Friday, 24 June 2016

Thank You.

Currently into season two of the Vampire Diaries which is so lame but SO GOOD. It's helping me through the flu. You know when you get sick and you just keep being sick, then get to a point where you just know you'll never get well again? Flu is my reality right now. It's just me and my friend the couch, wondering if vampires are really real but then realising I'd rather be a werewolf. A shewolf.

Being down for the count has forced me to just sit with myself by myself. It snowed up here today so I ducked outside to take photos and a video, so magical and quiet and pretty! But now I'm back inside in front of the fire, burning up also freezing. Good one. And then I walked up the road to go to a recovery meeting and after I shared I looked down and finally realised after many, many years .... that no.

Leggings are not pants. Go home and put some kind of skirt on. I fully blushed. How could I only just realise this, sitting there with messy hair at 44 years old?!

What else have I been blind to? Answer: I've been blind to a lot. Pain, resentment, blame and just basic bullshit.

I need to thank you. For helping me through these past few months with your care, love and emails. I was so terrified of how I was going to pay rent and bills and petrol after falling into a heap like a sack of shit. Things are shifting, and besides the flu .. I'm getting better. My real estate agent came over yesterday and I wasn't joking when I mentioned how relieved I was that she didn't come to evict me. She came with flowers and quiche and cake and juice! I'm so grateful for people. Lately I've been waking up every morning and immediately listing the things I'm grateful for, which changes your whole outlook, Oprah was onto something. Yeah I've had a rough trot the past few years and some traumas in my life hit me in the soul and won't ever go away but the thing is I'm not some unique flower. Everybody has pain and suffering in their lives. Nobody's immune, nobody's owed anything. Life really is nothing like the brochure.

Gone is the same old bravado I've trotted out. The last time I felt good and free and at peace was in 2007 - that was such a happy year! I'm feeling like that again, just under a different set of circumstances. So how? Doing the next right thing. Being open and willing. Caring about people but not about what they think. Looking at the log in my eye. Letting the past go instead of letting it define me.

The white rabbit told Alice that forever is sometimes just one second.

So thank you for helping me when I need it the most. Sorry for not replying to emails and comments, I've been so paralysed with whelm .. now there's a cool subtle change. Can't be sure but I think Cam is helping me, something he could never do in life but I really feel like he is in death. At 1am when I can't sleep I whisper to him to watch over my sons.

Vampire Diaries has a pretty good soundtrack. In one episode this great song came on which was incredible and gave me goosebumps.

"You didn't ask for this 
Nobody ever would 
Caught in the middle of this dysfunction 
It's your sad reality 
It's your messed up family tree 
And now you're left with all these questions 
Are you gonna be like your father was and his father was 
Do you have to carry what they handed down? 
 No, this is not your legacy 
This is not your destiny 
Yesterday does not define you."

Basically a beautiful song about God came through via a ridiculously lame TV show about vampires. This song made me cry, renewed my heart, and reminded me to have faith.

And that's how the world works.

See you soon. Take care this weekend. x

Friday, 10 June 2016

Wild at Heart

                                                         Image: Jeff Davies

Hello so today I prayed by dancing in my kitchen with the headphones on boiling the jug on repeat for cheap coffee sachets that I just don't think I can give up right now. I've given up so much ... worst thing about losing your mind? Losing your mind. Best thing about losing your mind? Losing your mind. So I put my mind in the second drawer of the kitchen because we all know that's where household deitrus ends up and I rocked out to Florence. No bra, sweaty rivulets, pray-dancing. A person once commented here they have never danced to loud music by themselves in their living room and I was just sad, you need to do that shit. Letting go is sometimes the only way to hold on CONUNDRUM.

Siri am I the evil one? Am I the Dark Queen as opposed to the Light Princess? The answer is .. both. THE ANSWER IS BOTH oh sweet baby jesus what a relief. Such an eye-opener in Maleficent, the backstory of why she became the way she was. She had her goddamn wings hacked off. I've been complaining and blaming my whole life about having my wings cut off but standing on the precipice lately I looked back enough to see that I was the one holding the goddamn hacksaw, you want a revelation?

