The Decadence.

I am a ghost now, floating around in my personal limbo. All that is left are empty rooms were people I loved used to play. The mau helps me to forget, but there are memories too strong and too precious to be forgotten.

Time is limited, I knew that before I got myself into this, I knew exactly what I was doing and still it feels so futile. People are free birds you can't cage, you can only set them free and hope that one day they'll return.

And at first, during the drama of separation, things seem so exciting and foreign, but after a day or two, the feeling disappears. It all becomes grey and foggy, no joy, no pain, just a mellow mood in which I drown myself. My emotional winter is approaching, and this time, I'm going to enjoy it...

This is Life.

I had a deja vu yesterday. It was the familiar feeling of people leaving me. So I smash a car window and I scream myself silly, all in vain, cause nothing's gonna bring my memories back.

The Second Hour.

I awake once again entangeled, two travelling strangers trying to hold on to the last moments of rest.

I had a secret meeting with Sharon earlier, we had a deep conversation about the inevitable things in life. Such as life itself and the designated death following. We rode streets on the south side of the river and experienced people giving us weird stares as we passed. Feeling like an outsider wasn't really a concern, for what me and Sharon was doing, was nothing short of a miracle.

The last day on Earth.

I've lost my ambition, I've given into the temptations of the heart. and seing as I'm heartless, nothing else matters. There's not one sentence, line or word that could change what's about to happen, the feeling of total paralysation scares the living hell out of me. One day you were a winner and two weeks later, there's nothing left to win.

It feel as if you create something so beautiful, you just have to give it away. But the people recieving it hasn't got the ability to appreciate the gift of love. And love is just a loose term, it means nothing when dealing with strangers and beautiful women. At the first kiss, my precious distance shrunk into an embrace I'd like to keep forever.

I hope that one day, the name Kirsty will mean more than all the caves I've explored, the moons I've populated and the mines that still has diamonds in them.

The Sunlight.

As the first light hits the beach of Cottesloe I find myself waking up, tangled up once again, with a beautiful woman laying on my arm. She is already awake and she is giving me the warmest morning smile I've ever recieved. It scares me to the bone, that this life, this world will be vaporized in about 72 hours. It will be gone and I will still be here...

Railway Running.

I wake up ensnared with a beautiful woman, dazed by the mau I smoked the night before and feeling this fresh morning hard on growing in my way too small underwear. All tangeled up, she carresses my remaining manhood, I purr like a cat and say: "Good morning". What can I tell you? it's a fucking amazing way to wake up.

The emotions are carrying me from place to place, from people to crazy people to more people. They are everywhere and without them around, I feel lonely and grey. It didn't used to matter, nothing used to matter, but she is starting to make everything too real and I just love it when she brakes me.

Going to bed with my heart wide open, I almost cry but not quite. Sometimes I'm just too absurd for people to hang around me. I'll say something so disgusting that people just can't look me in the eye. They just have to leave my precense.

But in time, the need to impress strangers will subseed. The pressure of trying to prove myself to the cool kids will disappear and I will finally be ale to breathe. That will be a glorious day, the day that I finally grow up.

The Whiskey Man.

As I am pouring down the second shot of Tequila I hear the dance floor calling my name, but a bouncer carrying my arm tells me I should drink another glass of water.

As I am standing outside a promising club with a cigarette dangling between my lips I kiss a beautiful girl, but there is a bouncer telling me I should take a walk and buy some chips. I kindly reply, that I neither need a walk nor fucking chips, I need to dance. There’s no talking to people who have lost all ambition.

As I am sitting in the middle of the road trying to score some prime pills I notice a man shouting at me, it’s a bouncer trying to tell me I can’t sit there. I start to scream and walk off.

As I enter a promising club with nothing but confidence in my pocket a bouncer tells another bouncer that I am alright, I smile at him and whisper: “Fuck you, you easily manipulated piece of cunt shit...”

But in this chaos of mine, in this dizzy tunnel of party and sorrow, I see only one face. And whenever she smiles at me, the anger and all the pain just falls of my shoulders and I can finally breathe. She takes me through a dark hallway, into a small booth and tells me it’s alright. And I know it is, because we’re both there, together.
Then I open my heart and the tears follow...

Smoke until the Filter.

Sharing a J with a nice kiwi in a sunny afternoon, drinking some coffee and just being. The friends that I left behind has made no effort to contact me.

Later, on a street made out of violence and random disobediance. I find myself sucking down the liquid cocaine, also known as whiskey. I hold a beautiful girl in my arms and as the night grows darker, I start to fear myself. I go to sleep drunk. emotional and very confused.

Losing my fucking Phone.

There are people and then there are sheep. The people rule the world and the sheep follows. If the people lose control, the sheep becomes confused. If the people don't gain control, the sheep will riot.

Well, I am neither a sheep nor people, I am the one cast aside. Never belonging and never quite the outsider, I'm just guy who thinks too much about way too much. I am the one who will rise above the sheep and confuse the people, I will slaughter the sheep and stab the people in their little backs.

But without the humility of the common man, I will go nowhere, so don't steal or cheat your brothers and sisters.

Dreamclouds.

There are magic clouds floating around in a sky filled with shit, these clouds differ in both color and pace and every man has his mind set on his own. There aren't enough to go around, so it takes a sleigh hand to grab it.

The Dutch prince is nothing but a ghost by now, lavetating inside his soul, searching for answers you can't find on a mountain. And I see him, everywhere, all the time, I can hear the Dutch wolf laughing in every room I enter. But I know that in time, the experience becomes a memory, and memories can easily be forgotten.

And the girl holds me tight...

The Dutch Leaving.

I can see it in his kindly drunken eyes, just how much stuff really matters to him, how much he really cares. And when he looks at mem says something funny an laughs, I just smile, doesn't matter what he just said, I'm sure it was fucking hilarious.

But then he tells me about his future adventures and how he is leaving for greater things. I listen like a child around a campfire and the stories always blows my mind. There is nothing the surprises me anymore, but this guy, this Dutch rider, sure knows how to catch my interest. And with the fewest of words he walks off into the distance, carrying a skateboard and a cigarette, and the sunset paints a siluette made by the god of wolves. When he crosses the line, he looks back at me, he smiles and says: "Too bad it's fucking raining, Bro..."

