be convinced that this doesn't make me more physically attractive. And beside these two reasons, quite frankly, I love it! I love feeling soft, smooth and luxurious. I love the sleekness of my hairless body. I love the fact that it doesn't take so long to dry myself when I hop out of the shower. And I love knowing that my body is as beautiful as it can be (at least until I can get some breast implants anyway).

An Ode To Sourav Ganguly

They call you, dear Sourav, the Prince of Calcutta
But it's not because you send young girls' hearts a-flutter
It is because your batting has such style and grace
and let's not forget your handy medium pace
Your scoring is due to impeccable timing, not power
And there's a notable resemblance to that ponce David Gower
There are many who believe that your prominence is odd
Yet Rahul Dravid claims your off-side strokes are second only to God

Overseas you showed that India actually could win
And subsequently shat on the captaincy record of Mohammad Azharuddin
Although your results permit you to walk tall
Everyone thinks you're an arsehole outside West Bengal
To me, however, you are as sweet as candy
and I hold you in esteem akin to Nehru or Gandhi
Although this is not really due to the way that you score
It's mostly due to the fact that you pissed off Steve Waugh

So you're now at the helm of the Kolkata Knight-Riders
And I'm sure you'll be able to deflect your deriders
Although it's still quite apparent that you are lacking in charm
Maybe some tips you could get from your boss Shah Rukh Khan?
But, it's your bat that will talk when you're out at the crease
It's not really your job to foster world peace
You'll destroy all the bowlers without any pardons
And we'll proclaim you at once the King of Eden Gardens


NB: The term "googly" (a ball that a leg-spinner bowls that spins in the opposite direction to his standard delivery) rhymes perfectly with "Hooghly" (the river that flows through Calcutta/Kolkata). Unfortunately, I couldn't find a way to fit it in. Dang.

The Birds And The Bees

Frederic was a bumblebee
The sexiest bee that one ever did see
He loved to produce his sweet sweet honey
But he didn't just do it all for the money
Although he got along well with all the other bees
He had a secret desire that was difficult to please.

One day when collecting pollen on the far side of town
He noticed another young bee bending down
He thought to himself "damn that butt looks fine"
And then said out aloud "boy, I'm gonna make you mine"
He approached the other bee in order to give it a shot
And then he hollered straight up "We gonna fuck or what?"

The other bee at first was really quite concerned
How did Frederic know that he secretly yearned?
He'd hidden it so well from all the other bees
He didn't think they knew he enjoyed being on his knees
However then he began to regain his mettle
And they made passionate love right there on the petal

The sex that they had was steamy and hot
And Frederic cried out "I think I've bruised my cock!"
They explored each other's bodies with intimate detail
And declared that their love was right off the scale
They desired to be together for the rest of their lives
And decided to return to inform the whole hive

They didn't think their love would be seen as that drastic
But the queen was a bitch who went fucking spastic
She said "this is not the way my bees should behave"
And singled out Frederic as "fucking depraved"
She screamed "you two fags get out of my hive"
"Or I'll cut off your balls and I'll eat you alive!"

At first the two bees didn't know where they should go
They'd never known life away from that hoe
They decided they needed to form a new plan
And Frederic stood up and drew a line in the sand
He said that their honour was there to defend
So they returned to the hive to seek their revenge

They snuck back in without being seen
And Frederic stated that he'd take the queen
He determinedly whispered "I'm coming to find ya"
"And then when I do I'm going to blow up your vagina!"
When Frederic reached the door to the queen's lair
He walked straight on it and yelled "I've got shit to declare!"

"Listen up bitch I want my respect"
"The way that you treat me is parental neglect"
"Alright" she said "you need to calm down"
"I'm sorry I tried to run you boys out of town"
"It's just that your lifestyle is new to my eyes"
"I never even knew that guys could fuck guys"

"Your blindness on this matter is such a big pity"
"I mean, this place is camper than Ray's Tent City"
"There's only one of you queens to thousands of us"
"It's just mathematics that we'd be fagging it up"
"You singled out me because you needed an example"
"But I'm telling you bitch that I won't be trampled!"

