Berlin Kottbusser Damm

Well thank God for that, we’ve finally got babies, women and pictures on our blog! Hi there Obedie! I’m really glad you managed to take a few snapshots of Jim.

Jim, between you and me, you’ve really let yourself go. What were you wearing? You can’t wear spots with cold sores. It’s got to be either one or the other, HIV or no HIV. Otherwise you risk looking like a Seurat. Anyway thank God you two can’t take any pictures of me. I will be turning 30 this year and am starting to be aware of the downside of my marvellous cheekbones – they’re starting to fill up.

Mads, thanks for the tip of brushing up my boys don’t cry. I haven’t listened to it for years but haven’t completely turned my back on my goth past and am actually on a bit of a Siouxie trip at the moment. In fact Sebastian and I went to see Siouxie at the end of last year here in Berlin. She played in Huxley’s Neue Welt which is where Hitler and Goebbels also once ranted on stage in the thirties before being elected. On this occasion, Siouxie, who has herself shown she can look good in Swastikas before, came on stage wearing a bodice, which I thought was a bit too much. I felt like saying to her, love, there’s no need you know, it’s alright we like your music even without the bondage outfits. I mean she is 50.

And aprospos, women turning 50, yes, Madonna can be seen on a poster from our window, also wearing a bodice, sucking on a lolly and looking interchangeable with Paris Hilton. I didn’t want to admit this to you guys on the blog, but I actually saw Madonna this year, but chose not to write about it because I thought it would lower the tone. But then again, if we want to attract advertisers and generate advertising revenue on this page (ha!) then I suppose we’ve got to start name dropping sooner or later. Madonna was in Berlin presenting her new directorial debut (I didn’t see it, I just saw her) and I went along to see her getting flashed at by the press and her fans. We stood on the other side of the street and ended up jostling for space beside a group of Italian teenagers who were singing Like a Virgin in bad accents for an Italian camera crew. I have to admit I am fascinated by Madonna but I don’t think she’s any good and that’s what annoys me about her: that I’m still fascinated by her. Someone should just get it over with and give her a Grammy for having soft power. Have you guys seen her new video? I mean the only good thing about it was the black glacier – at last I can explain to people what being on ketamine is like. Except a bump of ketamine is a lot more fun and no bit less glamorous (except when you throw up your last gin and tonic on the cigarette machine).

Now Jim, that’s great about having your short plays put on. I love the idea of the timid Indian students being given the dirty lines to recite. I bet they loved every second of it. And by the way, I wasn’t telling you the whole truth about the way you look in the photo. Obedie and I skyped last week and we both said how healthy you look. I can’t believe how much weight you’ve put on, you haven’t looked that good for ages.

I have so much to tell you guys but I also have so much work (Jim dear, if my job were 9 to 5 then I wouldn’t be moaning, but sadly it’s more like 9 to 10.) I’m sorry this posting hasn’t been very personal but the media last night must have gone to my head.

I’ll have to pop outside for more coffee. In this neighbourhood if I go to the shop two doors down on the right from my front door, I don’t even need to get out of my jogging pants. But since they’ve finished the renovations on the miniature ‘casino’ on the ground floor in our building, they’ve blacked out the windows by covering them in reflective glass which means if I need to get anything from the shop on the left of our house, I need to put a shirt on or else I feel like a complete slob!

Until these windows went up it was a hoot walking to our front door, because even though they had scaffolding up inside, there was a small A4 sign on the Spielothek’s door saying that despite the renovations they were still open; and you’d see workmen in overalls with paint tins and electricians going about their business with the carpets ripped out and ladders everywhere, back to back with people trying to win the 50 euro jackpot on the flashing roulette wheel and smoking fags at the machines, oblivious to the spring. In fact now the renovations are drawing to a close, they've stopped drilling which means we won't be getting any more complimentary sweeties pushed through our letter box to compensate for all the noise. It's funny, but the chocolate the manageress used to slip us was actually really good. She also gave each resident a gamblers' survival pack of sugar sachets, glucose tablets and a packet of tissues. I'm going to have to pop down there one day and check it out. The women who work there are all dressed like Lufthansa stewardesses and all the men are Turks.

Alright you two, will be in touch again, just need to get through this week’s translations and then I’m going to take time off to reconsider writing again. Lot’s of love to you both, Lance.

As Snug As A Bug In A Rug...