Slide down the snake again while simultaneously reaching for the next ladder, I'm my own worst enemy and my enemy needs an enema, flush the crap away.

Hey just for today I am so blessed I could burst into a million pieces right here in the kitchen and all that would come out of me is white lightning in the purest form. When she is down she is very very down but when she is good, shit gets AWESOME. I've only just realised there's no end to the deepest traumas in our lives. I kept waiting for mine to blend in with all the other colours but they'll always be there, present and accounted for SIR and all that's left to do is on certain days is putting your brain in the second drawer of the kitchen and dance. It's all just a dance and just thank you for it all, Universe. All of it, every single piece that makes me me. To get to the end of our lives and realise we've never lived at all is a tragedy I hit a fork in the road and went straight.

Got a fortune cookie last week when I was dining solo at Canton Chinese just down the road and it said "You are about to meet somebody very special." I did, it was me, have never been this incarnation before it feels extraordinary and powerful.

I feel everything no filter and guess what, it means feeling good too. I'm applying for a job as a factory worker - I'll be a factory worker. And when people ask me what I do I'll say I'm a factory worker. BE the factory worker you wish to see in the world. 

Best be off, have a shower and get ready for a Friday night with my Taylor homegirl cousins watching horror films and eating chocolate brownies. 

Here's Florence, the one I was dancing to in the kitchen. Her parents would worry that she was so different and strange perhaps she was mentally ill? Hell no. Freedom often gets confused with crazy. She's just wild and untameable and you should blast this song loud too because people like her are living proof that wings grow back.


Monday, 6 June 2016

Street Talk: William The Worldchanger.

Do you like talking to strangers? It's pretty cool, the conversations you can have with people when you're open enough to listen. William told me he could change my entire world in two minutes.

The other day I was at Katoomba library at closing time and I hadn't finished yet. Twice I was asked to leave, by very friendly staff members. I picked up all trailing messy accoutrement that follow me everywhere I go (objects so annoying) .. and went outside to loiter in the hallway next to the public toilets. The cleaner asked me to leave, so I went outside in the freezing and sat down on concrete. Shout-out to concrete for being more cold and hard as we get older.

So I'm there finishing something on my laptop as if my life depended on it because probably at the time it probably really did feel like my life depended on it. Can't even remember now. Obviously my life didn't depend on it after all. Odd saying, "life depends on it."

I was there riding solo and suddenly this guy appeared out of nowhere, huffing and puffing so loud. Muttering, willing himself up the hill. It's a bitch of a hill, that one. He was kind of chanting, talking to himself in the third person. (Or second person? I get confused.)

"Come on William you can do this one more step just one more step."

I watched him. I watch people a lot. He grabbed the railing right next to me, poised. We were the only people there and he looks over to me and and asked me who I am.

"Eden. Well, Eden is just my name. It's not who I am."

Things are more than their labels. William said my name a few times, like I used to say it to myself as a kid, laying in bed trying to go to sleep. You ever say your name to yourself so many times you end up spinning out?

"Well Eden. I know things. I know so many things I could tell you and can change your whole world in two minutes."

BEAUTY. So I get all ready for my world to change in two minutes wouldn't you? He cleared his throat. People walked by, stepping out of his way because William was the kind of stranger you give a wide berth to. It's better not to talk to people like William - odd people, could be on drugs, could be just crazy or drunk or violent. Something to definitely be wary of. Couldn't tell if he was homeless. He was in a rush to catch a train somewhere.

"My name is William Grey. But you probably won't remember that."

"Yeah I'll remember that." I piqued his interest because I was listening. Seemed like he hadn't been listened to in a while.

"I've got all the answers to the worlds problems."

It was pretty cool to finally meet someone who had all the answers to the worlds problems. Old people and young children often have a lot of the answers too.

He stalled for a while and didn't say anything. I waited expectantly for my whole goddamn world to change.

"Um. Ugh. I have to go. I have to go now."

I said ok. We kind of looked at each other with so much to say but he had a train to catch with his bare hands and I had to finish writing something that my life depended on. He looked as wistful as I felt. He would have been in his twenties. Nice clothes. Dreadlocks. Backpack on his shoulder. Strange aura.