And with that declaration Frederic made his approach
He pulled out his sting and stabbed at her throat
He said "I might die, but I'm taking you with me"
"And you, my queen, will feel the pain of your bigotry!"
And as they both drew their last breaths there in her den
Frederic's final words were "It's Raining Men"

England Made Me

In the January of 2001 I moved to London in order to be united with my internet girlfriend. Unfortunately, two weeks before I arrived she informed me that she no longer wanted me to come. Having already paid for my tickets I decided to go anyway. No longer knowing anyone and without anywhere to stay I had to make do with a youth hostel near St. Pauls. However, the communal nature of the place was not to my liking and after two nights I checked myself into crumbling two-star hotel near Paddington. Here I would waste almost two weeks listening to the bleak, squalid and very English pop of Black Box Recorder, and wondering exactly how I was going to get myself settled into this country. My father had organised through a company he dealt with for me to spend a morning on the floor of the London Metal Exchange. He thought he'd give me the opportunity to taste the action in the high stakes world of international metal trading. He hoped that I'd find the business exhilarating and feel compelled to follow in his footsteps. After several hours and having no idea what the fuck was going on, several of the lads invited me down to the pub for lunch. However, there was no lunch to be had, just an endless supply of vodka. Although at the time I was 21 and a half, I hadn't drunk alcohol since I was 17, and so by the time I had drunk 5 glasses (and I think they were giving me doubles) in half an hour I could barely stand up. Somehow I managed to find my way back to Bank Tube station, yet when changing lines at Notting Hill Gate I lost my guts all over the platform whilst waiting for the train. Alighting at Paddington, once I got outside it had started to rain. Without an umbrella, and conceivably without the coordination to operate one, I proceeded to get drenched as I stumbled back to my hotel. Once I managed to get back to my room I had just enough capacity to kick off my shoes and press play on my portal cd player which contained Black Box Recorder's The Facts Of Life album. And as I listened to the wry, seedy lyrics of the band, drunk out of my mind at three o'clock in the afternoon, friendless, with no job prospects and lying on the bed of a dingy hotel in a rain-soaked suit stained with my own vomit, it became apparent to me that I had settled into the country just fine.

Love Ain't Just A Four Letter Word

Grant Wyeth: Hi, Doctor Veronica Clarke! How are you?

Dr Veronica Clarke: Hello Grant. I'm fine thank you. How are you?

GW: I'm great! I found a stone that looks like a love heart. I think it's a sign about the future!

DVC: Why do you think that?

GW: Well, I was sitting out in the backyard thinking about time travel. I no longer think it is possible for me to transfer my present day consciousness into my thirteen year-old self, however, I was thinking that I might be able to travel back in time and just talk to him, you know, give him some tips. It would be like in Back To The Future II when Biff gets the Sports Almanac and then steals the DeLorean and goes back and gives the almanac to young Biff so he can become rich. Although I wouldn't do anything like that, you know, 'cause even though he'd be winning all the time I wouldn't want young Grant to get addicted to gambling. I wouldn't want him to turn out like some arsehole who spends all his time at the track. I want a respectable life for him.

DVC: And so how does this fit in with the stone you found being a sign about the future?

GW: Well, as I was thinking this I found the love heart stone in amongst the weeds. Immediately it hit me that I needed to give this stone to the girl I want to marry. The universe was telling me that I didn't need to go back to the past to give tips to young Grant, it was telling me that the girl I want to marry is not far away. I just need to hold on to the stone and be patient.

DVC: You seem to be putting a lot of faith in this stone.

GW: The stone is the beacon I have been needing. The stone is my guide.

DVC: Do you have the stone with you?

GW: Yes, it's in my pocket.

DVC: Can I see it?

GW: You can look at it, but you can't touch it. Only the girl I am going to marry is allowed to touch it.

DVC: I think you should let me touch it.

GW: No! Why, so then I'll have to marry you? Is that what you want?

DVC: I'm already married.

GW: Well, if you touch the stone you'll have to get a divorce.

DVC: What? I won't be getting a divorce. I merely think that letting me touch the stone will demystify it for you. You seem to be placing far too much significance on this stone. It really is unhealthy.

GW: Don't you understand? The stone is giving me hope. The stone is helping me feel positive about the future.

DVC: Why is it so important that you place so much emphasis on this stone? It is only just crappy a stone afterall.

