What becomes of the…

I don’t know exactly what to say, here. I’ve not been honest about the goings on lately, or at least I’ve not been saying here because of potentially upsetting those involved.

When I arrived home I was exhausted. I smiled when I could, but found myself with my eyes closed if no one was looking. My exhaustion lead me to pick up the sickness my mother and brother shared, so the rest of the week disappeared also. These factors, and that my mind was still stuck in Toronto, meant that I was a very unpleasant individual to be around. I didn’t know how unpleasant, in fact, until my best friend came to my house, sat at the foot of my bed in silence for a time, and then left without going to hug me goodbye. I then received a text message telling me ‘I don’t think we should be friends… for a while.’

I don’t recall when the last time was that my brother saw me cry, but the shock on his face suggested it had been a long, long time. I sat there and he hugged me until I stopped. He hugged me harder when I told him what had happened. For all his noise and brash humour, that kid takes care of me when it counts.

Anyway, enough of that. When there’s a resolution, I’ll tell you.

11-12-2009

Ormond Crazies

Just got assaulted by a crazy man on north road. As he approached he was saying something, so I looked up. ‘The roads are gonna be empty because of all you Cunts that can’t stay to the left.’

He enunciated ‘cunts’ with a violent shove that near knocked me down and a solid kick to the shin.

11-12-2009

Gatsby

He smiled understandingly – much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. He faced – or seemed to face – the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistable prejudice in your favour. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.

~ The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

04-12-2009

Gary Shearston, an Australian songwriter

The Lightkeeper of America

bold Hero would wait hungrily,
love’s lamp alight held high,
to join her each night, Leander
would swim the ocean wide.
one stormy night the light went out
and he drowned in the tide.
she flung herself into the sea
beside her love to die.

oh, lightkeeper keep your pledge of love
to those adrift the stormy sea,
lightkeeper keep your pledge of love
burning . . .

that bright-eyed ancient mariner
an albatross he spied,
he crucified it on his bow
and all his sailors died.
then life-in death she won his soul
at dice and evermore
in penance, land to land, he tells
his tale of holy law.

now mother exile stands against
her desecrated sky,
her light condemned, her ankles chained,
a dead bird in her eye.
aboard the stolen “liberty”
in search of freedom’s bell,
a black flag flies upon the mast.
indeed, all is not well.

oh, lightkeeper keep your pledge of love
to those adrift the stormy sea.
lightkeeper keep your pledge of love
burning . . .

I’m off it again

‘Now you taste like every other girl,’ he said, and he laughed. It was a joke, it was funny, I laughed too, but the words lingered on. As I passed out gracelessly in his arms that night, I knew I regretted taking that one drag. Enough for me, I think, at least for a while.

Thank you, Derek.

21-11-2009

Would you run?

I stand, and with a quiver of excitement I know the possibility that lies here. The night air is not so cold, and each of the buses, cars or taxis that pass me – any of them could be my ticket. Disappear into the American night, to be found, weeks later, attempting to cross the American desert. The night’s air is fresh and inviting, the American dream tastes delicious and I understand Kerouac, I understand Ruess, I understand that moment, the simplicity of slipping away.

If I hadn’t just had an amazing time with a sweet, fantastic Irishman, whom I’ve now a desire to visit in the future, then I’d sorely consider it.

Damn my attachment to fellow humans, fleeting and impassioned though it often is. Drives me home, drives me to honesty. I find I’ve made a decision – a benchmark to accompany my new-found self-esteem. What was lacking and lost before is now settled. Canada has been a wonderful experience for me. I look forward to arriving home, but I look forward more to my travel plans. Have made a decision – university in Ireland, England or Scotland where German is studied, but not exclusively spoken. I’d feel safer in that knowledge, and more comfortable. Deutschland for NYE, England etc. for study, explore my motherlands on the weekends, Europe on the longer breaks, and fall in love all the time.

One thing is certain – I will not stay in Australia long, given the choice.