"Eden, it probably should have been really nice to meet you."

It probably should have been really nice to meet you.

That sentence was so beautiful that later on I text it to myself. We said goodbye to each other and I was so struck by this guy walking through the world. I snapped a photo of him walking up the street,  if you zoom in you can make him out up there near the Carrington, between those two white poles.

It's possible that William can change somebodies whole life in two minutes. Not my life, on that day. Somebody else's. All the answers to the worlds problems can most likely be covered in two minutes because life is probably much more simple than we realise.


(I started Street Talk in January 2013 with the intention of doing one a week. Then all these Things Happened and life went careening off its axis like that scene at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark when all of those freaky spirits come out of the Ark and melted all the people's faces like molten lava, etc. William is number 42 .. we'll get there. Better late than never.)

Previous Street Talks:

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader
14. Jo the Podiatrist
15. Casey the Uni Student
16. Dream the Horse and Carriage Driver
17. Tamas the Hungarian Accordionist
18. The Dignified Trolley Ladies
19. Alex With The Studded Hot Pink Belt
20. Leaf The Fallen
21. Bel Of The Library
22. Jay And His Big Issue
23. Emma The Adult Shop Cashier
24. Teena, Saver Of Dogs
25. The Luna Park Face
26. Gary The Missing
27. Kristen at the Elephant Bean Cafe
28. Uncle Paul
29. Jess The Mama
30. The Two People At The Checkout
31. Alfie The Pourer
32. Breaking The Rules With Captain Starlight!
33. The Woman In Line At The Bakery A Few Weekends Ago
34. Dog The Dog
35. Julia Gillard The Person
36. Nancy The Badass
37. Bruce From The Psych Ward
38. Jeremy The Costumeless
39. The Women in the Morgue
40. The Lady Whose Name I Didn't Quite Catch.
41. Eden

Thursday, 2 June 2016

Wednesday, 1 June 2016

Praying To Hamburger Guy.

It feels like I just woke up? The strangest thing.

Bought this Jesus Sacred Heart photo from Sanctus Katoomba, put it in a frame and stuck it up on my wall. My son clocks it immediately.

"So mum what's with the hamburger?"

"What hamburger?"

"That guy ... he's got a hamburger heart."

I start cry-laughing and Rocco's laughing too.

"IT'S SERIOUSLY A HAMBURGER!! Hey is that Jesus?"

I told him it was the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

"Looks actually like a hamburger."

My sponsor laughed when I told her - and now, when I text/ring/email her in a McFlurry of awful bullshit I cannot cope one second more, she just tells it to me straight.

"Pray to hamburger guy."

So I do, I pray to hamburger guy. A lot. Also text a photo of him to mum saying "Look He's even doing gang signs."

The whole point of putting Jesus on my wall was to pray to him. Many, many nights here by myself when I can't sleep, thinking of every possible shitty thing I've ever done in my life and how the hell was I going to move through this, I can't do this, I can't handle this .. until my friends tell me straight.

"You are doing this. You are handling this. You ARE getting through this." 

You know that saying about how a seed has to shed itself in layers and be completely ruined and annihilated before it starts sprouting as a plant? That. Something to do with base chakras, energy levels, something magnetic something, breath work, meditation, the massage I had, holding on, letting go, and praying to Hamburger Guy. My friend says it's technically not a photo, it's a print. I asked how does she know it's not a photo? It could be an actual photo of Jesus Christ because surely God is capable of anything? Somehow we end up googling "the fall of Angel Lucifer" as she drove us down to Penrith to go to a meeting. I read out this litany explaining what happened with the Angels up in heaven, basically staging some kind of mutiny upon God. A coup. Half the angels chose to go with Lucifer and the other half stayed with God. Pretty sure there were fights. It was *exactly* how politicians behave in parliament .. and the detailed description went on and on until suddenly my friend pipes up.

"So, how do we know this all happened exactly like this, in such fine detail? Was there a heaven court reporter there taking notes to be written down in Wikipedia one day?"