I know now, it's not the falling apart that hurts, it's the coming together.

Passion for Kirsty.

She reaches with a tender arm, pushing her open hand loosely against my spine. I turn in mutual pleasure, cause I know one thing she doesn't, no one has touched me like that in a long time. I can't recallthe last time someone kissed me like her and telling her that is so hard, because when someone becomes special, they become irreplaceable. But playing it cool has never been my game, I boil within the passion, I embrace the premeditated pain of losing, once again. Cause in the end, everybody leaves.

I have these blurry daydreams about waking up, midwinter, back home, in an empty apartment. The sound of the xbox buzzing is torture and the light given of the blue desktop on my HDTV is burning my eyelids shut. I look around and there are dirty dishes and clothes covering the pleasant areas of a room strange to me, the air is thick with old, used up smoke and the walls are starring at me with it's grey and judgemental spots. I scream in panic.

The night in Limbo.

When pulling your fingers through a thick, dark and curly head of hair, you feel a slight sensation. A simple miracle of life, touching another humen being, it frees your worries and random healthy thoughts come crawling back. And hearing a strangers heavy breath across the darkness, is making me feel loved. It's a good feeling, trust me.

But I have a big fucking surprise for a lot of people back home, I'm going to save up, so that I can treat the assholes of my past, to a beautiful fucking seassion of pain. It won't neceraly be physical, but it will be fucking violent.

Nothing left for Me.

Have you ever seen the ocean? I have. When you are homeless, broke, freezing and fucking hungry. Sitting on the beach watching the sun rise, is the best comfort you can get. The colosal void of endless water covering the earth, makes you realize, you're not that special.

And thinking about my family tree back home, growing wildly, setteling it's roots into addiction and violence. The children, my blood, being raised to be poor of judgement and having a lazy state of mind.. Thinking of that, I kinda feel like the chosen one, the man who's gonna fix them all up. I'll carry them on my shoulders until my knees snap and my legs brake from under me.

And my friends back home, much like me, are just wasting time drinking coffee, complaining about the shitty weather, going to parties where everybody knows everyone. I never would've guessed, I'd be the one who'd brake loose, fuck off, going somewhere else. I always thought I'd rot in an apartment filled to the brim with dirty dishes.

And when I think of myself back then, when ten grams of mau and my Xbox was all I needed. It was a glorious time, for a while, but as the winter closed in and covered my life in darkness, I lost the will to live, I just wanted to be nothing to nobody. I took pleasure in torchering myself with lack of sleep and food, I spent my days in bed or on the couch, fleeing into cyberworlds and mediocre fucking plots. For an hour of two, it's okay, but spending 6 months out of twelve just surfing through realityscapes is not good for your soul.

Everything's gonna be Alright.

My thoughts have been spinning off lately, I've been arogant and selfish, and that is not the one I want to be. I need to show compassion for those who need it, instead of shrugging their gruesome worries off my shoulder, like dust off the floor. I need to connect to someone, open my heart and be myself for a second. For the man, the person, I am representing right now, is not the one who's gonna take me places.

Anal Rape.

The wind is blowing, constantly turning my pages, making walking harder, making weather colder, making for a shit day. And the ones that you care about just left, they had better things to do and they went and did it. But you know what they say: If you love something, give it away...

The money never comes rolling in, I've been fighting really hard, for a long time, but it never comes rolling in. So when I jump from train to train, I'm not being cheap, I'm just being a poor fucking asshole.

Well, I reckon the whole fucking world will burn down someday an I'll be standing on the hill, watching all the fucking rats twist in agony.

A Kiss to build a Dream On.

The eyes of a stranger catches my imagination, she is wearing a rather shy smile and it is driving me crazy. If a touch was to be made, my mind would bubble like a sooting bottle of Coke. I'm just wating, waiting for the connection to happen... But then again, I've been waiting for all my life, waiting for the miracle to come.


I was in this bar the other night, a darkskinned man was playing his tunes on stage and it captured my ear. But then started singing "Chelsea Hotel No 2", didn't know the lyrics and it fucking pissed me off. And it's true, I'm only shy around the beautiful ones, the ones the matter.

The Lonesome Nightmare.

Falling asleep again and again as I'm traveling to work, feeling utterly exhausted. Every fiber in my being screams for rest, food and nicotine, I have none of any. I've spent my entire life running from the destiny my father layed out for me, but now in my true essence, I feel more like him than ever before. Living independent, living hard, loving every second of it, loving every inch of him. The distance I've set for us, is the distance that brought us together.

I reckon, sometimes the cigarette feels like a J and sometimes the J feels like a cigarette.

After ten hours 0f working, ten hours moving around, ten hours doing everything except smoking, a fag tastes like honey in your mouth. And I know that I have not yet exeeded my limits, I have a long way to go. I will find a platform onto which I will create my empire, it will be a sight for sore eyes. For I have waited a long time to see the limit of my creation. Right now though, nothing has been said nor done, the future will hopefully rule in my favour, but I need my big break, I need it like I need air to breathe.

The Hostel.

You enter a gate, it's not a big or special gate in any way, it's just a barrier between the real world and what I would call the Hostel Life. There are people all around you, they are all smiling at you and going about their business. They smile cause they know you, they know your face and where you're from, and that's all they need to know when they are giving you this smile.

Once you've entered the gates you can quickly tell the regulars from the tourists, the wicked from the soulless. The one's always sitting in the back, together, tight, like a pack of hyenas drinking beer and smoking joints. And that's where you need to be, just merging with the pack, trying to convince them that you are this awesome guy who know shit and stuff. But in time, the need to prove yourself deminishes and eventually you become one of them, the wicked.

Washing Cars.

I know now what I am and what I'm suposed to be. I am strong not weak, I am confident not confused, appreaciating life not wasting it.

But no, not really. I'm just wating for the man to come, he's gonna be wearing a slick suit and a white smile. He's gonna shake my hand and say: "Good on ya mate, but now it's time for you to fuck off to where ever the fuck you came from..." And I'll be like: "You reckon!?"

Boner Cruise.

I awake in a cold morning bed with a beautiful girl cleaning my room, I look over at her and she gives me the warmest morning smile. The clock is 10.45, and I was supposed to be at work two hours ago...

Remedy for a Soul.

