Get real, Sean. Last night I was pissed out of my skull, I was tripping. I can’t remember the sex much at all, apart from his trying to fuck me. I think I fell asleep during sex. I can’t remember either of us coming.
I must have thought he was special, I must have. To even let him try fucking me.
5.
Postcard from Tara in Russia. From St Petersburg. A dog on the postcard, a dog in space. This is Laika, she wrote, the first living thing in space. Then she wrote about Russia and the crime and the poverty and how cheap everything was. She went to a rave, outside the city. That sounds cool.
I wonder what happened to the dog, up in space. I hope it came back, I hope it lived a long life. I hope they didn’t let it die up there.
That dog’s a fucking hero.
6.
Mum is hassling me to find a boyfriend. She thinks I’m lonely.
I saw Lou tonight. It was tough. He asked me these questions and I was slow to answer, kept stumbling, I was too fucked from the party last night. I pointed him out to Mon and she agreed he’s sexy. I wish she didn’t, she started flirting with him.
I made up a story for Mum, told her about a possibility of getting it together with Lou. I offered her my fantasy.
Jack found an old kitsch picture of Jesus on the Cross, found it in an op shop for fifty cents. She’s placed it above the door to the kitchen. It’s been freaking me out all night. I keep remembering those stupid porno files of Stuart’s.
7.
An arsehole in a ute screamed out poofter at me this morning. He was just mouthing off, I jumped out in front of him, but I got really pissed off at what he said. I don’t like it when they guess who I am. Sometimes I think fags know shit, know nothing, are the most selfish people on this planet.
Stephen’s been on the phone, crying, telling me that he still loves me. I told him that I don’t find him sexually attractive. I never have. I surprised myself. I felt shitty, a louse, but I did enjoy saying it.
I’m sick of that word love. I don’t feel it. I don’t even think I want it.
8.
I saw Lou at a party. He was with a group of people I don’t know. We nodded to each other but we didn’t talk at all. I left with Marsh and I watched Pretty Woman at Club 80 while he went off to have sex. I didn’t look at anyone. I was pissed off with Lou, wanted to smash his face in. I think he likes me, that’s about it. But I don’t even think he’s a fag. Marsh reckons he is, says he knows someone who knows someone who has fucked him. But that doesn’t mean shit. That doesn’t mean he’s a fag. He comes on like a straight guy.
9.
Jossie’s dead.
Jack scored some slow.
I wish I could cry.
10.
On Sunday I watched television till five p.m. and then fell asleep. I woke at nine in the evening and I took some speed and went to a night in Thornbury, with the ravers, to Taryaki. Someone had more speed. A girl told me I reminded her of a footballer but she didn’t remember which one. I was pleased. The guy who had the speed kept buying me beer.
It’s seven a.m., back home, and I’m watching a video of ‘Rage’, taped a couple of years ago. I’m not listening to the video, I have the sound turned off and I’m listening to a compilation tape of Jack’s. It’s good, weird. Metallica has just segued into A Tribe Called Quest. Martika is on the screen, I barely remember her. She’s some eighties bimbo, gorgeous. A bit woggy. George Michael’s ‘Freedom’ is on the video and that’s the only song I listen to. I don’t want to see the images, I just lie back and listen, loud, to the song. But someone bangs on the wall, shouts at me to turn it down. I switch everything off, ready to go to bed.
I am writing all this down so I can pretend that I haven’t wasted all my time, all my money, that I haven’t wasted another day.
I got really drunk tonight and I think someone went down on me in the men’s toilet. What’s worse, I don’t think we were even in a cubicle. The thing I remember most clearly is that someone came in, a young Italian looking guy who stopped, then turned around and left. I think it was either the guy with the speed or the girl who thought I was a footballer who went down on me. They’re the only people I remember spending time with.
I’m nothing but a fucking dirty poofter sleaze.
That guy, that guy who turned around and left, that guy was beautiful.
11.
I’ve spent the day wanking. That’s it. The whole fucking day. My cock feels like it is ready to drop off.
12.