We wondered if the heaven court reporter got paid hourly. Penalty rates? Was there another heaven court reporter who took over for bathroom breaks, etc? Laughing is a cure-all. I'm in such a divine and pure loneliness at this particular time of my life. By my self, with my self, taking care of my self. Without fucking any hobos but that's an entirely different story altogether.

I'm not fucking anyone, I have no real desire to fuck anyone, and at long last after forty-four years on the planet I'm realising how my lifelong sense of complete worthlessness has clouded my decision-making and if a person ever throws any attention my way I get completely giddy and complimented and base my entire worth on this person's charms. Basically I've let myself be used my whole life ... and I'm just not going to do that anymore. I'd rather be alone. In knowing myself I've gotten to know my worth and it's far greater than I ever actually realised. As Eartha Kitt says:"Many men wanted to lay me down .. very few would actually lift me up."

So today I get this massage and I haven't had a massage in AGES because money but I had a voucher. Oh my lord - even the mere act of someone touching me was enough to make me cry. It happened with Rocco last week too - sitting on the couch next to me, apropos of nothing he just reached his arm out and drew me into a hug while we watched the movie. It's been some time since anybody actually hugged me physically of their own volition and the realisation of that was just big and a bit sad. But ok - because jeez that was a good brief hug. A meant hug is the best hug. So often we can feel alone in somebodies arms.

Today is the first day of winter. From the sunroom of this rented art deco apartment I can see the flat Max was conceived in fifteen years ago. I can also see the hotel I was living in for three weeks last year when I was technically homeless (who's the hobo now?)

I've lived in a lot of houses - I've been a lot of people, done a lot of things and felt a thousand more. But I never felt like this, not once, in my whole life. And I seriously legit thought I'd felt and seen and thought everything there is to know. No. I've always felt things too much I can feel your feelings for you if you like here let me do all of your emotional work for you.

Like that seed analogy, I have really completely annihilated myself this time good and proper. Because I NEEDED to be completely annihilated. The teachers arrived when the student was ready etc. I never knew that "getting ready" was so utterly dark and horrendous and painful.

I never knew enlightenment felt so much like death. 

We break, smash, fall, scream, disintegrate, think that we will never, ever find a way out of the dark. THEN the teacher arrives, the message is clear, the way out is apparent. It's all divine God spiritual stuff. We're born awake, fall asleep at some time in our lives and if we wake up again then it's a hell of a thing. HELL.

Apologies for all the picture quotes but synchronicity is sending me every one of them at right the right time right now. Exactly what I need to absorb, just at the exact moment I'm willing and able to absorb it. Do you know anything about chakras? They're all around me, as well as mindfulness, just this moment, breath being the Great Spirit uniting us all, etc.

But then I come across quotes like this (come across lol:)


Then I walk to the bookcase and suddenly all of my old diaries appear.

Since 1989 I've been writing. Squirrelling, trying to understand the entire universe via a pen on a page. A lot of what I've written is shocking and sad. So I guess nothing much has changed. Except I'm not sixteen writing about my unrequited infatuation for Matthew Brookes from Campbelltown Catholic youth group anymore. Guys back then didn't want a bar of me until I grew my hair and got new glasses THEN they came salivating, taking me to the movies, putting drunken arms around me. And the like.

Point is, there is no point. At certain times I've prayed to Hamburger Guy to bless me with cancerous tumours so at least that way I'll die legit. And then through all of this heavy serious life issues and dramas and foibles of trying to do the right thing I see a picture like this, which hit me most of all.

On all the other days we will not die. Snoopy is hands down the best dog in the world. Before he drank himself to death, my actual Scottish father Bill Barrie used to send Peanuts cards for birthdays and christmases. Barrie means "to kick the door in." Ok then I will. And I did, and here we are.

If life is an obstacle course, I got through. It feels like I just woke up because I just woke up. And I'm never going back to sleep. You think breaking up is hard to do - you should try waking up holy SHIT. Evolving consciousness is nothing like the brochure I'm telling you. The only things left for me to do on all the rest of the Days We Will Not Die is to be here right now. For my boys and for me. That's it. Stay awake. Be the lighthouse, except with real proper light streaming in so bright you know why depressed people can't get out of bed and go for a walk? Because they're depressed. It's not rocket surgery. I've thrown open the windows, did my own washing up like Eli taught me twenty years ago. You don't know what Amber Heard - you don't even know what she saw. So maybe shush and keep judgements to ourselves.

