DEAD WOOD

(RE)SHARE (WITH MUM'S RETORT IN ITALICS)

I am somewhat of a hypochondriac. At the moment I am convinced that my kidneys are failing because my lower back hurts and my joints often ache. I think I need to drink more water.

Ah that sounds like a Joan gene. I can send you the medical books she used for self diagnosis. I use the internet – it’s amazing how many life threatening illnesses I’ve had. I must have the same gene.

I am scared of blood tests.

Close you eyes and imagine you’re hurtling towards the ski jump next time you have one.

When I was a boy I got my penis stuck in a drawer. My penis is not that big it was just exceptionally bad luck.

I remember that.

I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 19. I've never been entirely convinced, however speed does tend to chill me out.

I’m not convinced either.

I bake a lot of cakes, on average about two or three a month. At the moment my best recipe is a boil and bake fruit cake that I got from Stephanie Alexander. I like to add grated apple and tinned pears.

Remember the upside down pineapple cake you made when it was your turn to cook dinner?

When I told my dad i was a fag, this is what he said: "You could be rootin' elephants for all I care mate, just get a fucken job." He's always had a sickeningly strong work ethic.

Well I guess someone might pay you if you fucked an elephant – then technically speaking you would have a ‘fucken job’. Terry’s work ethic probably doesn’t extend that far. I don’t think your penis would either.

I rarely have sex when I'm sober.

Oysters are supposed to be an aphrodisiac too.

I've started stealing from Woolworths and Coles exclusively. I resent not having the choice to shop elsewhere.

Joel – please don’t do this anymore. A token gesture is a poor substitute for a career.

My grandfather was murdered. His body was found in a tip, bludgeoned to death by a tomahawk. I never knew him.

I never knew him either.

I have never had sex with a woman. I really hope to one day.

It’s good to have something to look forward to.

I miss Melbourne's markets.

You appreciate things once you don’t have them.

Sometimes I tip cooking oil down the sink because I'm too lazy to reuse it.

Joel, please don’t do this anymore.

I have a phobia of closing curtains in the dark. I hate the thought of a strange face appearing in the window as I do this. If this was to happen I think I would die.

Wow – I used to have that phobia. Then one night when I was freaked out I ran around the house opening all the curtains really quickly while I stood in front of the window with the scariest face I could make. There was no-one there to be frightened of me – or laugh at me.

My birth mark is on my dick.

I remember that.

I blame my father for a lot of my problems. I also love him very much.

Let it go, you can’t change it. It will make you bitter if you let it.

Despite my currently poor fitness I can still stand on my hands for longer than anyone I know. These days however it tends to give me chronic back pain.

You are so talented my son.

I have brown hair and a red beard. This is not that uncommon.

There is no-one else in the world like you.

My emotional make-up is more feminine than masculine, despite my manly exterior.

Gorgeous really.

I've never been in love.

It’s good to have something to look forward to.

I believe in love.

So do I.

I will never have kids of my own.

Time will tell.

I love being a gay man, it is one of my favourite things about myself; as well as having brown hair and a red beard.

I just love you.

I have had two pedicures in my life; I enjoyed both of them immensely.

Ooouuuh – yukky.

I was a difficult child. Once I smashed nearly every glass in my mother's cupboard while staring her down. When I remember this i feel sick.

I've got new ones now.

I love my mother. She is all that is good in me. Her name is Karen.

I love my son. He is talented. I’m very proud of him. His name is Joel.

MAKING MUD

THE OLD SKOOLYARD AND TEN THINGS

One - I am a teacher. I spend my working days delivering lessons in English to a bunch of bleary-eyed teenagers.

Two - My students communicate and learn much more effectively in their first language, Warlpiri, of which I know about twenty words and only a handful of basic phrases. The majority of them only understand a small percentage of what I say. It’s hard not to feel redundant, if not entirely mean.

Three - The use of indigenous language in Northern Territory schools is all but banned. I think this is tragic. Lots of people think it’s ok.

Four - My classroom has an interactive whiteboard, which is basically like a giant touch-activated computer screen. I use it a lot. It’s really cool.

Five - The kids swear a lot, sometimes in English but mainly in Warlpiri. This is one of the few advantages of having a non-Warlpiri speaking teacher. If I was them, I’d swear at me too.

Six - Most of the boys I teach are amazing dancers. They also have big big ‘shame.’ In order to get them more comfortable in expressing themselves in this way I have taken to making a fool of myself on a regular basis. This involves an array of daggy dance moves to my (or should I say our) favourite booty hits! Salt n Peppa and old-skool Michael Jackson are the two most preferred flavours. And my plan seems to be working, slowly.

Seven - Things out here are intensely gendered. Out of necessity I find myself involved in some kind of Platonic masculine bonding process. This is odd for me, but also kind of nice.

Eight - The kids have some excellent names. Some of my favourites: Valentine, Ziggy, Delilah, Sherman, Vernon, Ezekiel and Messiah. With fierce haircuts and plenty of spunk, they pull ‘em off with ease.

Nine - I have taken to playing football. I’m not as crap as I thought.

Ten - My life out here is good. It is totally void of many of the luxuries I have grown use to – alcohol, discothèques, gay people, dress-ups, theatres, shops, cafes – but I’m totally ok with that… for now.

TWILIGHT ABLAZE

EYES AND EARS

Ears

The dogs bark. They bark and bark, like a dissonant symphony. The kids play. They laugh and sing and shout and swear. There are cars, with heavy engine noises and tooting horns. There is a strange language, which when spoken softly sounds like running water. Sometimes there is screaming, but only sometimes. There are desert noises, like the wind and the birds and no rain. On my walks, there is nothing except a vast, genuine silence. At night there is the god-music – synthy, slow wail-songs that stretch on into the darkness. And from my bedroom I can hear the mice in the kitchen, scurrying for a cheeky feed, and the dogs, always the dogs. At times, for a lark, a lonesome donkey is honking in the distance.

Eyes

The colour: shimmery red earth, green bush, and an aching blue sky that spins into an opalescent twilight with the sinking sun. A rocky hill on either side of town, both gentle and near treeless, belittled by the overbearing sky. Houses of brick and tin painted in bright colours, with the yapa, living around them as much as in them. Roads and buildings and satellite dishes on roofs. Naked toddlers with melted ice creams and disarming smiles and wide brown eyes to ease the angst. Packs of limping, mange-ridden street mongrels, bronzed from camp breeding and weary from camp life. Young men in fast cars with shiny wheels and throbbing basslines. And people on foot, with a darting gaze or a gentle hello or sometimes nothing.

DEATH

One of my students died on Thursday. He was only 14. The cause is not yet known but whatever the case it was sudden and unexpected. He was a considerate lad with a calm, quiet way. Death seems to be unnecessarily familiar around here, but to happen so abruptly to someone so young makes it seem all the more unjust.

Things will be quiet at the school while the community deals with his passing in their own way. While it is impossible for me to truly understand the goings on of 'sorry business' (the term used up here for ceremonial and cultural activity relating to death), it seems to me to be a dignified and sensible way to deal with grief. The space for mourning is so clearly defined, offering people a more familiar and communal way to respond to such a tragedy; something that seems so desperately lacking in our own culture. Not that this necessarily lessens their pain or justifies the condition... it is just an observation.

On a more positive note I got to go on a trip with the kids to the Gold Coast last term, which in itself is worthy of a 10,000 word entry. I don't have the energy nor the time just now, but here are some pics from the beach...