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...