18-11-2009

Return

On a bus to Toronto now. A few more days until home time and I’ll be glad to dump my pack somewhere. Ottawa was a nice enough town, but nothing captivating. I am sick of french, I’ll admit. My knowledge of it means I can read signs and articles and understand them, but I cannot hold up a civilised conversation. I must aim a lot higher for German.

…

The sky has been grey all day on our way to Toronto. It gives me hope that I may see snow before I leave, though there’s not much time left. I imagine it’ll be three quiet days in Toronto, shopping for gifts by day and nothing by night. I will try to get in some urban photography and collect those last few souvenirs. Gonna live it cheap in the hopes that I will have maybe $30 left when I’m back in Melbourne. Oh, my how I have spent! At least I’m now ready to start video editing (software first, then camera) which should make for a dandy summer activity.

…

I’d like to think Timmy would be glad, satisfied even, if he knew how shit I feel about that incident. I’m sure that’s not the case, though. He might feel some satisfaction, but only in a morbid way, he wouldn’t be pleased, not if he knew… whatever. He’s right, of course. For people like mus there is no satisfaction to be gained from shitty little incidents like that one.

With Romeo, though (as Mitch took to calling him) there was satisfaction. Genuine enjoyment, at least. Lust, fun. I think I just can’t fall, even temporarily, in love with the australian accent or australian boys.

I just feel sickened by the whole affair. Consider that lesson learned.

15/11/2009

From heartbreak to shame

War museums still break my heart, and I think it’s very right that they should.

I walked Ottawa today, or a fair chunk of it at least. I got disoriented leaving the hostel, took a wrong turn and ended up going for a scenic tour of the Ottawa university. Some interesting buildings and the usual mixed uni crowd. The campus is an enormous spread of buildings covering several blocks at least. It is not contained like Melbourne uni’s are, but rather it is a suburb unto itself.

At any rate, I found my way back onto Rideau/Wellington headed towards Victoria Island; in the summer months I would have been keen to see Aboriginal Living, and learn something at that place. It is closed, however, so I settled for exploring the city.

Parliament Hill is a large display of power and money. The buildings are very grand, I think there’s three that make up the whole place, as well as spacious lawns dotted with statues. The suffragettes are depicted here, as is Queen Elizabeth II astride a horse, a portrayal I quite enjoyed. I opted not to go into any of the buildings, as I am fairly certain I’ve seen their like before.

Continuing along Wellington I passed through the financial district, a wholly charmless place, and eventually came to the park and then the Canadian War Museum.

The museum was expansive, to say the least. Beginning with the First Peoples, talking of pre-European Canadian people’s warfare, then the battles and alliances with those people and the Europeans (the French fought alongside the Algonquians against the British and the Iroquais) to the war of Canada vs. America, and on through the first, second, Korean, Vietnam, Cold, and ending with Canada Military’s modern day prepared status as peace-keeping forces.

The museum was, at times, very moving, especially in that it explored not only Canada’s military movements, but also the ways in which each move affected the people at home, the political climate, social change etc.

In the final room there was a board with magnetic words on it – to be arranged to express visitor’s feelings and thoughts on war. To the right of it was pieces of paper, entitled ‘I visited the Canadian War Museum and…’ with pens to fill them out and boxes in which to put them. Further along there was a string of postcards preaddressed to important and influential political figures around Canada and the world. This concept was, I thought, very clever.

As well as the central museum there was a room dedicated to military vehicles and machinery, as well as changing display rooms. When I visited there was an exhibition on camouflage, as a functional military strategy and comparing to its existence in the art and fashion worlds. Projected on the wall was two videos side-by-side, one of soldiers marching and the other was runway footage of models in camo fashion. Intensely disturbing.

After the museum I walked back through the city, snapping a couple of sunset photos along the way. I saw some skaters and was tempted to stop and photograph them for a while, but sadly Canada-Montreal-Melbourne Tim had called and I was to meet him at the hostel.

That night we went to a few local venues, I fell in love with ska dancing, we chatted for a long time with an Ottawa local, and I made the biggest fuckup of my trip.