I met Jossie’s grand-daughter today, at the funeral. A woman called Becca. It’s really Rebecca she said but in the east it’s pronounced Re-ve-kah. In Australia they call her Becca.
She lives in Israel, in the capital (can’t remember what it’s called), and she tells me that no-one bothered telling her that her nan was in a nursing home. It turns out that old Jossie was Jewish. Becca tells me that Jossie was born in Greece, in Thessaloniki, to Spanish Jewish parents and they smuggled her to Turkey just before the war.
I told Becca that I once went to Salonika, when I was travelling, years ago, on the way to the islands.
Becca was furious that the funeral was Catholic. Our grandmother was Jewish, she announced angrily to her uncles and aunts. They all seem to hate her.
Becca only seemed to want to talk to me. She noticed me at once. I was dressed down, I guess. I thought I was dressed up but not compared to everyone else. I was wearing jeans. Black but still jeans.
Becca took me to a pub after the funeral. I’d never been there, it was somewhere in South Yarra, near the Gardens, down an alley. She wanted to talk, insisted on buying me drinks.
I told her that she was the first Jewish person I had ever met. You knew my grandmother, she said.
She guessed I was a fag, asked me if I was gay. I wondered what it was that gave me away. I didn’t ask but she answered the question anyway.
She said that I purposefully didn’t look at men.
Jossie was born in Greece and it seems that there were a lot of Jews in Greece then, which is funny because none of the Greeks I know here told me that. Hitler killed them. Jossie was lucky, she was taken from Turkey to Lebanon, she got settled with a distant cousin. She grew up there and married an Italian. He wasn’t a Jew. She married by choice, Becca tells me. She fell in love and they had to elope. They came here to Australia and at first things seemed to go well. Becca’s mother was born and she was raised a Jew, but after a few years the husband began to change. He wanted to be respectable, fit in with the Italians. Becca’s aunts and uncles, they all were baptised Catholic.
Becca’s mum is dead and when I asked Becca if her mum remained a Jew, Becca didn’t answer the question. I didn’t push.
I think she must have been about forty years old, Becca. Very very elegant. She wears her clothes, her sunglasses, like an ad from Vogue. She’s like Paloma Picasso. She insisted on paying for every drink and I was high. I almost forgot that I had been to a funeral. When we said goodbye she kissed me twice, on both cheeks.
I walked home, it took ages, through the parks, across the river, through Richmond and Abbotsford, trying always to follow the river. I realise Jossie kept a life from me, that’s sad, but I guess she must have needed to. Maybe she told everything to Mr Pericles. He was at the funeral, crying. Sally took him back to work with her straight after. I wish I had invited him to the pub with us. He would have liked that.
I once asked Jossie, when we were speaking about the God stuff, what religion she was. She told me she was nothing, she didn’t believe in religions, only in God.
I didn’t tell Becca this. She seemed into being Jewish. Let her remember her grandmother any way she wants.
13.
I saw Lou yesterday, at Polyester, looking through CDs. We talked, or rather he talked, I mumbled. He’d been in the rain, his hair was wet and he smelt sweet, the sweetness of wood burning.
Back home last night I got some shit off Trev. He told me to take it easy, that
it was strong, but I jacked it all up. I woke up, I don’t know how long I was out, with vomit over my shirt, all over my trousers. The syringe was still sticking out of my arm.
It scares me, I don’t like that all this is happening. I’m scared that my first thought on waking up was disappointment that I wasn’t dead.
14.
A fucking shit of a day. Sally told me at work that they are thinking of reducing staff. I’m casual, that just may be in my favour, but who the fuck knows, I was also late for work, got up with a hangover, and Drummond screamed at me as soon as I walked through the door. I get home and everyone is there, not only Jack and Trev, but the fuckups they’ve picked up, all of them coming down from Es and speed. There’s nothing left and I have to go to the pub and pick up beer. I get back, get drunk, share their joints and listen to their crap. It is all crap. Poofter gossip, dyke gossip, Fitzroy goss. Who the fuck cares? I try to watch telly and it’s all the opening of the Casino. The girl with Jack says from now on she’s dividing the world between those who have gone and those who haven’t gone to the Casino. She’s only going to talk to those who haven’t gone.