I keep meaning to call Cam to tell him he's dead. The strangest thing - a mind inception. I know grief now. Me and grief are very, very well acquainted. Grief moves its way through my door when I fling that open too - all of the feelings come in, mostly uninvited so I don't fight it. Make a cup of tea for your pain .. give your joy a warm blanket she gets cold too sometimes. Put some socks on your happiness, that guy is FOREVER running outside on the wet grass. Disappointment? Well he can have a sit down at the 1980's Atari machine and play PacMan with his little brother. Do NOT forget to water your imagination thrice daily. Give your hate and anger a chocolate biscuit and tell those guys to just shut up and sit down they are wasting *way* too much energy.

Tell them all to not lose Hope that little girl is always getting lost. Pray to Hamburger Guy. Bow to Allah. Tear your heart out with your bare hands, inspect it for faults, and just shove it back in if it ain't broke don't fix it. 

As for depression, the scourge of our times? Well within a single week I've coincidentally heard the same quote said to me in three different ways. "Turn your depression into creativity."

Give your depression a box of crayons and some A4 paper stolen from the printer. Hand depression a purple crayon immediately, tell depression there is no rules, tell depression to try remember what's it's like to be a kid again. Call depression by a different name to take the power away - Lucille. Stroke Lucille's red hair wet from tears. Gently tell her it's time to wake up. She wants to wake up. She just never knew how.


(I'll keep writing on this blog until I'm dead but this button will only be here while I need it to be here. Completely mortifying. If I could lend myself the money I would .. right after I call Cam to tell him he's dead DON'T WRITE THAT LAST BIT EDEN IT'S INAPPROPRIATE.)

Thursday, 26 May 2016

Ghosts Can't Talk.

Just because I tell stories doesn't mean I make them up. Story telling. Stories are telling. For example, in December 1987 I was fifteen, had my period, and was walking around Australia's Wonderland with my family. We were moving to England in a week, it was a heatwave, and I had to carry these big fat Stayfree pads around in my calico Parramatta Eels bag. Utter mortification because I just KNEW that people knew what was in my bag. The shame is strong - of course nobody else knew what was in my Parramatta Eels bag but I did and I thought they did and my whole life I've done other people's thinking for them. Fast forward in time and I'm announcing to an entire hospital wing that I have a box of tampons now and don't worry? Has anybody seen my shame it was here just a minute ago.

Today I wondered if Mother Mary had a clitoris and then my brain answered "of course she had a clitoris she may have been Jesus's mother but she was still a woman" so then I wondered why I wondered if Mother Mary had a clitoris and realised it was because of the virgin birth. Sex is painful enough when you're a virgin - poor Mary had a BABY while she was a virgin. (The Catholics worship the hell out of Mary. (Not literally.)) I equated the virgin birth with having an orgasm because let's face it - if women didn't have clitorii there'd be no reason for us to have sex. Although try telling some men that.

Anyway so the other day I was googling before and after labiaplasty photos to make sure I had the correctly shaped vagina and if I didn't, what were my options. A few people have teased me about my vagina and I've never gotten over it. I rang a few friends - close friends. And we're chatting and then I say, "So, what's the go with your vagina? What does it ... look like?"

"The fuck, Eden?"
"Just ... what does it look like?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I'm single now. I haven't had to really think about my vagina since my twenties and I just want to ... compare."

I almost sent a vag photo to my friend Megan but I chickened out because it didn't feel safe sending a photo of my unadulterated vagina out into cyberspace. I did zoom in on it a lot, though. Before I deleted it. Did you know that it's illegal to show a womans vulva in porno mags? Or something. I read about it somewhere - there's allowed to be dick and balls everywhere but one tiny glimpse of skin folds gets instantly photoshopped out. I don't get it ... our bodies get sexualised to the hilt but we can't show a bit of normal vulva?

