Saturday, 2 January 2021

Monday, 1 January 2018

After Love. (Thank you to the drunken cocksucker who smashed my rear view mirror last night. You taught me something.)

Two seconds past midnight I gave my nine and a half year old son Rocco the biggest hug and said "Hey mate we haven't made any mistakes this year! Or told any lies! Or hurt anybody!" He's long used to me talking like that since that's the only way I can talk and he just hugged me back, so hard. He loves me.

Some cocksucker who obviously had blue balls or some shit smashed the passenger side mirror on my car last night and I was ALMOST as cranky as uncle Stevie. I went with uncle Stevie to the copshop this morning because he had to report. He's out on bail for daring to grow medicinal cannabis plants ... which are the only thing that gives his two daughters pain relief for their chronic Crohns Disease and Ulcerative Colitis. According to the law in Australia he's a criminal, according to everybody in his life who truly knows and loves him he is the most pure, caring and good-hearted man. (Meanwhile white Australia started with convicts and let's all worship Chopper Read in the new Underbelly.)

Uncle Stevie, his second grandson Harvey, and me last night at my cousin Marina's new years eve party that Rocco MADE me go to.

Hey you know how I moved house? Well it's a beautiful magic house with the best energy and jeez when my life changes it changes quick like ZZZZZTTTTT. I haven't written here before about how I easily go into bipolar psychosis and freak out about what's real and what's not real. Are you real? What is real? Rocco had an oral presentation last year in class and he read out that beautifulest passage from The Velveteen Rabbit when the toys talk about what being real is. He did so well he got a Principals Award for it at school assembly. The award is at his dads house - I want it to be at my house on the fridge because I am the word person of the family and though my three sons may have a thoroughly crazy mother she be SMART.

We went swimming at Glenbrook Pool today and I dived straight in. "Mum you never do that you would always stay on the sand when we were at the beach house" and I said sweetheart everything is different now.

Everything is different now.

Thank you cocksucker who broke my mirror because it's a huge reminder on the first day of the new year to just stop looking back. I find it so very difficult to not live in the past.

Probably the most favourite thing about my new rented house is the aqua splashback in the kitchen. Pictured here is the Goddess print my cousin Karen gave me on my 21st sitting next to my grandmothers sugar bowl.

Nan always made life sweet.

So. I just had to write a new post for a new year. I hope you're getting through ok ... this year I got a lot to say.

That poem at the top of this blog post - how good is it. I had it saved in my computer under "loveafterlove" and when I went searching to upload it here I mistakenly uploaded the file in my computer simply called "love." Want to see that one? It made me good-cry.

Dan J Daley was one of the best friends I will ever have in this lifetime and he died last year and it's been hard to go to my very best friend Megan for support around it because he was her husband. And he loved me .... he was a guy and I'm a chick but there was never ever any hint of inappropriateness in mine and Dan's friendship. Just a kinship. I'm taking Megan to the Foo Fighters concert in Brisbane in a few weeks and Dave Grohl will be alerted to the fact of how big a fan Dan was.

Christmas sucked another massive dick last year but Max gave me the latest Eminem album and Rocco gave me a plant that cost $39.95 from Katoomba Hardware and my eldest Tim sent me a happy new year text at 12.10am this morning.

One of the last things I believe in in this life is love. And I'm loved. Thank fuck or else I wouldn't have made it through.


Friday, 15 December 2017

Thank God It's Frida!

When in turmoil, just smoke a ciggie, have a staunch bird on your arm and put flowers in your hair. We're all just as strange as each other, some of us just hide it better.

I moved house in a heatwave which I do not recommend. Sweat dripped on my glasses and I cried because obviously I did most of it myself and realised how hard it was, despite so many offers of help. Help ugh get it orf.

I can't show you any photos of my new beautiful 1900's miners cottage because a bomb has gone off in here - but I have a backyard, beautiful verandah, A WHITE PICKET FENCE complete with white matching swing on the porch. Like Anne of fricken Green Gables. And aqua splash back tiles in the kitchen. And stepping stones (symbolic.) I made it out of my prison flat alive. I'm one tough motherfucker.


I no longer live directly across the road from the charming police in the police station  ... thanks for being SO considerate, fair, and understanding you guise!

I dreamt of a cemetery that was on fire - all of the graves got razed to the ground but I knew there were still rotting corpses underneath. I tried to tell people but they wouldn't believe me and I finally didn't care that I wasn't believed. I know death like the back of my wrinkled hands and I don't need to point it out to others.