GW: What did you just say? What did you just fix your mouth to say? How dare you talk about the stone like that? This stone is a symbol of my soul. The more I cherish the stone, the more meaning it will have when I give it to the girl I'm going to marry. The stone represents my love, and it is bigger than you and your bullshit head-shrinking theories.

DVC: Ok, calm down. I'm merely trying to understand your thought process. If you feel so strongly that this stone is symbolic of your love then I don't know whether I can convince you to not be so obsessed with it.

GW: Let me try and explain. My love is like a well filled with the purest, most refreshing, best tasting spring water. And there is an abundance of it. The well will never run dry. Yet for some reason the villagers do not drink from this well. They walk by it, oblivious to its existence, instead choosing to drink from the sewage-polluted disease-ridden stream, causing their lives significant difficulties. But one day one of the pretty village girls will approach the well, she will cup her hands and take a sip. She will have never tasted such pure, cool and refreshing water before and its effects will invigorate and stimulate her. She will feel that she cannot live without this water and plunge herself head-first into the well, letting its angelic textures exhilarate her body, mind and soul. And as she bathes herself in the enchanting liquid on the bottom of the well she will find a stone. A heart-shaped stone. Do you understand now?

DVC: I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.

GW: Love! I'm talking about love. And how my love is the best love in the world, but nobody has ever wanted to experience it. But now this stone has given me hope. Hope that out there, somewhere, there is someone who wants my love.

DVC: Well, I'm glad that you are hopeful and feel positive, but I think your reasoning and, well, basically your whole outlook is completely insane. I know at psychiatrist school they told us to never use the word "insane" in front of any patients, but Jesus Christ! You think the universe provided you with the heart-shaped stone as a way of informing you to not lose patience in your search for a companion?

GW: What other explanation is there?

DVC: That through the process of erosion, a stone that you happened to find in your backyard, has been shaped to somewhat resemble a love-heart. It's merely one of those odd natural phenomenon like leaves that look like sharks or potato crisps that look like Joe Pesci. It has no significance whatsoever other than with the infinite possible forms that natural objects could be arranged you happened to find a one that looks like a love-heart.

GW: But why did I find it? Why was it placed in front of my eyes? That stone could have been anywhere, the Gold Coast, Machu Picchu... anywhere! But it was in my backyard. Doesn't that say something to you?

DVC: It says they you happened to find this stone and you've made some ridiculously big deal out of it. Look, Grant, unless you are willing to get over the significance of this stone I don't know whether I can help you any longer.

GW: What? You're cutting me loose? You just said I was insane and now you're just kicking me to the gutter? I don't think that is very professional. In fact, one might say that it indicates your ability as a psychiatrist isn't all that good. I mean, if you were the hotshot psychiatrist all these fancy certificates up on your walls say you are you would have cured me by now!

DVC: It doesn't really work like that.

GW: Well how does it work then, Einstein?

DVC: Look, you need to not get so worked up. I will be willing to work with you if you commit to wanting to work through these issues responsibly. You need to recognise your obsessive behaviour and attempt to curb it.

GW: Ok, I'll try. I promise.

DVC: I want to you try and distance yourself from this stone over the next week. I truly think that it will cause you more harm than good.

GW: But what if it works? What if I meet the girl I want to marry and I give her the stone. You'll be scraping egg off your face for months!

DVC: I'm not saying that it isn't a lovely gesture, but the stone is merely an object, it doesn't carry the significance you are giving it.

GW: But objects are as significant as one believes they are.

DVC: But your belief in this stone is rooted in fantasy! Look, I can see this going nowhere. I will give you one more chance. Think about what I have said over the next week and we will resume our discussions then. If you are still displaying your rigid obsessiveness then I'm afraid I won't be able to work with you anymore. Do you understand.

GW: Yes ma'am.

Heart Of Stone

I was sitting out in the backyard, contemplating these lives that we lead, when I found this stone in amongst the weeds. It looks like a love heart. I immediately realised that this was a significant find. There is definitely something special about finding a love heart shaped stone and so I made a pledge to myself. I would carry this stone in my pocket wherever I go. Then when I meet the girl whom I want to marry I will give the stone to her. Because her and I will be completely in sync (and possibly because she might read this) she will know exactly what receiving the stone means and we will consummate our relationship and live happily ever after.