Hey guys and girls! I don’t know where you bloggers are but I’m going ahead with my post anyhow; it’s not like I aint used to my diatribe falling on deaf ears! I hope I haven’t scared y’all with my perverted tales. There was a documentary from the US last night called ‘God Hates Fags’ and I was astounded by this madwoman in Kansas who stands on the highway with her kids in tow, waving placards with pictures of boys like us committing acts of sodomy and fornication. They claim that anyone who supports our corrupt lifestyle is a ‘Fag Enabler’ and no better in their eyes; so that means you, Ms Obedie!
Fortunately, there’s only a handful of members in this ‘church’ and they’re all related to some miserable old fart who sits in the attic of a farmhouse channeling this hateful wisdom. Hallelujah folks! I turned the channel and stumbled on another fabulous US series called ‘Cheaters’ where a group of self appointed vigilantes chase ‘adulterers’ through shopping malls and peep their cameras through the windows of seedy motels to record these acts of fornication.
The things you watch when you got insomnia, folks! It’s hard on your brain in more ways than one. Last week I was popping pills and drinking hot water with three bags of chamomile tea in the mug. I was burning white sage to chase away the insomnia demons and sleeping with a Guatemalan worry doll under my pillow. I broke the head off my Japanese samurai statue and feared the repercussions so I buried it in the garden, under moonlight for seven days and nights to cleanse its energy.
My sleep cycles were fantastic most of the Autumn, although I was spooked out because I was in hospital this time last year and I had a psychological aversion to the season. It still shakes me up when the sun sets early and leaves fall from the trees; I don’t know how you cope with the somber skies in Europe, Lars. All of a sudden I’m home all the time, wrapped in my second hand blankets and second hand socks, watching the second hand TV on my second hand sofa!
I started a book of short stories and I reached 110 thousand words on my novel manuscript; the cold weather is so damn productive, don’t you think? Last week I had dinner at a friend’s place in Toorak and I baked lasagna and carrot cake. When I arrived, I was greeted by Mindy Lou and a group of homeless folk. There was a barefoot traveling preacher frying rice in the kitchen, an Indian peasant listening to Hindu music in the lounge and an Aboriginal guy showing his prison tatts in the dining room.
Apparently Mindy met these guys preaching the word of God in the Bourke Street mall and now they’re parked out the front of her joint off Toorak Road. They’ve been educating her about their brand of Christianity and showing her the pitfalls of dumpster diving. Mindy had a spiritual awakening, you see and I was invited to her very first Sabbath dinner party where I ate expired chocolate donated by the preacher and his disciples!
Later that week I was blessed to have another play performed, praise the Lord! The performing arts crew at RMIT had a crack at two of my scripts; Office Politics and Garth & Eugene. It was another hit and miss affair but I was impressed nonetheless. None of the actors were real experienced and they did a fine job considering. They forget several key lines but they were great at covering up. The costumes and the lights were fabulous and there were a number of memorable moments; Garth & Eugene was particularly well received.
For some reason, the director gave my call centre play to Indian exchange students and I had three demure girls playing my lesbian punk drug dealers! They were as quiet as mice and about as punk as a group of school girls playing marbles. Unfortunately the humour was lost but it had me in stitches anyway; they even played ‘Call Me’ instead of ‘Hanging on the Telephone’ by Blondie to introduce the charade.
There was free champagne after the play and Mindy chased the good actors down to see if they wanted to play faggots in my other shows. Maybe we can get an ensemble together and hire a space for the Fringe festival. God knows, waiting for a theatre company to produce a show for you in this town is as easy as finding a cure for AIDS!
Speaking of which, my most recent tests came back stable, bless those little tablets. The side effects are outrageous and I don’t know how long I’ll manage but I’ll hang in there for now and think positive; ha ha! This is the first week I aint had a wart or a coldsore on my face for six months and I’ve been living it up, darling! I’ve been zipping around this city from bath tub to thrift store in between chai lattes and anti retrovirals.
I ventured out last night to find me some lovin’ but I came home empty handed as usual. There was nothin’ but sad queens talking silly business and having domestics in Richmond and beefcakes with leather and hairy backs at the pub on the corner. The annual Mr Leather competition was in full swing and there were guys swanning around with their butt cheeks hanging out. There was nothin’ but smut, booze and shooting pool and I was left thinking how dreary it is to be queer in Melbourne and how I didn’t want to be 40 and 50 and my life to be this unextraordinary! I tell you what, folks, every time I venture out it makes the priesthood look more appealing and I can create more interesting fantasies on Microsoft word.
I spent the rest of the weekend as snug as a bug in a rug, trying to make sense of this mysterious universe and eating one chocolate after another from the box my friend gave me from her daughter’s school fundraiser. My mother’s boyfriend called me for mother’s day; go figure! I think he’s drinking heavy, waiting for his court case next month for $25 000 social security fraud; Lord, have mercy on his soul. There’s been enough addiction and incarceration in this family!
I brought a blue duffel coat from the Balwyn Salvo’s and I told the cashier I needed it for Europe. When I got home I realized I’d brought an identical duffel coat from the North Carlton Salvos three months ago! I heard a guy singing in a band on the radio and I realized he was a guy I made out with eight years ago during a drinking binge on Oxford Street. I was envious of his success and I regretted all those lost years in Sydney eventhough it made sense at the time and I thought of San Francisco and the guy I could’ve fallen in love with if I wasn’t afraid to tell him I was positive.
I wondered where all the years had gone but then I looked around and I was happy with what I could see so all’s well that ends well, I guess. It’s nice to have a little more wisdom, a roof over your head and food in your stomach, even if you aint a rock star.
Sometimes I get the feeling it’s not real and I’m not really here; I’m just watching myself in a movie and that’s kind o’ strange. Who knows, maybe it’s some magical mystery tour we have to go through to get to the real stuff, don’t ask me why. There must be some point to it all. Some days it fascinates me and I’m glad to be here and some days it scares me and I just wanna be somewhere else. Let me know if you figure it out cos I’m stumped, folks!
In the meantime, I’d highly recommend soaking in a tub. It’s a great way to relieve the stress from the demands of motherhood, Ms Obedie and it’d sure help you unwind from that busy nine to five schedule, Lars. So, hop in a bath with some lavender and sweet almond and soak those love handles, sweetheart!

Love y’all
JJ
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