How about those who have to work there? I wanted to ask her, but I didn’t want to get into a shitfight and I know it’s just words anyway. I hate the fucking Casino but we’re all going to be in there at least once in our lives. It’s half the size of Melbourne, for Christ’s sake. The boy Trev has picked up is cute, dark and quiet. He kept looking at me. Trev didn’t like that. I was pleased.
They’re still going. I can hear them even with the bedroom door shut, even with the radio on.
Mr Pericles asked if I was going to the opening of the Casino. I said no, I wasn’t interested. He winked at me, smiled. That was the only good thing that happened today.
15.
I visited Mum today. She gave me a card from Dad. It’s a birthday card, not in time but, hey, it’s the first contact in two years so I guess I should be happy. Mum got on my case, said I should write back, give him my address, my phone number. I don’t want to. He’ll just ring up pissed one night, telling me he needs money. His card reads:
Happy Birthday Sean. Sorry I haven’t written but you probably know how it is. All work and girls. Come and visit soon, Townsville has changed, I think you’ll like it. Work’s all right but it’s tough. Hope your work is going well. Happy Birthday again, son, Your Father.
The card is glossy, a photograph of a Porsche. I got drunk with Mum and she played Aretha Franklin. She asked about Lou and I fucked up because I’d forgotten I told her I was sort of going out with him. So now she thinks we’ve split up and she got sad and wanted to hug me so I decided to leave early without waiting for Claire to come home. I left her a note, on her bed, asked her to ring me.
The weirdest thing happens on the way back. I take the train from Lalor and get off at Collingwood Station, walk across the overpass to home. A Vietnamese woman is walking hand in hand with her daughter, walking towards me, on the overpass, and I get an urge to see them fall, to push them off. Of course I just pass them, I even smile, but I feel like the lowest scum on the planet. I mouth off about racists, say all the right things, but I’m no different. It makes me sick. I’m a fucking hypocrite.
The first thing I did on coming home, lying on the bed, was put a lighter under Dad’s card. I torched the surface first, watched the paper form bubbles, then I streaked the flame across his words. Then I just started burning the corners. When it was a mangled sooty mess, when it was unreadable and indecipherable, I threw it in the bin. It was a stupid thing to do, I’m not even angry at him. I wasn’t thinking when I did it.
The answering machine has just gone on. It’s Mon, she says she’s got some trips.
16.
Travis got drunk tonight, we were at the Tote and he asked if I could fuck him. I said no, wasn’t interested. He lost it and started screaming at me. I got embarrassed and started to walk off. He tried to follow and I pushed him, hard, he fell on the floor. I walked out.
He’s been crying, leaving messages, crying and apologising. I’ll ring him back tomorrow, when he isn’t drunk, tell him it’s okay, that I’m still his friend.
I’m really tired, I’m really fucking tired.
17.
I had a weird night at Stuart’s tonight. I was supposed to meet Mon there but she didn’t turn up. She was heading off to score. He had a bit of stuff and asked if I wanted some. I said sure. We hit up and Stuart wanted to play on the Internet. He hangs there all the time, it’s giving Mon the shits. She says he’s obsessed with sex, he knows all the porno sites, has accounts with heaps of them. I just want to get on and check out music and film, find some photos of Andy Garcia.
At some point while we’re looking at a S/M site, Stuart starts stroking his crotch. He doesn’t touch me. He unzips and his dick is huge. I go down on him for a while, I’m not quite into it, but his cock is the biggest I’ve seen. Amazing. It stretches my mouth and it hurts. I go back to surfing and he’s wanking but he’s too strung out from the slow to come. I ask him if he’s still got the pictures of the boy on the cross but he tells me that he’s got rid of them, to get Mon off his back. Instead he shows me pictures of people pissing on each other. This time I get a hard on and he goes down on me. It hurts a bit and I lift his head, try to kiss him. He’s not into that. Instead he pushes my mouth to his cock. He comes. I spit it out in my hand.
Mon turns up at midnight. She was at a piss up at work and didn’t get round to the dealer’s house until late. I know I won’t tell her any of what happened. She’d hate me. She always says I’m the only guy she trusts, she wishes I was straight. She’d hate me if she knew.