Re: A Short Message

Dear Grant,

Thank you for your message. It cheered me up! I've been working very hard to get my album released in the past few weeks and I have not had any time to experience anything lovely, however your message was the loveliest message I've received in a long time! I'm glad you found me again! Thank you for not giving up. I am very pleased that you like my songs enough to add them as your profile song on your Myspace page. This is very flattering to me. I understand you replacing Eating Noddemix with (Lack Of) Love Will Tear Us Apart as that is a fantastic song! Both Mikael and I used to be in Kissing Mirrors, but we aren't any more. They are still a band though and you should check them out as they are great! I too believe that people with over 100 friends on Myspace are fakers. Nobody knows that many people! It's ridiculous. I have 1089 friends, but this is only because I play music. If I didn't play music I would have a lot less (less than 100!). We are Myspace friends now, but hopefully we can be proper friends too? I would like this very much as you seem like a very nice and interesting person (and your photos are cute too!). I have never been to Melbourne, but hopefully I will get a chance sometime soon. Jens Lekman is living there now. I know him from the music industry in Sweden, so it would be nice to see a familiar face. But also it would be great if I could hang out with you? I think you would be lovely and fun and know lots of cool places to hang out. And you wouldn't try and take advantage of me either because I've been reading your blog and I know you are respectful towards women. I'm glad you are able to sing along to La Conjugation Pour Tous. Tu parles français? I actually wrote that song when I was first learning French. I don't know if you know this, but we don't conjugate verbs in Swedish, and while English does conjugate, it's not very extreme, so I found that putting the French conjugations into a song made them easier to learn! I hope you are able to order a copy of my album from the internet (don't download it from Soulseek!), let me know what you think of it when it arrives. I would love to know your opinion.

Please keep in touch!
Love, Sarah (Action Biker)

A Short Message

Dear Action Biker,

How are you?

Several months ago I stumbled across your cover of Eating Noddemix by Young Marble Giants. I liked it a lot. In fact I liked it so much that I added it as my profile song on my Myspace page. However, a little while back I replaced it with (Lack of love) Will Tear Us Apart by The Honeydrips. That's a great song, isn't it? I think you used to be in a band with the guy from The Honeydrips, didn't you? Anyway, the point is that somehow after I replaced your song on my Myspace page I completely forgot your name! I don't know how this happened, but it did! I should have sent you a friend request when I first came across you, but I didn't want to get my number of friends up near 100. People who have over 100 friends are just fakers, don't you think? I mean, it's alright for musicians, but real people don't have 100 friends, I mean, I doubt I would even have 100 acquaintances! So that is why I didn't friend request you then. Due to not sending you a friend request and forgetting your name I've spent the last couple of months trying to track you down again! Then a few days ago I managed to find you. You were in the top friends of some other band's page I was on (I can't remember who now! You must think I have an appalling memory!). I was very pleased! After I listened to the songs you have up on your page (and enjoyed them very much), I did a google search and came across a YouTube video of you doing Eating Noddemix and La Conjugation Pour Tous at a festival in Sweden. Your performance was very cute. I was very taken with your dancing, especially during La Conjugation Pour Tous. That's a really cool song, by the way. Luckily for me I know how to conjugate être and avoir so I am able to sing along. Although I've been thinking that if the song was about a French verb I didn't know it would probably help me learn that verb more easily. Maybe I could make up my own songs about some other French verbs? It's an interesting idea.
Anyway, I just wanted to write to you to let you know that I like your music. I understand you have just released an album in Sweden so I will place an order for it on the internet. I can't wait to hear it!

I hope you are well,
bye bye
Grant.

Any Hopeful Thoughts Arrive

The following is a transcript of an imaginary follow up consultation with the psychiatrist Dr Veronica Clarke. She's yet to call me back, so it looks like I'm going to have to do this thing all by myself.

Dr Veronica Clarke: Grant, come in! Nice to see you again. How are you feeling?

Grant Wyeth: Oh, I'm alright, Doctor. At little tired to tell you the truth.

DVC: Have you been busy?

GW: Not really. I don't sleep so well.

DVC: Has this always been a major problem?

GW: Yeah, it has. The doctor gave me some Temazepam, but even that doesn't work a lot of the time. I just can't relax. I mean, I like the feeling of being in bed, it's fantastic, but sleep is different. It feels like a duel, you know? Sleep and I are wrestling. He doesn't want me anywhere near him, he puts thoughts in my head that make me restless. It makes it impossible to just lie there and be calm.