I am not a pacifist anymore, I am violence reborn, mayhem incarnated. There's a constant chaos brewing inside my head and the few kind words I dare to utter, are just polite questions in the form of begging. I have become everything I wasn't, everything I imagined, and it feels good to be away from the safe fucking system that I grew used to back home.

But you can't turn your back on your friends, they are everything you have, when you've got nothing. So keep your friends close and your victims closer...

Crashing in the Fog.

And the mau carries me forth, through fog and misty rivers, the afterglow just keeps pulling me along. There's no talking to these unworldly things, they have neither faces nor names and they guide you without the voices and the screams. They brake your sporit and bleed you dry, so I take careful steps as the nights closes in.

My feet are ancient blocks of concrete made by a thousand slaves. The ground beneath me trambles, as I walk the crazy streets of Subi. People are shouting without reason, fighting for the fun of it and taking massive amounts of their favorite drugs. When the sun goes down behind the western hills, the streets turn into something different, something dangerous, something like me.

The Aftermath.

Spending the night cruising between Freo and Cottesloe, on a skate made by god, I travel down hills bigger than your soul. The intense rush of spontanious endophines has become a drug I didn't reckon with and it makes for a healthier way of living.

Constantly searching for the next thing to put in my head, I sway between traffic lights and cop cars. My aura is enormous, it reaches all the dangers ahead and I feel this calm coming over me, all through the day. But I need the bass, I need it while travelling through the smokey suburbs of southwest Perth.

The Tramp needs a Lady.

I'm like a stray cat catching every little scrap people can share, like a bummy cat I what is given to me. The lack of financial control is driving partially insane...

Skating through a void of what once was Freo, the town I've fallen in love with, I feel a cold draft driving through the boulevard. I learned alot while doing some hardcore practice, the answers just keep coming to me. Thirst for the knowledge of everything.

"Oh, could I borrow that for a sec? No, I'll just fall and break me neck..." a drunken woman falls past my step and smiles as she greets me. I feel very safe when walking the streets at night, I know things about this place, things not even the Abbos know. All the names of all the streets I've passed are stored in my mind like the scripture on a rock, I know the people and they have just started to know me. The jigsaws just keep falling into my huge void of confusion.

By the day now, I feel myself growing in rapid motion, both physically and mentally. I feel so strong and brave when passing stranger after stranger, the knowledge of my power is all I need.

But it scares me sometimes, the place that I'm evolving or is it just forgotten facts that has come to light? I wonder as I create the most brilliant things I've ever thought of. The solutions hover in the air as I grab for the truth, in a one man's land I'll learned how to take a punch.

And the girl, always, constantly on my mind and I need to find her. But it will take time, something I have fucking heaps of.

The walk of Fame.

Cruising down the hills with my newfound friend, going forty K an hour down massive mountain slopes, just feeling free and not heavy. Him teaching me stuff I've never known, and me amazing him with my speed, the Dutch Wolf moves like mist in the wind with the swedish cat just tagging along. Three hours later, things couldn't be any better, sharing mau and peanuts while doing mad tricks in the skatepark. Two people who have know eatchother for 24 hours, just becoming instant friends...

I am now Open.

As I was walking through the Harvey Normans the other day, looking at things that will soon be in my possession, I remeber thinking: "I killing another human being considered wrong, when you know he/she deserves to die..?"

But it is all about bass a reckon, put a beat on followed by some bad bass, you've got me jumping around like somone who wants to belong. Moving me back and forth across different dancefloors, a steady companion making things easier, carrying me until I fall asleep.

My brain is really hyperactive, it's open to the impressions of life, it's really scaring me...

The Familiar Fog.

Dazed and confused, I awake by my alarm. All my room mates are already awake and they are asking questions like: "Who the fuck is this guy?" and "Why doesn't he turn his fucking alarm off?" So I open my eyes and apologize. They just laugh and go back to sleep.

I was sitting in the Dome café last night, fucked up on pure mau, surfing the net. I came across an email sent to me by my mother, one of those sentimental one's, the one's with tears drooling all over it. I take my time to really read it, to imagine how it would be to have a son on the other side of the world and just being powerless. She is telling me that she misses me and that I shouldn't worry about money. So I put some Massive Attack on and press reply...

Once I've written a few sentences I start to feel this weird emotion, it comes over me as the track "Butterfly Caught" plays in the back of my head. I'm telling her that I'm alright and that I really appreciate her lending me money, that she saved my life (once again) and that I have a solid roof over my head. I'm telling her, in the most sensitive and honest way possible, that I will never move back home again because of my love for this country.

Once I've written a paragraph or two, the song "Angel" comes on. I tell my mother that I love her and that I miss my sister and her very much. In this moment of true honesty and open-hearted dialog, a rush of old, dusty feelings comes flying though me. I can't stop the pressure from overwhelming me, so I sit there, at the Dome and cry like the tiny little brother/son that I really am...

Lord of the Doves.

Filthy fucking rats with wings surround me, as I'm about to have myself a glorious picknick. I throw the bread and watch them fight like bums over the small pieces landing in the grass. The are the absolute bottom of society, those filthy, dependent, fucking Rats...

I paid three fifty to travel on the train, the trains are fucked, so they send me on a bus. And I reckon you can't be writing on the bus...

There's no fear anymore, My heart is always on a constant beat. The things that used to be scaring the shit out of me, are now beneath me, I rule my own destiny now, and I look down upon them who aren't. If there's a will, there's a way...

Chapter 3. An Ocean of Noize.

Finally I awake with a solid roof over my head, in a warm bed, in a nice room. The people around me seem calm and polite, and I just feel very contempt.

Dont' Put people on your precious pedistal, cause they'll fall so hard that they'll never walk again. You can trust people, but you have to keep them at a distance, just far enough for them not to stab you in the back.

I've cried twice in Australia, that's twice as much as I've cried back home for the last two years. It's just when things are too much, I feel so much all the time, wether it's good or bad, doesn't matter. I just love this life sometimes, and when it doesn't love me, it hurts like nothing else.

In the land of Plenty.

Watching the sunrise on Cottesloe beach, six a clock in a shady dawn. I see the kids having the time of their life, just riding waves and the elders going for their morning walks, it's so beautiful that I just have to cry. Listening to the most amazing tracks of Arcade Fire, watching the waves greet the shore. I smile as the locals pass me by.

