I continued on the coastal path, along which Russians, Brits and Australians sat on plastic chairs drinking morning beers, drinking the antithesis of my quest for purpose. A morning beer is the liquid defiance of purpose, a signalling to the world that for the drinker, purpose no longer exists. Neither does morning, for that matter. A morning beer may as well just be a beer for once a morning beer is drunk, time as we know it ceases to exist except, of course, for when it’s time for the next one.
I’ve had a hard time talking to people this week. That’s not particularly uncommon, but it isn’t particularly welcome either. I saw Dylan Alcott a few hours ago, and that’s not uncommon either because I’ve been watching his ads on TV for the past two weeks, but this was real life Dylan Alcott. At least I think it was. He looked like Dylan Alcott and he was in a wheelchair, so I assumed it was Dylan Alcott. There are plenty of people in wheelchairs, and I’m sure there are people out there who look like Dylan Alcott, but I doubt there are many people who look like Dylan Alcott AND are in a wheelchair.
A writer at the New York Times declared Lune Croissanterie, in Fitzroy, the home of the world’s best croissant and the Melbourne institution has now reached unprecedented levels of pastry prominence. I’ve heard rumours of these croissants: croissants so buttery you’d wish yourself bulimic just to taste them twice, croissants so flaky you wouldn’t bother … Continue reading The world’s best croisasnt
The Orkney Tourist Board strongly advises not going to Orkney to see the Northern Lights. It admits that yes, you can see the Northern Lights in Orkney, but if you're visiting purely to see the lights then you'll most likely end up disappointed. So here I am, in Orkney, for no reason other than to see the Northern Lights and yes, I'm disappointed. Thanks to the unyielding presence of clouds, the closest thing I’ve seen to stars is the local cover band on New Years Eve who, credit where credit’s due, were phenomenal.
I take a sip and agree, more out of politeness than any personal experience in incest. Apparently it’s a saying in New Mexico. I give them the benefit of the doubt. We’re sitting in Espinal, a small Spanish town at the foothills of the Pyrenees. I never once imagined I’d spend any portion of my life arguing about incest with an elderly American couple, but here I am. Drew & Annie are adamant that ‘kissing your sister’ translates as a weak wine. I argue that if anything, breaking taboos and societal norms and choosing to kiss your sister is an inherently strong move. Frowned upon, but ballsy nonetheless.
The Melbourne Storm of 2017 has, like so much in life, ultimately been a majorly moist disappointment. What started as the promise of a biblical flood, never before seen by this cotton-wool generation, has morphed into nothing more than a miserable drizzle masquerading as the deluge to cleanse all sins and rebuild the world anew.
My friend Ryan took acid once. That’s not to say he’d never taken acid previously. Nor was he my friend, actually. But if you knew Ryan well, which I didn’t, you’d be aware of his penchant for all things hallucinogenic. The kids call it tripping.
You were a celebration, the crowning jewel of a week-long school camp at which I was the teacher. Every Thursday, we would take the kids to visit, and you would always provide. You did not discriminate. Whenever I sampled your miscellaneous, unidentifiable grilled meats and potato salad, I knew the end of the workweek was near, that I had just one night left before a precious weekend break. But you had a secret, a hidden agenda. You were into me, but I didn’t pay you enough attention. You were a jealous lover, Authentic Western Style BBQ, and you made me pay.
It’s a touch before 7:30pm and I’ve entered the Devil’s womb. I successfully navigated the River Styx, snuck past Cerberus, entered the seventh Circle of Hell and crawled between Satan's bright red thighs to make my home in the hottest incubator known to humankind. I’m not the only one who has taken up residence here. Bodies lay scattered in the dark, contorted into unnatural shapes. A large man moans in the corner, an almost comforting vibration in this ungodly, heated room.