DVC: So it's your thoughts that keep you awake at night?

GW: Yeah, I just can't stop thinking and getting upset.

DVC: What sort of things do you think about?

GW: Oh, stuff like what we discussed last time, you know, the whole circumcision thing. Shit like that.

DVC: You get quite obsessed with such matters, don't you?

GW: Well, yeah, I'm just not that good at accepting a wrong, regardless of how entrenched in reality it is. But the thing is, I have nothing to distract me from thoughts like this. When I'm alone they just take over.

DVC: Is being alone something that concerns you? Are you afraid of being alone?

GW: Well, yeah, I hate it, it's fucking awful, but I don't know whether "afraid" is the right word. I mean, I'm pretty much accustomed to it. Although sometimes I think that resignation is merely incomprehension. You know how one of the major themes of Huxley's Brave New World is that one can't truly recognise happiness until one experiences sadness? Well, I've never not been alone so I don't think I'm properly capable of assessing the feeling.

DVC: You told me last time we met that you crave companionship though. Surely this would indicate you feel alone?

GW: Yes, well I do crave companionship, but I feel this is only theoretical, I mean, I have no idea how I would cope with companionship. I've lived my entire life inside my own head, I don't know whether it's a logistical possibility to have a companion. Take walking for example: I don’t walk like a man who could possibly have a girlfriend. I’m so used to walking everywhere by myself that I don’t compensate for having to consider another person. I bound over obstacles, don’t wait for the lights, look for gaps when walking through crowded areas, sometimes thinking two or three moves ahead. At no stage do I look like I could be walking leisurely hand-in-hand with a loved one. If I'm walking somewhere with a friend I have to slow down my pace, wait for lights... it's hard. My brain finds it very difficult to adjust.

DVC: But things like that are part of how adult relationships work, you compromise your actions.

GW: But it's like learning another language, it's much easier to pick up when you are young, before your brain has developed settled patterns of thinking. I fear that my brain would struggle to comprehend an adult relationship. Which upsets me greatly because that seems like a very selfish attitude, it seems like I wouldn't be a very accommodating boyfriend. But... I don't know... I don't mean it like I would be some sort of arsehole or anything, I just mean that the situation would be so foreign to me that I wouldn't know what to do. I worry that I'll be incompetent.

DVC: Is worrying about your ability something that really troubles you?

GW: Ha..umm...sorry, I don't know whether this is what you're implying with your question, but it's not a sexual thing. I'm not concerned with that aspect, I just mean in normal everyday functionality.

DVC: No, I didn't mean sexually, but it's interesting that you thought I might.

GW: No! No, it's not interesting at all. I thought about it because it was amusing, not because I was thinking you might raise it or that I was preparing to be defensive about it.

DVC: Well, you're being rather defensive about it now.

GW: Only because I'm tired of it being such an obvious issue with everyone towards me.

DVC: Well, it wasn't obvious to me, I wasn't even considering it when I thought of the question.

GW: Can we just maybe change the subject back to what we were discussing? I know that this little side-track is going to get you thinking that I've got performance anxiety or I'm impotent or some sort of fucked up sexual pervert or whatever, but can we just put that aside for now?

DVC: Ok, we'll drop it. Now, we were going to discuss your feelings of incompetence. Do you feel like you lack the ability to do what you want?

GW: Actually, in general terms, not relationship-wise, I don't think I lack the ability at all. I think I have ability, but I feel it's more of an issue of control with me. I've never felt I've had much control over my life at all. I struggle with implementing my ability.

DVC: Why do you think that is?

GW: I don't know, maybe it's because the world is against me, or it could just be a combination of paranoia and lack of confidence. I just feel unable to achieve anything.

DVC: You feel there's nothing in your life that you control?

GW: Well, I have a tendency to turn control inwards, setting myself strict rules, like only drinking water for certain periods of time...things like that.

DVC: But things like that are a fairly extreme way of dealing with feelings of powerlessness. From when we last spoke I suspect your acts of "self-control" extend further than just the drinking of water.