Waking up in the early am, I am confused as the night lies quiet above me. I should've trusted the moon as I wandered off the traintracks, the moon would never lie to me. The sweat on my back has dried and the wind has been hazzeling me for hours, it makes for a very chilly promanade. When my legs are broken, my shoulders are sore as fuck, my brain hyper active and finally I find what I was looking for. Very tired and very hungry I beg the manager of the Ocean Beach Backpackers for a room, he smiles and says: "Well of course mate!"

It is hard to appreciate your origin when you know you can't go back, you love your country and your friends there, but it's just fucking shit. Here they care about what you do, they honestly care about things. If you throw bottles in the ocean or on the beach, you'll get a fine, if you make a bonfire on the beach, you'll get fucking deported. They just love this place, as does everyone who visits. Everyone, accept the Abbos, are just immigrants moaching of the island. All the people that I come a across are all travelers in some way of another, we are the same in the eyes of the government, equals, as we try to find our own little place in the big wild west. Call it New California, call it what you will, this country is growing like crazy, it will be huge some day, fucking humongous.

And in time, I will have my piece of it...

Sleeping in a Graveyard.

”They've spun a web for me...”

Waking up in a graveyard knowing you have to move, fast, almost run. You have your skate and it makes the downhills easier, making ten minute walks into one minute rides. And it is amazing watching the sun rise behind the harbour as you are struggling across the river, on the bridge to Freo.

Waking up in a strange bed with a beautiful girl lying on the other side of the room reading a book. She smiles and says to you: ”Good morning...” I smile back and look at the time, it is five in the pm.

A Call to Arms.

You are moving through this deawy meadow, in rapis motion, in the early morning sun. There are poisonous fucking snakes, fucking everywhere, every step you take is a step closer to certain death. Don't fucking trust anyone, don't fucking care, don't you fucking step on those snakes...

Too tired to write, too hungry to walk, too sick of being poor to cope with the wonders of tomorrow. But it is approaching quite fast, the future, is breathing heavely over my tired shoulders.

And all the girls are just too fucking hot...

A Dream Noir.

The people of Subiaco is sleeping like tired dogs as I am walking through it's empty streets. There is a newfound hope and confidence in my steps and I feel strong even though I haven't eaten, slept or had a drink for hours, I am rock solid and selfefficient. Powered by pure willpower.

Because I know now exactly what I'm going to do, a know my future for the five following years. I am so sure, so fucking sure about this and I will kill to get where I'm going. Fucking slitting throats and walking miles, doesn't matter, I will reach this goal of mine. Get rich of die trying.

It came to me this morning, as a crystal clear vision, a dreamlike explanation of what is going to happen, in detail for good and bad.

My dream is to one day, rule the City of Fremantle...

Back in Subi.

Spending a day with a friend I've known for two weeks, a friend I know, will always be my friend. Aryan, the man of the Desert, he's going to rule his kingdom one day, he's gonna rule it with an iron fist. Because he knows what he wants and just how to take it.

Waking up in a nice home, with a woman making breakfast and a friend sleeping next door. We share a coffee and a smoke, talking about life and whats becoming of it. A nice moment in a fucked up time, a moment of peace in the chaos, a brief moment of life in a calm place called Subiaco

Leaving the Sundancer.

Ah... nine/eleven, what can you say? I hope they crash another fucking tower...

"Alright, that's it, you're out of here..." he says looking at me and the glass of wine I'm holding in my hand. There is a smile hiding behind his thick charade, but it can't be reached, it's too late. "Tomorrow you leave this hostel." I take a sip of my illegal wine and say: "That alright man, I'm just a bad seed, can't get a break in life, just can't get a fucking break can I..?"

The Crack in Your Hand.

There was a party, there always is and there will always be. A party to which you are invited and you feel welcome, there are always people on the corner, just looking for fun. I was one of these people and I followed a very confused man, every word he uttred was jibbrish, complete fucking bullshit, but he was buying me drinks, so I really did'nt care that much.

Once drunk, I get back home several hours later. This really shady guy was sitting in the back, having a midnight smoke and he smiled as I joined him. He smiled really wide and put his hand on the table, when he opens it up, there lies 30 dollars worth of mau, just in the palm of his hand. He smiles wider and tells me to roll this into one J, 50/50 with tobacco. I agree in silence and start to roll.

Then this cunt of a snakeman comes out, looks at me with a very disappointed face, walks over, takes the Mecc and throws every little bit of mau into the garbage. I looked at the shady guy and said: "I fucking told you that was going to happen!"

Even later, me and this shady guy are sharing what he would call a "smokeless pipe". He teaches me how to use it and he tells me to suck hard, suck hard boy. So I suck as hard as I can, I suck for the mother earth and nothing happens, I suck harder, harder, harder... And finally the stash pulls through, straight into my lungs and I cough like I was in gradeschool. Five minutes later I realize something really bad, that I am high on crack and there is no turning back, this free party just turned into something different, something that was not supposed to be...

On the Couch.

For ten dollars a night you can buy accomodation not worthy a sick and filthy dog. with nothing but people around, everywhere, all the time. There is a corner where you can spend time of solitude, but it wears you out, and with time, it kills your soul.

The theory of Time Travel.

The taste of my morning cigarette wears the flavour of an old dusty kiss, a kiss that I made when I was fourteen and women were still beautiful. My golden years, my prime time, my only love.

Finding my dream online while surfing the jobsites, I cry a distinct tear of pure joy, pack my shit up and head north. The way there is hot and sweaty, my shoulder is cracking and the skate just keeps carrying me forth.

Once in North Perth, Mount Hawthorne, I relax myself in a nearby park, just soaking in the midday sunlight. And with everything packt up tightly in my bag, I keep walking up the hill.

The Girl of Freo.

You see her sitting in the bar when you enter the room, the sound coming from the speakers remind of times well spent and she smiles as you walk on by. You are rolling a cigarette and she is drinking red drinks, she follows you out the back and you are happy to be there. Sitting across the table are different strangers with multicutural backgrounds, talking about buying mau in different countries and smoking pipes of different sizes. The Girl of Freo sits close to you, she takes a sip of her drink as you are rolling her a J, she smiles once again and talks about moving, travelling and partying. There is an instant connection, it is there like air, just hovering around you.

