I've Been Your Fan Since Yesterday

Every night I lie away in my bed and I write. Well, "write" I guess isn't the correct word. I come up with shit in my head. Compose, that's what I do. I have ideas and I compose lines that seek to turn these words into stories. And they are good lines as well. Funny lines. Lines that make me chuckle to myself and make excellent representations of the ideas I wish to convey. Now this is good. It's good that I have a mind that is able express itself with a certain amount of clarity, however there is one problem. For some reason, whilst I lie in my bed, something prevents me from reaching down to the floor and grabbing my laptop, or even a pen and paper, and jotting these lines down. I just can't do it. I know I should be able to, I mean, it seems simple enough, but for some reason I am restrained. And then, come the morning, these profound, witty lines that I have composed have disappeared from my brain. Gone, possibly never to return. It frustrates me no end, yet I can't seem to rectify this situation.

On Saturday night I had a dream. In this dream I had a drawn three pictures and I was attempting to submit these pictures for publication in a magazine. This was, obviously, related to my real life where I am attempting to have a short-story of mine published by a magazine. In this dream I sat with the editor of the magazine discussing my pictures. He was enthused about two of them, yet this gave me little joy, I wasn't particularly interested in his approval. There was, however, someone else in the room whom I was desperate to impress. The pictures I had drawn were for her. Well, not specifically for her, but expressing myself through these pictures was an attempt to gain her approval. Upon waking I realised that this was possibly a significant revelation.

On the 25th of January 1999 I headed to the Prince Of Wales in St Kilda. Around this time it was extremely rare for me to venture outside my bedroom. Whilst other people my age were experiencing the joys of social interaction and experimenting with drugs, alcohol and various kinds of sexual tomfoolery, I stayed in my room, afraid. However, an event was to transpire at the aforementioned venue and date that was of such importance to me that I was able to suppress any fear and anxiety I may have felt towards interacting socially. Throughout my teenage years, one band had been more important to me than any other. I collected anything and everything I could get my hands on concerning this band - albums and singles both CDs and vinyl, pictures, any and every interview I could find. I copied their fashion, and investigated any cultural touch-stone they name-checked. This show at the Prince Of Wales was to be their first in Melbourne. Attendance was essential. I arrived at the venue several hours before doors were to open in order to be able to secure the mandatory position right up the front against the crash-barrier. Already there was a small group of girls camped outside door. One of these girls captivated me immediately. She was wearing a polka dot head scarf and big white-rimmed sunglasses. She was the coolest person I'd ever seen in my life. When the doors to the venue opened fate placed me right next to her up against the barrier. And if this wasn't compelling enough, she actually began to talk to me! Having had no contact whatsoever with members of the opposite sex (bar family members and old people) since entering secondary school, this was an extraordinary mind explosion. Not only was a girl talking to me, but this girl also happened to be the coolest girl in the world! I was intoxicated.

Katey was from Perth and we kept in touch via the internet and telephone. We formed a bond. She came back over to Melbourne in October of that year for another show and it was mutually agreed that we had an important and long-lasting friendship. Supremely intelligent and culturally astute, I considered her somewhat of a mentor. She seemed to be completely in-the-know about everything, whether it be music, art, anything socio-political or just straight up political. I mean, Jesus, she had been listening to My Bloody Valentine since she was 12! I made a joke once that I suspected that information must arrive in her inbox a full two days before it was published anywhere else. To me, she didn't just have her finger on the pulse, she was the pulse itself. We made plans together. We'd move to London and get a flat. We both disliked Australia, and with our mutual Anglophillia London was the obvious place to be. Things would be different there. Unfortunately it didn't turn out this way. Whilst I made it to London by January 2001, Katey, somehow, found herself in Birmingham several months later. Although she came down to London frequently and we'd go to gigs and swan around like we'd envisaged, the fleeting nature of these visits were always going to be a disappointment for me. By the time Katey decided to move to London, around March 2003, I was in possession of an expired visa and was wrangling with the Home Office in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to stay in the country.

On the 14th of February 2004 I received an email from Katey that signed off - "Things would have been different if you had stayed in London". Cryptic, huh? What did she mean? Was she referring to the bad time I was having back in Melbourne? Or was she indicating something sexy could have gone down between us? This was the last communication I received from her. Since then she has been silent, no explanation, nothing. I know she's still alive because she DJs at an indie-pop night in London called Spiral Scratch. Her lack in presence in my life saddens me greatly. Although it's been several years since we've had contact I still feel like I'm trying to win her approval. As she was the first girl I ever spoke to after reaching puberty, and also someone whom I found astonishingly cool, she has a certain grip on my psyche. I don't think it is any overstatement to suggest that everything I have done since the 25th of January 1999 has been in attempt to be commended by Katey.

Which leads me back to my inability to physically write. It's not lack of ideas that is the problem, I have enough material in my head to be writing almost constantly. It's something else. Some deep-seeded restraint that I am struggling to break free from. I think this dream I had on Saturday night was trying to tell me that whomever else is out there, whether they are editors, publishers or other friends, their interest in my work could never have the impact on me that approval from Katey could. So, is this my problem? That all I want in this life is for Katey Lee to think I'm cool? And now that she is no longer in my life there just isn't any motivation for me to be productive? This is highly plausible. Maybe it's true that I just don't have the desire to impress anyone else. Maybe her endorsement is the only think that will give me the impetus I require to implement my ideas. Maybe things would have been different if I had stayed in London.