I absolutely do whatever I like except there is no curtain of madness. Embarrassing but true. And I don't care anymore. I just. Don't. Care.

Oh where is my lover who takes away the lies, brings me hope and coffee and poetry?

Right here. I'm my own lover who refuses to settle for anything less than spectacular which won't be happening in this lifetime so I'll light up the sky myself. Write my own soothing words for me - and you. Kiss myself goodnight. Move out of a prison flat straight into the light. Blessed the fuck be.

As for you, Computer? I love you. Be careful .. for what it's worth I'll be having another crap christmas but it's just a day. Stay alive, stroke your hair, sweep your back deck, find at least two teeny things to be grateful for ... remember life ends eventually. Which is scary for some, relieving for others.

This last picture is for you. Swear on all the Gods if I can get through the things I get through then you can too and I don't promise anything these days but I promise you that.


Friday, 17 November 2017

Walked On Water

Hi! I'm ok right now this second, you?

                                              Katoomba Street, November 2017 

I'm taking Rocco and his mate to the movies tomorrow, somebody gave us Gold Class tickets which I'm inordinately excited about.

He's tired, and sensitive, and only nine. I've a long history of mothering boys .. you know how you finally learn how to do shit right on your last kid? Yeah. Tonight I cooked steak for dinner. We ate it while watching netflix. I introduced him to Fantales .. they are smaller than I remember? Or I've gotten bigger? All I know is, one of us has changed FANTALES.

Jokes we all change. You live long enough and life forces you to change. You live long enough and you see things in a completely different life (pun intended.) Last week mum and I visited the flat in Newtown that Cam died in. Mum took yellow roses and left them .. it was really peaceful, I'm glad we did it, and I only cried after I got home.

                                                                   Missing U

How's the current climate of the #metoo campaign? Jaysus I've had to block out a lot of memories lately. If I had girls, I stand with Helen.

This week Eminem nonchalantly dropped his new single featuring Beyonce (her part sung here by Skylar Grey.) It's about not being who people think you are, second-guessing yourself, the wild ride of living a creative life. I've got a huge case of writers block which I've never experienced before. I think writers block - any block - is fear. I have a huge case of fear which is now dwindling because the tincture for that is love, truth, courage, etc. All the good marrow stuff.

I give life a seven and a half out of ten, this week. Not bad, all things considered.

We go on.

Monday, 6 November 2017

Stale Popcorn.

The end of world has already happened many times and only those whose world has ended can understand. This morning I checked the news - guns, American flag, how could dozens of people die in church was it God's plan all along because the president himself tweeted (apparently you run countries by twitter now) to the Texas people yesterday "May God be with you." 

Did I hear somewhere that St Peter has a big thick book of the day people are born and the day people die because if so then that's a heaven of a lot of people destined to die in a church I don't get and by the way pope (the vatican one not the kink one) you can jam your catholicism down your throat just like it was jammed down mine when I was a kid confessing all my dark deeds to the snake in the box.

The bag was next to the yellow box of Ratsack for a reason see drugs are poison but I was just trying to kill Kevin, the mouse. You can scroll back and see it in my dumb facebook videos if you want but you won't want and you won't believe me and I care what people think of me but I can't change that. I have the courage to change the things I changed and I have more to change because I'm changed but not everybody will see the changes in us but that's ok. Even if we show them Proof he died 2006. Doesn't mean Eminem will stop rapping about him.

Speaking of change I arrived back from Scotland with forty-seven one pound coins in a bright green purse I bought from H&M from a cranky sales assistant so I panicked and handed over a note I couldn't change the fact I couldn't understand their change. I flew across the world to feel the exact same things I feel in this Katoomba flat and when all the Scottish people asked me why I was there I answered all of them differently and never lied.

"Looking for my father."
"Taking a break."
"Checking out my roots."
"I keep asking myself that question."

This morning my son cried at the school gates because it's changeover day so I told him in the rain that I'm right here and he knows where I live and when he cracked a smile and said of course I know where you live you're my mother? I knew he'd be ok.

Just once this year I was asked the four letters RUOK but it was followed by ".. you're sounding crazy again" but this time I didn't take the bait like Kevin because I don't take poison anymore irregardless of opinions. Turns out irregardless must be a real word after all because there's no red underline spellcheck underneath it.

Mental Health Week runs from the 8th to the 14th of October. My brother died on the 15th of October. He was always quite polite but I care less, now. I accidentally put the last t-shirt he wore in the pile of dirty laundry in my hallway and even though I know I won't wash it I still care less, there's other people to grieve now. Grieving is a state of heart but it is no longer the only emotion that I feel and if you hate yourself that's good! There's still something left of you to hate.