15-11-2009

Ottawa

It looks as though I’m in for a long three nights in Ottawa. The hostel at the moment (it’s only 6pm, I’ve been in and out for the past 2hrs) is dead quiet. I saw and greeted one of my two fellow cellmates – the Ottawa HI is a converted prison.

I’m cooking early dinner, as the journey here was disgustingly long it was too late for lunch when I arrived. Then shower, grab laptop, and chill down in the common room for a while, hopefully encountering another human being there.

On the upside, on my way looking for milk etc. I spotted a skate store with a sale on. I got a pair of jeans to replace my destroyed pair, and bought a jacket exactly like the one I’d been looking for. $80+tax, so yay. While in there I met a guy who had lived and worked in Melbourne for a year, and is in love with Section 8 and St Jeromes, two of Melbourne’s highlights. He told me, unfortunately, that there’s nothing to compare in Ottawa, and asked me to come back another day before I go so he can chat about Melbourne and give me something to deliver when I get back home. Assuming it’s not cocaine, I have no issue with this plan, and it should be fun to hang with a local.

Also, am desperately not looking forward to going home. Fight with the best friend, return to work for Ash, return to living at home for another year (I figure I can’t move out until after I’ve been to Germany, as I’ll have no money). Moreover, my back is aching in a beautiful, I’ve-been-carrying-a-huge-pack-around-Canada way right now, and when I return home it’s a return to I’ve-been-hefting-dogfood back pain.

When I get use of a scanner I’m going to add maps to each of the city-related blog entries. They are all noted now with bars, sights, supermarkets, cd stores etc. I like them now they’re a bit fucked up.

Quiet night ahead; I imagine I’ll write more. Canada-Tim had better have responded so I can at least have some live music while I’m here.

On leaving Québec

Québec was so very romantic as a city. Its streets (always safe, bar a few bums) were lined with old french-style buildings, adorned lovingly for the coming of winter and christmas. There was an air of culture and art surrounding everything – reminded me of Melbourne in the way it strived to be full of life.

The Belgian boys were good lads, Jérôme and Ludovigo, although I was at times awkward as Jérôme tried to encourage affection between myself and Ludovigo. Mates look out for one another, sure, but there was simply no way that was happening.

I’ve also learned from a couple of Brazilian boys that travel in Brazil is only safe if you know a local, if you support St Paul’s you are a “bambi” and 80’s music is very cool in Brazil. Eduardo was a funny, affectionate young man. He, myself & Anneleis proceeded on a hungover walking tour of Québec city as we couldn’t stand the notion of doing nothing on our last day. It was slow at first, but improved after un thé and some sort of delicious pizza-topped olive panini. We threw leaves, explored the market, sat in the sunset looking over the river. In the evening Anneleis convinced me (I don’t know how) to go ice skating. I eventually managed (without falling once!) to get into a slow rhythm around the rink, though I was by no means elegant and graceful. This (aus) winter I’m going snowboarding to make up for it.

Our last activity was a ferry across the river and back, to look at Québec lit up in the night. Myself, the Belgians, Anneleis and another girl from Australia (too many!). The ride was long, we were all exhausted, it was desperately cold. I would have liked to spend most of my time on deck, but that would mean avoiding Ludovigo. The Australians lacked a romantic strain. They complained of the cold and sat inside most of the way. Still, it was a good thing we went, and I, for one, was captivated by the reflections on the water, the lowlit smoke trails from a factory somewhere, and the moving light display on an enormous factory wall. The city is something magical.

So now through farmland, flatland and forest to Montréal, then another stretch to Ottawa. I am homeward bound, and I feel it keenly. Much as I look forward to my next trip (NZ for a fortnight, then Germany), I do look forward, also, to being home amongst friends again. For a while.

I have two languages to learn in the next year. One of them I half know (this trip has improved it a touch) and the other I will study at uni and hopefully succeed. Practice, practice.

12-11-2009