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.