The world will end for all of us for real one day but until then I text my grieving friend that she should have called me when she was crying lord knows she's heard me cry the ocean enough.

In the meantime I'll write literal literature bask in the heat of my fire eat properly after I edit even though it's Monday. Poor Monday telling its therapist it's hated just for being Monday. I'm sad for Mondays I'm a sad woman but sadness isn't the only emotion I feel anymore it's taken me a life to realise you don't just feel one thing all the time. Sometimes you feel everything all at once but I still won't take the poison bait if I did I wouldn't be feeling like this I'd be feeling nothing at all.

No news is new news - we're doomed to repeat our same mistakes until we're so fed up to the back teeth we change. I got forty-seven pounds of change and the weight of what you think of me weighs heavier than what you think but today is Monday and yeah I really do have writing to do clothes to wash and just because I've already made my own bed doesn't mean I'm lying in it.


I watched this and laughcried from pure resonance and I felt happy because I wasn't alone in not feeling happy or also having a broken headlight. So many #meetoos never whispered only thought but chicks like this remind me all over again that if you tell the truth in public, the world doesn't end.

Tuesday, 31 October 2017

Shout-outs To The People And Some Stuff That Need Shout-outs.

Shout-out to the donut icer person at the local supermarket in Katoomba for knowing they had WAY too much leftover pink icing. Obviously they just thought "fuck it."

                                                  THEY WERE DELICIOUS!

Shout-out to Ragnar Lothbrook do not even get me started about Lagertha this season.

Shout-out to Halloween being finished this year, I'm not used to it and it will never not be embarrassing asking for lollies.

Him: Holding a plastic bloody scythe. Me: Holding the machete I smuggled back from Africa.

Shout-out to these tables I saw the other week.

Shout-out to Mark from Glasgow who made me laugh SO HARD and I'm sorry for asking you to repeat every third word. (No nothing happened - he already has what they call "a bird" and when you say "bird" you have to roll your R's. (Not your arse.)

Mark said he never wants to come to Australia ... "I HATE THE SUN. AND SPIDERS." #istandwithmark

Shout-out to my cousin Marina for MAKING A HUMAN CALLED HARVEY.

Shout-out to both me and Rocco for having EXACTLY the same facial expressions when we first held him.

Shout-out to Dumbo Feather Magazine for re-subscribing me for another year just because I was on their cover wearing no makeup that time.


Pitfall. PacMan. Defender. Space Invaders .... even Chess. I been gaming since 1981. When Rocco saw my reaction to this he said he's going to save up and buy it for me for Christmas. We're currently in the throes of the new Crash Bandicoot how HARD is it also deeply satisfying when we finally, finally beat the level.

Shout-out to Rocco just for being his incredible, surreal, deep-thinking wise little self.

Shout-out to this cup that just makes me feel happy especially at the moment when I'm writing a book and script at the same time. "Bite off more than you can chew and chew like crazy!"

Shout-out to Uberkate Jewels who gave this to me for free even though I didn't even ask for it. I'm never taking it off and I'm never losing it. Cried when I opened it.

Shout-out to the lyrics and video of this Tori Amos song that never ever ceases to blow my mind and build me back up again.

(COMMENTS OFF STILL SORRY) Shout-out to you and me for still being here let's keep that shit up.

Sunday, 15 October 2017

Wherever You Go ... There You Are.

My secret plan to fly to the other side of the world to escape the feelings of the four-year anniversary of my brothers suicide? Foiled. CURSES. I don't want to think about it and I don't want to write about it. I don't want to live it and I don't want to feel it.

Yesterday I had a great lunch with a huge bunch of Glaswegians - literally had to start lip-reading them when they spoke. They were so funny, I'll never see any of them again even after their (drunken) promises to keep in touch. I wasn't drunk well kind of - I can get so far down I get drunk purely on sad. ANNOYANCE for the ten millionth time I wish I didn't feel too much.

Thought I had to check out of my Zed's Dead Hotel today but it's tomorrow! Then I'm off to Edinburgh which I keep saying "Edinberg" in my brain. Heh. 

The world's still the world wherever you are but I'm too far away from Katoomba and pining bad for the boys. Need to get back stat. So I will. My sons will always be the axis of the world to me, as it should be.

                                          Love, straight up.

                                    Holding his brand new second-cousin Harvey last week. 