As she takes the first toke the spaces between her eyes grows wider, you can really see the color of her eyes. They are green with a hint of blue flashes, and when they close again and again, slower and slower, she passes the J. She asks you where you're from and what you were doing, it's not really that interesting nor relevant, cause you know where this conversation is going. By the end of the J, her hair has been raised to new hights, like whirlwind blowing through a sleepy countryside, the golden locks are climbing down her shoulders. It is chaos personafied.

Done, smoked, deaf, you try to stand up. The music is loud and you realize that you were too drunk to have smoked that J, it is a mistake often done when too exited. With a fear of passing out, you find your way home, you climb into bed, not your bed, but A bed...

Killing the Beat.

"Put the pump on!" I scream as the beat goes louder, higher and more insane. I move like a cat through thick crowds of wealthy, disgusting people and I smile, dance and give them my finger. There are women getting felt up all over the place, space is tight and there is no more room the fly. There's just this empty space, right there in the corner, just calling my fucking name.

Saturday.

The crowds are moving passed me like cars merging through the lanes in the heart of midday rush hour. I can feel the distance between us, a huge void, for I am and will be for a long time, the perfect stranger. There is a pulse that I'm looking for, I don't know what or where is is, but I'm sure it's here, somewhere...

In the weekends Fremantle is very gentle and kind to me, almost seductive, for come monday it will spit me in the face again. It is too beautiful to let a smug face like mine walk around all unwashed.

You reap just what you sow, that's it, you get what you give.

Crashjack.

It's the same wherever you go, without a job and/or money, you'll always be a fucking nobody. There's no telling of what you could be, but as long as you're nothing, you're just dust in the wind. Enoying for people around you and totally powerless.

The Worksearch.

The city is aware of me moving through it, like a serpent in weaty grass, I look for opportunities on the streets of Osbourne Park. Just dreaming of skating, clubbing, dancing, fucking etc.

Life is fucking hard sometimes, especially for a soft cunt like me. It keeps pushing me and pushing me, my stumbling steps are closer to the edge by the day and it is shaping me hard and firm. In the end I will rule this life, rule it with an iron fist, with no comprimises.

Dence Nightlife.

"Man the fuck up, prins!", says John the Killer and I can't really shape the smile that he is looking for. My eyes are covered with tears, the tears of a too strained man searching for any kind of comfort. But I just can't find it, I just can't man the fuck up...

The night threw me aside like a piece of faulty gear, out of my head I followed the voice of a french man. A kind, exentric, gay man who really wants me and it kinda creeps me out. So I keep my distance in the end and leave him very disappointed.

Pissed off at so many things I was screaming on the hill above the sea, others were laughing and cheering on, I couldn't manage to surpress my demons, so I kept on screaming. Staring into black waves, my mind finally came around and we took a walk.

Later on, sitting inside after showing just how weak I really am, we eat a delicious meal. It soothes me, calms me down, makes me realize things and I went home. There was no underlying truth to things, there was just my fucked up mind playing dirty tricks on me and I slept like a god.

The Irony of it all.

I am changing, I am changing into something bigger than I've ever been before and as my recent recentment against my beloved companion fades, I can see the light in the end of the tunnel. My quest for being the independant stranger is almost complete, all I need is a batch of fresh mau and some good old fashioned selfesteeem.

A slow Sunday Train.

Last night was a fucking blaze and Tyler Durden carried me through parties and back. I was flying across the dancefloor like something that really didn't give a fuck about anything. The girl of a thousand dollars shook my hair and called me cute, I gave her the finger. A guy with a happy face gave me his hand, I gave him my smile. Everybody fucked up on their weapon of choice, I gave them all a big fucking hug. Tyler looked at me with his greasy eyes and stole the girl of my dreams, like the fucking asshole that he is, he made my night.

The Day Off.

I'm alone but not lonely, pretty fucked but not too fucked to skate. I'm disposing of my garbage in the bins provided to me by the City of Fremantle, bin it or swim it.

The saturdays I've been spending walking, skating around Perth has been the days of my life. And now, watching little kids rock the skatepark, I realize how amazing the actuall process of skating really is. A young boy bails, sprains his arm and continues like nothing happened. I am the spectator outside the window, looking into a paradise filled to the brim with possibiblities.

The hard Work.

The sound of screaming is fading in the distance as the drills pulls through the solid steel. I'm tence and the words flying through the room are piercing my brain. The words of a gentle Belgian guy calms me down and like liquid snow his voice is sliding through my ears.

This is the hard work, unpaid breaks, limitless bitterness and stupid fucking supervisors.

The Mother/Father.

Only now, being very far away from home and all alone. Only now, being free, poor and very tired. Only now, do I realize what my father has done for me. The amount of hard work he had to put in and the time he spent wasting on me, that is the greatest sacrifice. And we all know losers make excuses while the heroes make sacrifices.

In this moment, I realize, that my father is the only rolemodel I'll ever need. The dreams of being recognized as something special are just pathetic in comparrison to what my father has been through, the trails of a real hero.

The hard and steep road of learning how to skate is proving simpler than I've expected. All you need is confidence, and that goes for everything.

"J'apprernais le fransais quand je traveilleis" = I learnt French while working.

Wayne the Frightful.

There is a man twitching on my right and a solid companion on my left. I'm fucked once again, on the train once again and totally lost once again.

Between meeting heroes and coming home, there is a thin line heading straight to trouble.

The Irish Cocaine.

The irish brute sat before me in a stance saying, stay the fuck out. He enjoys my mau as a man with nothing to lose, nothing to gain or forget. He's the void of a shell wrapped around another void, and it just keeps on going. When turning his head, I could see the veins along his massive forehead. And he spoke:

"Fuck... last week I did shitloads of speed at this shitty bar and some geezers sent me on my way to this hotel to fuck two girls, right. And I was tripping balls, I really wished they were not fucking uggos, you know. But as I was standing in the doorway looking over this bed, two fucking hot women were looking at me, wanting to get fucked. It was fucking mental man, and they would pay me like a thousand bucks and fuck off. That my friend, was a fucking trip..."

Then he leaned over and said:

"You want some of this?"

He showed me a small bag with white contents, I smiled and said, why not? The white gold of the western world on a tiny spoon infront of my nose, I've been waiting for this moment for a long time.