Did you know that Mother Theresa is a known saint but she was also a total arsehole? Yin and the yang. Black and white in us all, telling versions of our stories, quickly photoshopping the ugly bits away. There's so much art and words written about the human heart and in real life it's ugly.

As embryos, our hearts are the first organ to develop. So during one point of our existence .. we were once just our heart.

Teeny cells of pure love, bouncing around in our mothers womb.


This seriously was not the blogpost I was going to write tonight. Just had a massive wave of anxiety buying tampons in Woolies tonight because the guy opposite me was buying condoms at the same time. I felt awkward and hurried up which is probably why I bought the wrong ones.

I went to court yesterday. Pretty full-on. Currently focusing looking after myself. The basics. Does anybody know how to change the photo in my blog header? I always need it changed when I'm going through big stuff, transformation, etc.

Last year my friend Mary drove me to Central Station after I stayed the night at her house. My life was in tatters, I was effectively homeless, and just been diagnosed with Bipolar II. (Again, except this time I believed it.) Mary has been loving and supportive in my efforts of getting help in a world where it's quite hard to just get help. So I'm in the car with her son and her, babbling incessantly about some shit and suddenly there's silence in the car and I realise how much I'd been talking. I apologised. They understood. I kissed Mary and when I got out of the car I stopped to give some money to this woman.

Mary is a photographer and told me that when she took the photo she had tears in her eyes. I didn't know she was taking it but I do admire her eyes because how good is the composition of my pink scarf matching the ladies top? After I gave her some coins she looked down into her hand, disappointed because she could still see me holding onto coins. I told her there were some goldies in there and said goodbye, turned around and in the photo you can see the guy sitting down behind me and I put the rest of my coins in his hat. He was a junkie but I'm of the belief that junkies are actually people as well and might need to buy a bottle of water or something sometime.

In my current financial panic I blurted out to my sponsor all the inappropriate things I could do for cash. She laughed, told me what a great plan that was, and asked me about my giving. My giving? I told her stuff. About the woman called Eve I met in Uganda who gave me the best massage I'd ever had in my life and at the end of the session we were both crying in each others arms. About stuff - death of brothers, loss, mothers. I asked her to meet me in my hotel lobby the next day and when she arrived she was all dressed up ready to drive me to the airport.

"No sweetheart - I didn't ask you here to drive me to the airport! I wouldn't do that. I asked you here so I could give you this."

And I handed Eve an envelope stuffed with wads of American cash. Wads. She cried, we both did, again. Because her massage room was quite stark - frankly I wasn't expecting the best massage in town. But Eve was MAGIC. Huge compassionate Spirit. Her dream was to buy some new equipment for her business one day, maybe employ some people.

It was beneficiary money from my brothers superannuation companies after he killed himself. I hated that money and what it represented - pretty sure it was some kind of hush money because he worked as miner over in Western Australia and the workers suicide rates over there are astronomical.

A few months afterwards, Eve emailed me. She'd bought herself a passport and moved to Los Angeles to live with her aunt and she worked as a beautician over there. Her dream was now to open her own place. I wonder if she has - Eve, do you still read here? I think about you a lot.

I wanted Cams money to mean something. I got into a lot of trouble because of that money. I left my marriage and set up my own house with Vinnies furniture with that money. Enrolled myself into Tafe with that money. Paid for my hospital stay in St John of God with that money - two grand a week and the pricks couldn't even spear us a few tampons.

I was asked recently to go on the SBS program Insight to talk about how demonised women are when they leave the family home because it's usually the men leaving. I was fully going to go on TV and be interviewed about it but I pulled out at the last minute. All I could picture was my boys sitting on the couch watching their mother explain why she left. I keep saying I didn't leave THEM .. but I did, emotionally, a year before when Cam died. It wasn't just that, either. Something about freedom and feeling stifled for reasons I'm still understanding and coming to terms with. I didn't trust myself to explain it properly on live television.

I put this photo on my Facebook and instagram a few days ago and asked if a woman writing about her life was a political act.

Stupid feelings. It's 11pm. Tonight I ate a bit of lemongrass chicken my friend Anna made me. I don't eat a lot when I'm anxious - that's why I cram my head with vanilla slices.