Off to go for one last walk around the city. It's been real .. I might come back one day, might not. I just know I am so, so much more Scottish than I am Aussie. FINALLY understand why I'm a loud abrasive crude hilarious politically incorrect human. As my brothers father used to say: "Wouldn't trade it for quids."


Wrote this post called "Eraser" in 2013, the year Cam died. Inexplicably feel like re-publishing - it's not cheery, it's not a happy ending. it's just what happened oh sweet mystery of life.  


The very first photo of us together. Me in year three, wearing a green t-shirt and blue tracksuit top. Him in baby white, smiling because he recognised a kindred.

This post is shit already. If anybody has a problem with me talking inappropriately about suicide, I ask you, is suicide appropriate? When is the appropriate time?

Dentist: 9.30
Lunch meeting
Dry cleaners
Suicide 4pm

Why do we not talk about suicide much?

"Hey  how you doin' today?
"Actually quite suicidal thanks for asking."

The suicidal among us don't like to admit that we're suicidal because we're scared of getting locked up, scared of stigma and shame, scared of what people will say or think. You know why I was in the mental health ward at Katoomba this year? Twice? Suicidal. Most people in there are. And now here I sit drinking a fucking latte and my brother's dead because he killed himself early morning three weeks ago on Tuesday, 15th October 2013. He didn't want to get help. He didn't want medication. He didn't want to go in anywhere.

Cam told me the internet was a bad place for people who want to die. He said there were so many options for painless suicide. He talked to me frankly because that's how we always talked to each other. We were friends - really fucking good friends. <-- right then when I wrote that sentence? I got up from my chair howling, pacing the room in a circle with my hand on my hip like I was in labour. Death labour.

He was so fucking smart. And funny. And gorgeous. And talented. And lived with an ache inside him since his father killed himself 25 years ago. I keep thinking, well I'm still living Cam you prick. I've entered the anger stage, which gets briefly washed away by missing and grief and yearning for him so bad. The people I love, in order: My two boys, Dave, Cam.

Cam hired a large cylinder of nitrogen which he kept in his Sydney flat for about a month. Gas mask, long hose, clips. He was also going to work, doing Crossfit, seeing his best mates, and bought a nice car. The suicidal among us, scurrying, still living, still deciding.

A few days before he did it I finally got hold of his friends who'd see him often. I was so worried. I knew there was a very big chance he was going to do it. But the same could be said of me at varying times in my life, you know? All I think now is. "You knew you knew you knew."

I've talked him out of it before. Guess I couldn't this time. That last weekend I kept waking up thinking he was dead, so I'd text him about some dumb tv show and when he text me back I was relieved. Momentarily. He kept calling me "Eden" when he only ever called me "Eed."

I should have driven down to his flat and barged in and done something. Nobody can tell me any different at the moment. Maybe in time that will fade .... but in time, HE will fade. It hurts so much I can't stand it. It burns. The more you love someone, the more it burns.

I keep going through my head how he would have done it - laid the tarp down, then his pillow, turned the gas on, laid down, and put his gas mask on. Pure nitrogen tricks the body, because we all have nitrogen in us. So there's no fighting. It takes three seconds to render a person unconscious, one minute to kill. Apparently there's a chance that right before death the person feels an overwhelming sense of euphoria. I hope so. I hope he left earth with a big fat massive boner.

Cam murdered himself. Extinguished. Euthanized. Fucked off. He gave us all the finger with a 'seeya cunts I'm outta here.'

And I completely understand.

The first sentence of his suicide note -

"Eden .... well, this was not totally unexpected."


I took a photo of the tarp and tank. I took a photo of him in the morgue. And I don't give a shit how inappropriate those things are. I look at them to try somehow get it in my head that he is gone.

I taught Cam how to write his name. And now with all these meetings with my legal people, dissolving and dividing Cams assets, I'm helping him erase it. Death is everywhere but we don't seem to talk about it.

I stand at my sons school and I am the recovering alcoholic drug addict with three dead dads, bipolar II, and my brother just killed himself hi nice to meet you.

It's beyond a joke. It's easy for me to slip into "nothing is real." (Because it's not.)

The very last photo of us together, taken on Fathers Day 2013. (I'm never celebrating Fathers Day again.) Me 41, wearing a black top and my convict scarf. Him 33,  in one of his good shirts and pants. Talked non-stop for almost five hours, just outside here on the back deck. He came up to say goodbye. I knew it then and I know it now.

Both smiling because we recognised a kindred.

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