And now sitting infront of my computer, living a seven year old dream, I can finally relax.

DealerBoy.

There is screaming outside my window as I'm about to fall asleep, a child is crying or a dog i very badly scarred. The racket echoes in my head and leaves me with sore ears. The calling of the night do not attract the weary.

The boy with golden hair brought us home once again, with a carpet full of mau we played like the children we are. But we had to stay sharp, my companion and I, the house viewing was just about to start.

We came to a broken down old neighbourhood that seemed nice and quiet. We felt the soft air of a small town suburb and we passed houses of different colors. In the doorway of one of the cooler houses I've ever seen, the landlord of the manor said I could have my room here and as the walls were narrowing a smile was filling my face.

The Joker has inspired me to grat things, to let people go. He is a prophet on a new generation, a braver race of independent citizens, he is the new God and Heath Ledger was his messenger.

Zookeeper.

The afterglow carried me downstairs, I went to the back to catch some time of solitude. I find my friend Harri smoking his morning cigarette, I join in and inspire to conversation.

Jon, the killer from Melbourne came out of a gate made out of golden sunbeams. He rolls the J of fluid passion, and as I grab the skate I realize: This is not my BOARD!

Pretty fucked, walked among the monkeys, lions, zebras, hyenas, baboons and crocs. It was a shit day, but the wildlife kinda made up for it.

The Voice of God.

This is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing at this exact moment. I can feel destiny riding on my back, resting it's tired legs. Today is a day filled with peace and quiet.

I met a man of God standing outside phoneshop looking at cheap phones. He told me about his bad ways and about how Jesus saved his life twentyseven years ago, the same story I've heard a thousand times. But he presented himself as a good man and I decided to hear him out. His words neither slick nor sly, they were enlightned, inspiring and they made me listen. The funny thing about it is that he could've actually been my friend, that is if he wasn't such a fucking tool...

Jumping on the train going downtown, I feel exited and hopefull, I have money in my pocket and I'm going to spend it.

Obtain the taste of real life on a T-junction on Oxford st, aquire the will to live on a skateboard made out of fire heading east, I skate the names of forgotten heroes while smoking the J of deeper appreciation. On a day like this, the color of the sky seem bluer, the smells of homecooked meals seem stronger and the sunbeams seem warmer.

It's amazing to think about your greatest wish while you are skating on Hay st all the way down to Subbiaco, and to realize that you are living you fucking dream. I can't by the life of God, think of anything I'd rather do, than to skate all the way home, to Fremantle.

A fuck behind the bar asked for my Id as I was ordering my Jack&Coke, with a smirky grin he skrunk me like a stone grinding on a gravel road.

The Colour of Money.

My companion has taken the night out to waste his money wellearned, I on the other hand, don't want to wake up poor in the morning. The dawn after the storm has arrived, my charmic trial has come to an end. I am free to live and breathe again, and that I will...

The Day of Pay.

I had the feeling of remorse yesterday, the feelings of doing something really pointless and get shit pay for doing it. But this morning I went to the bank to collect my hard-earned money. The feeling of strolling down the caféstrip with fivehundred dollars in cash, rolled up tightly in my pants, was unbelievable. I've been poor since the first day I came here and to finally feel the money in my hand was amazing. I had the widest grin to day at work, aye!

But seeing as the last couple of days has been horrific and weary, I start to get the big picture. Carma is all around me, showing me right from wrong. For I have been really bad for a really long time. Wasting my precious time avoiding life, simulating different lifes and experiences just to not feel anything. And I didn't for a long time, feel anything. Til one day when fate knocked on my door.

I've always said, if I sit on my ass long enough something will happen, and somehint always does. I can sit for a very long time, months of doing nothing, but eventually something happens, something really amazing always appear. I get the thrill of life back again and feel as if i could accomplish anything.

The Great Escape/Subbiaco RD.

Moving great distances on a train never ridden, I feel the independence I've lacked for so long. This trip will mean the end of my weak ways, it will strengthen my spirit and carry me on, cause there is no merging for this train I'm riding.

As I was toking the last blow of a very strong J, I realized that I don't have enough money to take me home. Exited and terrified at the same time, I walked along the beach. The sun was setting and I was walking in the wrong direction. And as I was pondering on how to reach home, I walked towards the railway. I knew what had to be done, I knew my solution.

I threw away ten cents so that I definitely couldn't ride the train home, and I started
walking. I was thinking of my companion and how I needed to call him, let him know I'm alright and in this crossway of knowing right from wrong, I kept my steady course.

In the setting sun on Haystreet, I came upon this dazzeling garden. It felt like a tropic dreamland in midtown and I decided to have myself a seat. The trees were greener than anything I've seen and a pond was laying in the end of a soft slope. I cleaned my eyes and sat down.

The garden was Eden and I was it's new prins, and I could have done time for what I was about to do. I rolled a J with on of the stronger mau I've ever tasted. The horizon went distant, the trees moved even closer and the smell of an chilly, evening breeze gave me the urge to stand up. Then I walked around thinking of writing this text.

Waiting for the train at the Subbiaco central is a massive waste of time, if you only have twenty cents in your pocket. The trains just keep passing me by and the nightly cold is coming on. Maybe this will be the walk of a lifetime.

The Low Cut.

Everyone so fucking happy, so fucking in love and so fucking rich. And myself, I'm sitting in this sixteen year old kid's parent's house begging for weed. I mean, I'm twentythree years old, seven years older than this trippy little kid and I'm begging HIM for weed? In the eyes of someone wiser, than must seem so fucking tragic and pathetic.

A poor man's Blues.

It doesn't matter in the end, the work you put in, the energy you waste on becoming someone else. The futile struggle of climbing life's social ladder is always in vain. After thirtytwo hours of lifting steel beams and screwing shelves together, I still don't have a dollar to my name. I reckon this is life, it's just this impossible steep to walk, you are really making an effort to reach the top, but the valleys inbetween just get deeper and deeper. And in the end, it's just another weekend you spend burning all your savings on shallow distractions.

But this is the New California, the promised land of dreamers and social rejects. If you stand on a crowded street long enough, you can hear the brewing of suppressed rebellion in the near future. People want so much here, they have realistic dreams to follow. A path they chose a long time ago and still walk, because you have to be young and stupid to become old and wise some day. I reckon by the end of my charmic trial I will rise up to my occations and I will create something for myself.