GW: Well I guess that's the central idea of anorexic theory, the fact that sufferers feel that their bodies are the only things that they have some control over, starving themselves is the only power they seem to be able to have. And the more extreme the act the more powerful they can feel, regardless of how detrimental it may be. I certainly don't think it's healthy, but I understand it.

DVC: Are you implying that you starve yourself? You are rather slender.

GW: No, not at all. I just have a good metabolism. I was using that as an example of how feelings of powerlessness can make one behave.

DVC: Ok, I understand. Does this feeling of powerlessness extend to relationships? You said you can't control your thoughts when you are alone and implied that some companionship might ease the problem. Do you feel you don't have much control over being able to obtain companionship?

GW: I have no control over that whatsoever. There's never really been any girl who has considered me worthy of being a companion.

DVC: And you, obviously, wish this situation was different?

GW: Of course! No-one wants to be the last person picked at the dance, or not picked at all. It's heart-breaking. Especially when you look around and see all these arsehole douchbags who are able to become involved in relationships and you realise you must be more of a douchebag than them.

DVC: Do you truly believe that?

GW: What other explanation is there?

DVC: That's what you're here to find out, isn't it?

GW: I guess so. I still think the situation is completely out of my hands though. It's not like I can buy companionship, even if I had the money. I suppose if I did I could buy some Ukrainian or Filipino sex slave off the internet, but that's not really the sort of thing I'm after.

DVC: Do you resent people who have it easier that you? Do you envy the control they seem to have?

GW: I can't say that I don't resent them. Regardless of how wrong those feeling may be, I still have them. I do envy them. I do wish I had more control.

DVC: Control over other people?

GW: No, not over other people. Just the ability to be able to fix things. You know, like time travel and shit like that. Well, not so much time travel, but the ability to transport my present brain back into my thirteen year old body. That's always been something I thought would help a lot. I think if my thirteen year old self had all the knowledge I have now things would be a lot easier. We wouldn't be in this mess we're in now.

DVC: Who's the "we" in that sentence?

GW: My thirteen year old self and I. If we combined my present-day understanding with his ample time we would be able to achieve so much more than we could individually. Kind of like Voltron, but with only two parts.

DVC: That is a ridiculously absurd notion. It has no basis in reality whatsoever. However, to indulge you I think what you are getting at is that you feel like you are running out of time? That although you feel a lot more knowledgeable and capable than when you were younger, you feel that you aren't able to implement this knowledge, or that you've somehow "missed the boat"?

GW: The batteries on my biological clock have almost run out and I'm afraid I won't be able to afford to buy any more. I've wasted so much time. This is an undeniable fact. Yet I don't know how to prevent myself from continuing to waste time. It seems out of my reach. And it almost seems over now, anyway. I do think I've missed the boat.

DVC: You mean with finding a companion?

GW: Yeah, it's over. All my attempts up until this point have been thwarted by situations out of my control and I just assume that pattern will continue. And also there's just no more time. I mean, you kind of have to sort that shit out by your mid-twenties or you're fucked.

DVC: Do you seriously believe that?

GW: Yeah, people who hook up in their 30s just have these bullshit superficial relationships, they don't grow and develop together.

DVC: I met my husband when I was 34.

GW: Well, I'm not saying that it's universal, I'm just saying in general. I'm sure you and your husband have a wonderfully deep and meaningful relationship.

DVC: Ok. Anyway, even if one was to take your theory seriously you're not in your 30s yet.

GW: Yeah, but it's fast approaching.

DVC: And this scares you?

GW: Yeah, but more so just annoying. It's limiting, you know, my options are limited.

DVC: Do you mean in terms of companions?

GW: Yeah, all the good ones are either taken or too young.

DVC: I think that's a rather pessimistic view.

GW: Yeah, but it has some merit, don't you think?

DVC: I think things like that only have merit if you convince yourself they do.

GW: Yeah, mind over matter. I'm never been very good at the positive applications of that theory.

DVC: Well, maybe it's about time you started learning?

GW: Maybe.

DVC: I want you to do something before our next consultation. I want you to, every morning before you get up, say "Today everything will be fantastic!" Can you do that?

GW: Isn't that just setting myself up for disappointment?

DVC: Well, the point is to try and view everything through a positive angel. I know it's going to be hard for you, I mean, you just failed within two seconds of the suggestion, but I think it might be helpful for you just to appreciate what you have got. You shouldn't expect that this will provide you with big wonderful developments, it's merely just a way of looking at the everyday in a different way to what you are used to. So can you do that?