We have another hit, it’s good. I fall asleep during an infomercial.
After Stuart blew and his cock was lying across his thigh, still thick and long, I couldn’t look at it. It almost made me sick. Just moments before all I wanted was to have it all, eat it all, his cock was the only thing that seemed real. But straight after—I mean, straight fucking after—I look at it and it’s ugly. His cock is one of the most revolting things I have ever seen.
18.
Do I believe in evil? Mr Pericles asked me this question last night, or rather, he asked me early this morning. Do you believe in evil, Sean?
I was on the night shift. I was reading through the magazines, dozing a little, and I heard a noise from the television room. I went in to check and it was Mr Pericles, all alone, in his dressing gown, in the dark, watching television. It was about five in the morning, quite cold and I sat down with him. I’d never seen the show before, it was an infomercial but instead of selling exercise equipment or motivation tapes or that kind of shit, they were selling God. There was this funny looking American woman, with an old fashioned red beehive hairdo, and she was talking about the Ten Commandments.
Do you know the Commandments, Sean? That was the first thing Mr. Pericles said to me, looking up from the screen. I felt real ignorant. No, I said. Thou shalt not commit adultery, this woman was screaming on the television. And then there was a shot of all these people in the audience and they were cheering her, clapping their hands. Does it say in the Bible, this woman went on, that you can sleep with your boyfriend before marriage? The audience were shaking their heads. She raised a book in her hands. It doesn’t say it in my Bible. There were more cheers. Mr Pericles was laughing, really loudly. I laughed with him. But inside I felt strange, like here were obviously thousands of Americans agreeing with her, you don’t sleep with someone before marriage. And, I don’t know why, I got scared. I thought: Fuck, what would they think of me? They would hate me, they would loathe me. As for them, they were from another planet. There’s all these people out there, must be, who think like that, live like that and we aren’t on the same planet. We are not even in the same universe.
Then there was a switch to the same woman sitting on a chair in a living room, asking us to become a partner in her ministry. Which meant that she would pray for us and she would send us
a book of Bible stuff and all it would cost would be a donation of twenty-seven dollars or more a month—whatever more you can afford, she said—to be a partner in Jesus. And Mr Pericles and I laughed together, really hard, and it was great. It was fantastic to laugh like that. Should we switch this rubbish off? he said, and I flicked the remote control.
And it was more Americans. But this time a program called ‘48 Hours’ and there was this woman in prison and she was talking about how she was locked up, her husband too, for sexually abusing her children. But it turned out that what happened was that she and her husband caught their son, he was about fourteen, doing something to their youngest daughter, so they called in child protection, but what happened was that child protection took them in instead and said that they were the ones abusing their children and they got locked up for it. Then the oldest daughter—there were five kids and they all got fostered—when the daughter turned eighteen she was finally allowed to see her mum in prison because she was no longer in custody to welfare. So we see mum and daughter meet after two years and they are crying and hugging, and the mother is saying, I love you, and the daughter is saying, I love you, and fuck it I’m crying, and I feel so stupid I can’t look at Mr Pericles. Then there’s an ad break and I say, Do you want me to turn it off? and he says, No, I want to know what happens. So do I. So we watch. And it turns out that the daughter got into a car accident and got $100,000 in compensation—that’s a shitload, we’re talking US dollars—and so she can hire lawyers for her mum and dad. And it looks like the appeal is going to be successful. But the report was filmed before the couple are out of jail and it’s mostly the mum talking, and she talks of how she hasn’t seen her kids for years, and how they are all in different homes, and how the son who did things to his sister is in an institution for underage sex offenders and I’m thinking what the fuck would that be like, that would be like hell. And the parents, the mum and the dad, both wearing these orange prison uniforms, they just both looked really scared and really confused and really hurt. And they both looked like good people, just weak ordinary folk, just with those faces that say, What the fuck is happening to me? And suddenly Mr Pericles says, and his voice is really tired, Turn it off, Sean. Just turn the bloody thing off.
The Jesus Man Page 33