I don't wanna be standing alone and poor, in the end of my days thinking:

"Is there something more to life!?"

The Avarage Mau.

The amazing streets of Fremantle thrills me every night, and stoned as fuck it carries me like nothing else. There's a certain mood that dazzles my eye when the girls are all wearing their smiles, happiness comes to mind.

Sometimes I just watch the sunlight coming of anything, like a container or a red brick wall and just go: Fuck, I'm really far from home... Watching seaweed dancing on the ocean beach or toking a cone on a crowded street, it all seems so exotic compared to my past life. Nothing reminds me of home, and that is probably the best thing about it.

There is no real connection with the local scene, I need to be on my own and follow my own words. The constant leading of my companion has left me weak and dependant. I need to trust myself, to just grab a hold of my emotions and walk my own path.

I work really hard, you know. I work my ass off every day. I really want to do a good job when at work, at work, work is all that matters. There's people who don't understand the logic of good and hard work, the energy and sense of accomplishment you get from ripping your arms and muscles to shit and bending your back beyond recognition. The logic of losing time and winning money, let the days pass, let the payrolls merge and let the struggle of everyday life lead me to the valley of succes.

Dreaming of Perth.

Daydreaming of skating down the Bibblebum track on my brand new longboard, I find myself trapped soulless on a street in Subbiaco. On to rock and trubble I smoked another J, the strange feeling of floating was a constant. We, my companion and I, walked right into betrayal and back home...

The spell of Tobacco.

As money grows thin, tobacco grows even thinner. My craving for nicotine has taken over and I find myself stealing from others, I've never seen this side of me before... Well, that's not exactly true, desperate times calls for desperate measures.

Deep Sleep Sailing.

The young boy with golden hair told me a story of deep despair while he was handing me the bong, his face was filled to the brim with exitement. My mind grows sad as I think of his tragic future...

But he gave me the means to carry on and on I went. From nowhere to the heart of Fremantle, my new town, my new home.

A night at no expense.

Last night was a blaze, hungry for love I cruised the dancefloor for hours. The beat of a magic drum carried my lusting body through the flesh of naked strangers. Her smile was my affirmation and my feet were sailing clouds in a sky known as heaven. But the night did not last forever and neither did I...

Buckle up for Safety.

After a nice day at work, nice guy took me and my companion for a nice ride. We pushed through the city in his huge back loader, just moving stuff around. He told us stories about living on the hill, smoking bongs and watching the sun set behind the massive sky scrapers.

Fremantle.

Walking through a sea of pure happiness I stumble upon the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, the girl I've been looking for, the girl from the train. And to the sound of the accordion I keep walking, just walking on theses clouds that carry my immortal bliss.

My day alone is turning out to be my biggest adventure, a visit to the hospital, checking out the Markets, joining the queer parade, just chanting gay slowgans. There is nothing in this world that could break my spirit right now.

CHAPTER TWO

The Girl of Perth.

After one night in Perth I’ve managed to fuck some things up, lost my atm card that I received only hours earlier and I encountered the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. There is always something going on in the big city of Mystery.

My hairy, stupid looking companion left me for dead downtown, I felt confused and lonely. It’s the prize of freedom, I guess.

Leaving Pemby.

It’s never what it is supposed to be, you know, the adventure of your life. It is filled with these magic moments, the ones you know you will remember forever. The smiles of people you encounter, perfect strangers that instantly becomes your closest friends. The month in Pemby is the first month I’ve spent from home, I reckon, being someone else than I was raised to be. Being free and on my own, being the one I’ve always wanted to be…

But pictures gets distorted time and space passes by, the memory that was so clear, suddenly fades away.

Stuck at the end of the world.

Waking up, still in Pemby, went and had a shower. Paid my rent, grabbed my baggage and went to the bus. The bus had left, still in Pemby, I went to play pool. Leaving stuff behind is proving more difficult than I could ever imagine.

Sober for the first time in weeks, I watch some old timers play the pooltable. They clean up like nothing else and I am amazed by the spirit of the game. It is for life and ends only in death.

Fucking heaps I reckon.

Waking up in a small town in a big county in a fucking huge world, I walk alone smoking my morning cigarette. The mood of my surroundings is making me smile, I feel relaxed and confident. And the queue balls are rolling my way today.

Greg’s Place.

Greg is a god among men, ruling his kingdom with an iron fist. And the solid anger in a young kid’s eyes is nothing I’ve ever seen before. A british girl lost her mind in a wooden shed made out of strangers, I was fairly confused as the goon kept pouring into a glass wearing my name. This was Bat Country.

It’s just one more memory to forget…

A French Affaire.

I know now what I am, a little bitch with whiney teeth. The simple life is better suited for the simple people. My contract exceeds my capabilities, the weakness I have inside, has shown it’s ugly face.

And I miss my friends and family today, every shitty little minute of every shitty little hour of this shitty little day. It is fate that brought me my companion, I trust him with my very being and without him I’ve would’ve given up a long time ago. He brings me comfort when I’m down and Laughter with I’m up.

But I need my space sometimes, I really do. When emotion explodes, solitude is the best cure.

The Counting of Time.

We are leaving, we are leaving this place behind soon. Off to new destinations and strange people in the city of Perth, the feeling of rejuvenated bliss fills my every muscle.

Under Pressure.

The pictures of you made me remember a smile never seen. But the feeling of remembering is harder than being stoned and forgetting.

An adventure into foreign lands always washes away the stench of failure, in the morning everything is possible.

“Who is that girl in the picture?” Said a German guy standing behind me while I was taking a drag.
“It’s my ex-girlfriend…” I responded with smoke still in my lungs.
“Ah, she is pretty! Where is she now?”
“Back home, I guess” I exhale.
“What happened between you two?”
“I really don’t know. I just kinda disappeared…”
“Why? How?”
“I was too afraid to love…”
“Do you miss her?”
“Sometimes… Sometimes I get this clear picture of her face, her head on my belly moving up and down as I breathe and those watery eyes gleaming at me from a safe distance. She is talking about something that happened along time ago, happy memories, something about her sister or family. Her eyes light up the room as the words leaves her lips and the hours just vanish into nothing. I try to enjoy her story as much as possible before she has to leave, but the time always comes, The time when Everybody leaves.