The other night I couldn't get my TV to work, or the oven, and when my bedroom lightbulb blew I just slumped. Exasperatedly pissed off. "WHAT?" Yelling to thick air. "WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME BECAUSE I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING BECAUSE GHOSTS CAN'T TALK."

It's like I'm between chapters so in the meantime I'm writing slam poetry and eating chicken, dancing in the kitchen, regardless of it all.

Musing on the metaphor about being born all heart.

Sunday, 15 May 2016

Allow Me To Introduce The Artist Formerly Known As Indisputable Topcat.

                                Image: Jeff Davies Photographer

That "Hurt" Johnny Cash song just randomly came through my headphones and scared the FUCK out of me.

I relate to the "my empire of dirt" part. Why? Because it feels like that's all I have left - an empire of motherfucking dirt. I am dirt. I eat dirt. I got dirt for fucking eyeballs, dirt in my pen. DIRT. Just a piece of nothing dirt.

So what happens when a piece of nothing dirt starts thinking, well, if I can think then I can't be dirt because how can dirt think?

I'm not dirt. I'm a lot of things, been a lot of things, seen a lot of things ... but I'm not a piece of dirt.

This - this period of my life, this past year? Yeah. Once when I was seven years old I dreamt that I was Jesus on the cross getting crucified AT SCHOOL. And I had no clothes on. Fucking. Mortified.

A couple years back my brother died, we all know that. The big Grief is going to blow back into town soon I can feel it coming and jeez, I really miss him. My fellow scapegoat.

I don't concentrate much on him these days - prefer to focus on the living. And that is my two sons. I owe my two sons every good caring nurturing part of me and the rest of the world can go to hell I don't care what you think. I don't care what you've heard. I have bitten my tongue but remember that story a bit back about the baby elephant who grew into a large elephant who thought they couldn't get away?

I GOT AWAY. And no it wasn't a clean break nothing ever is but I'm CLEAN cleaner than some so while you're pointing out the splinter in my eye go raze your own forest. I burnt mine down years ago. Welcome to Deadwood. I was BORN in it.

Turning my anger and hate and sorrow into acceptance and forgiveness and love but jesus fuck. Learning how to namaste, oy vey.

What happened? How does a you become a you ... how did an Eden become an Eden? You know how you hold a newborn baby and they haven't done anything wrong yet? Completely pure. Well, news just in ... none of us will be that pure again. I'm sick of being scared, of keeping my trap shut, of being controlled. of hiding violence, of shutting-the-fuck up.

So. I could die at any moment - hopefully not coz I got boys to watch Walking Dead with. IT'S TRADITION AND NOBODY CAN TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME. Max I love you. Rocco you have no idea how wanted you were - so here, you guys. This one's for you.

Like Willy Wonka opening the Chocolate Factory. Because hearing one-sided stories ain't fair.

And for you, beautiful readers who I don't know where you came from it's like one day I thought I'd chuck a BBQ and ended up literally dining with the Prime Minister at Kirribilli House. I never asked for any of that shit. I don't want fame - or even fortune. So before we go any further travelling down the road of Edenland, I believe we need to take a detour to see where it all began.

Once upon a time a 34 year old woman started a blog under an assumed name - Topcat. How cool was that cartoon? And she wrote stuff. And she was frayed around the edges sure but she wrote. And a whole bunch of shit happened here have a goosey, gander - oh wait you already did.

I'm not hiding anything anymore, I'm tired. Go nuts on the fucking fizzylifting drink. I've kept my first website private for years now but here it is. For my sons. The last two people in the world I will ever love. Because fuck love. I'm dedicating the rest of my life to my creativity. I'm not giving up - I'm ok, just as crazy as ever. (Call me crazy again I love it.)

After my divorce when everybody gets set free and can get real about their relationships - well, I'm going to marry my creativity. My artistry, my strength, the core of my own goddamn self. I'm not finished .. anyway here's a blog I prepared earlier.

                              INDISPUTABLE TOPCAT

Let me introduce you to Topcat. You probably liked me better then .. I like me more now.

Bon appetit.

(I'll be back here again on Edenland real soon, because this is where I live. I'm not going anywhere, barnacle, etc.)

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