GW: Ok, it sounds like some hippie bullshit to me, but I'll give it a try.

DVC: I think it might help. I'll see you next time.

GW: Thanks, goodbye.

A Little On The Nose

This morning I was in a pharmacy getting a prescription for what ails me when I spied a display of exotic and alluring soaps. There was all kinds of shit, mint and lavender, frangipani and chocolate, a wide variety of luxurious and appealing combinations. Whilst I was both looking at and smelling these seductive soaps I thought to myself "I wonder if I had a girlfriend would she like one of these soaps as a gift?" Not for, like, her birthday or Christmas or whatever, but as just a little gift to show how much I love and appreciate her. I thought it might be nice thing to do. I'm very keen on doing nice things. However, then I got to thinking about what the implications of giving soap as a gift might be. Would my hypothetical girlfriend assume that I was indicating that she smells? Would she believe that I was saying "Go take a shower because I want you to smell real nice so I can sex you up"? These are horrible things to imply. I don't want her to think that her beloved man is some sort of arsehole. I don't want her to think that I would mistreat her. And besides, she wouldn't smell! I know she wouldn't. Well, she would have an aroma, but it would be a delightful scent. A scent that would sooth and comfort me whenever I was in her company. When she was away with her job as a flight attendant I would long to sense her presence next to me just by smell. I would roll over to her side of the bed and place my face into her pillow hoping to find some remnants of her lovely and unique fragrance. When are you coming home!! I would plead towards the sky, "I long to sniff your exquisite bouquet!". When she would return home I would rush to her side and whilst embracing her tender physique would joyfully inhale her ethereal essence. "But what's this?" I would snap, "This isn't the scent I love. It's Lynx Africa! You've been fooling around, haven't you?". She would run out of the room, leaving the foul stench of substandard manhood wafting past my nostrils. Her scent would never be the same to me again. It would no longer comfort my troubled soul and I would no longer cry out in the mornings for its soothing aroma.
I decided to walk away from the soap display, I felt the question of whether to buy some soap for my hypothetical girlfriend was a little too complex and burdensome to contemplate any further. I decide I would reassess the problem should the requisite circumstance ever arise.

Consuming Passion

This is my favourite fork. I use it for every meal I eat at home. Even if it has been used previously I will clean it so I am able to use it. The blue handle has excellent grip and manoeuvrability allowing me to efficiently shovel food from the plate or bowl into my mouth with great speed and accuracy. If I am eating away from home I find that my ability to deposit foodstuffs in my my eating hole is severely diminished. This fork is like a golf player's putter, I have a special relationship with it. Using any other utensil is just not the same. If I could carry this fork everywhere with me I would. But unfortunately, with terrorism paranoia and tough new legislation concerning the carrying of implements that could potentially be used for harm, carrying my fork around on my person could be deemed suspicious and leave me with some serious explaining to do. However, this situation does lead a feeling of joy when I am reunited with my special fork. I come home from having eaten elsewhere during the day and I pick up my fork and pretend I am using it eat a meal. "That's how you transport food to your mouth" I say to my fork, "Because of you I've got an impeccable action". Whereas previously my relationship with food hasn't been the best, a lot of the time I just wasn't interested in food and this had an adverse effect on my health, I was weak and lethargic, unable to concentrate. However, now that I have the perfect utensil for the consumption of food I find that my relationship with it has improved. I feel like I am now gaining the nourishment I require and growing stronger and more capable as a result.

Shower Scene

In the past few weeks two people have told me stories which involved them taking a shower with their respective partners. Whilst not to dismiss these people's stories, it was the concept rather than the content that fascinated me. To be honest, I have never thought about having a shower with someone else. I guess my brain must have thought that it would be so completely illegal as to have never contemplated it all.