I’m sitting here now, alone behind the backpackers with a smoking bong by my side. I’ve lost my cigarettes to the losers in life and without smoke I turn nasty and depraved. But I don’t let the small things bite me, cause there is always something to look forward to. My laptop has crashed, my phone doesn’t work and I’ve lost my shades, things like that don’t matter anymore. Because I've realized that there is more to life than smoking hash and playing video games. I feel alive in a way that seldom agrees with me, but here, the possibilities are endless. I feel that euphoric rush of endorphins every day, pumping in my veins. The only things I fear for my life, is the cold darkness. For it reveals the anguish like nothing else.

Everything in it's right place.

After a day of climbing trees higher than manmade prisons, I return to the embracing bong. It was a stairway to heaven and I pushed myself to the top. The feeling of accomplishment overwhelmed me and I gave my friends a smile. We three, the most unlikely of combinations were watching the sun set in this two hundred year old tree, 65 meters above the ground. Smoking a J and seeing the treetops align like mushrooms on a dewy meadow, it was heaven, or at least as close as I’ve ever been.

We had some wine at a local winery with the cool midday sun pressing up against our faces. The taste of the fruity beverage made my heart race, it was like a dream I would never dream. And the close encounters with familiar feelings made my knees tremble.

Vines and Germans.

A secret meeting with german strangers made an evening hostile and foreign. French terrorists caught the smell of treason.

Pruining in Hail.

The fog makes you slow, even though the twigs a tidy, confusion always arises. You need precision to handle those tidy bushes, cause the pruining you do today will affect the next four years of harvest.

Sitting shitting stoned as fuck, I can feel the poisoness pulps of mud moving through me, like the wind stroking my spine while taking an autumn stroll. And tomorrow, I'll be working again...

In the name of the Bong.

Pruining my way through fields of joy, I stop to enjoy the bushy air. The vines are snared like snakes in the grass and my tool feels big and heavy... As the thick morning mist clears, a friendly face appears before me. A man with great a stature approaches me, strolling across the field. He lends an eye on my work and tells me what to do, he smiles and he speaks: "Can you smoke and pruin? As in smoke mau and pruin?" I eagerly replied: ''Fuck yeah, boss!'' He gave me a pipe made with care, a pinch of weed and a new blade for my sickie. I was fucking flying...

The Magic Pocket.

As the Fog begins to clear, my obsession decreases. For the hard labour makes jolly thuoghts tremble and I find myself bleak in comparison. We have been enjoying the bong for days and my lighters has turned dry. The consumation of drugs has turned my brain grey and soggy. But I enjoy the afternoon, it is filled with laughter and love. After a day as a paid slave it is nice to gather around the mau and relax, play pool and smile. The fog puts me into the magic pocket where everything is possible, but as the smoke gets thinner I lose my narcicism and my feelings of being something mor than myself. The pain of losing dear old friends manifests itself, deep inside the thick and dreamy smoke. The fog of pleasure and pain has showed me it's real face, but there is no break on the train where I'm going...

Days of Love and Hate

Yesterday was a fucking blaze, thoughts disappeared and stuff vanished. Lighter, papers and my sanity got lost in the storm. Caught in poolgame between love and hate, I carry a smile not too wide. The eyes of a stranger makes my world spin and troubles just fly away. I have never experienced that kind of joy when losing, the lack of bitternes amazed me. The bird on the wire makes sounds of the atmosphere, a banana was trown. It feels as if I'm gonna explode at any moment, enporphines and happiness are just pulsating through my body and soul. And the girl with the smile of a thousand suns moves me in a spectacular way, I can't help but feel hopefull. But in the aftermath nothing good can come of this. I have to surpress myself, constrain, restrain, like a beast rocking the bars of it's cage. I cant't say that I've ever felt so free and so trapped in the same day. Because of funny french words I am very confused, they bend my perception of time and space.

Birth of Bong.

Silly jokes were tossed across the table as the bong was built. The smiles of my new friends made my misery crumble, I laughed as they took the first hit. The expression on her face gave me chills when she spoke about common intrests and his laughter carried the tone of total oblivion. Charmic relations in a quiet and sleepy town, the course of the journey is uncertain.

The French Joker.

When falling down a solid staircase made of love and decay, you can'thelp but feel a little sting. The girl with golden curls is no longer whitin my grasp, a boy with chestnut hair is sitting by her side. They are in the beginning stages of affection, the hunt, the thrill. I wouldn't know anything about that, cause I'm on the sidelines watching them play. But there is a french guy who lightens the load of being strange, his attitude to trip still uknown, amazes me. Be whoever you want, whenever you want.

In love in Australia.

Weed is the medicine for the one who is starving for love, the cure for loneliness. I can feel my mind drying up inside when the hour gets too long and people around you are fuckheads. It feels as if you need to take a shit, but nothing comes to mind.

The man from the Bush.

There is something growing inside of me, I have felt it for a long time. It's just like suttle screams inside my head, every time I feel really good. They want to come out, my vicious demons. I know they will grow on me, cause the worst part is, I kinda like it. The man from Perth spoke with harsh words, I know there was a boy inside the man, but his voice seemed sa uninspired. And by the end of the day, you start to fear such a man. Cause he hasn't got the capacity to carry my visions. But there is something growing inside of me, implosions of joy and anger pulsate through my very being. It is the feeling I get when life is really trowing me some bones. The feeling that disappears whenever I interact. That person may not be seen nor heard, cause he is a danger to his surroundings. Now I have to go to sleep in a dark room filled to the brim with stupid people. All I need is the connection, I will supply the reception.

The Scotish Liar.

It's cold and it's dark, troubles on the bend, brewing in the distance and without confidence I stare into the void of my existance. There is no telling of what's going to happen, but my mind continues to shrink when men become strong. I have nothing to say, nothing to do, but to take on the cheek.

The girl is a lie better afforded by those who chose to stay cold, the grim and the wicked. Everytime I get emotionally raped, I'm one step closer to giving up. But I won't, I will not settle for being the man who wasn't there.

I realize, I'm rambling. There is much more to this story than my pathetic selfesteem. There is an underlying truth to be told, in a story only meant for those with big hearts.