After becoming aware that a two person shower is not only possible, but something that people actually do, I started to give it some serious thought. "I wonder if I had a girlfriend she would want to take a shower with me?", I considered. What would this girl expect of me in the shower? Are we supposed to discuss current events whilst tending our respective cleanliness? Or is the shower considered an arena suitable for sexual activity? With the low water storages at the moment, is it responsible to use the shower for sexual purposes when a bed is more than adequate? And if we are to have sex in the shower, will this leave time clean ourselves thoroughly as well? Recently I've become very concerned that my back isn't getting the proper scrubbing it deserves. I mean, I scrub it to the best of my ability, but having to reach around is awkward and I feel that it leaves far too much of an opportunity to not do the job properly. I know my back is clean, but whether it is sparkling clean is a matter of contention. I feel I need all the time I can get to at least attempt to have my back in a reasonably clean state.

It seemed to me that there were numerous issues that needed to be resolved before any two person showering could take place. I decided to meditate on these issues for a while. As I did so I had a rather dark thought. I wondered whether it would be possible, instead of pleasuring this hypothetical young lady sexually, I could instead ask her to scrub my back? With easier access I'm sure she would be able to do a better job than I could. She could scrub my back with greater capability and efficiency so I would have no need to be concerned about its state of cleanliness any longer.

Despite of the prospect of having a sparkling clean back, I'm not sure whether I'm, firstly, comfortable with the ethics of showering with a female, and secondly, asking said female to scrub my back. Even though in the past I have not only asked an 11 year old Moroccan boy to scrub my back, but also paid him to do so, I would still have to say that a man asking a woman to scrub his back would be, in terms of servitude, the moral equivalent of demanding fellatio. Maybe a little less, but still far worse than paying an 11 year old Moroccan boy to do the same task. Not that I condone white westerners abusing the child labour of developing countries at all. However, there's a good chance that this 11 year-old Moroccan boy will grow up to join a fundamentalist Islamic sect, beat his wife and then suicide bomb a Madrid commuter train. So I think I still have the moral high ground. Unless, of course, it was my actions in paying him to scrub my back that destroyed his self-esteem leaving him vulnerable to the devious machinations of Al-Qaida and to his eventual explosion of innocent Spaniards. Then I wouldn't be so smug. The point being, whilst I'm not perfect, I'm still uncomfortable asking a woman to scrub my back.

So after thinking long and hard I decided that if I was to ever have a girlfriend I would only shower with her if she directly requested me to do so, sexual activity would depend on the capacity of Melbourne's water storages, and I would not ask her to scrub my back. I would have to live with a less than sparkling clean back, however, I would still feel less dirty than if I were to place her in a position subservient to me.

Cool Shades

After hearing the weather report on Wednesday evening and resigning myself to the fact that it was going to be ridiculously hot, I took two bottles filled with water and placed them in the freezer. The plan was for them to freeze during the night and then gradual melt during the following day, giving me a handy supply of cold water to replenish myself as I walked around the university campus from one class to another.

Although I like to think of myself as a cool dude, I'm not so cool that I have to keep my sunglasses on whilst I'm in a class, a lecture or the library. Instead, I remove them and place them in my bag until the next time I venture out into the sunlight. There were several occasions when this occurred yesterday, however on one such occasion I was leaving the library and noticed something strange. I took the sunglasses out of my bag and felt they were cold to the touch. "My sunglasses must have been lying inside my bag right up against the frozen water bottles", I thought to myself. Regardless of this, I put them over my eyes (making sure the arms of the glasses were neatly tucked behind my ears) and immediately felt a pleasurable sensation. "Holy shit! This is fantastic!", I exclaimed to Nadine, who was walking beside me. "Check this out, put these on!" I enthused. "No!" she protested, pushing my hand holding the sunglasses away. "Just do it!" I insisted, "It's totally awesome!", she agreed and took the sunglasses from me and placed them over her eyeballs "Oh my god, that's so cool!" she said, "I told you so!" I replied, "Now give them back, you're warming them up"

Throughout the rest of the day, whenever I needed to remove my sunglasses, I endeavoured to place them them as closely and snuggly beside the frozen water bottles in my bag as possible. I was determined that the next time I required their protection from the harsh daylight that they were going to be as cold as could be. Although it is still hot, as we are now in autumn I feel that it won't be long before these hot days start to disperse. Although I will be glad when this occurs, I can't help feeling a little sad that I won't get to utilise the cooling effect of the cold sunglasses for much longer. It's a shame I didn't discover this earlier in the summer as I sure could have used the cold sunglasses refreshing touch on some of those long hot days that brutalise me so mercilessly. At least I'll be prepared for next summer.