War/Peace. Matthew Vandenberg
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you about two people I met a while before I hit the streets legitimately.
'It's a cold night, the rain strings that whip me, fingers that simply try to touch me but are falling too fast. It's past midnight and I'm standing on a street just shy of Bankstown in the western suburbs of Sydney. I'm standing there for only five minutes before a van pulls over, dark grey like the color of smoke. I ask the driver where he's headed, and he tells me out of the rain and so, just like that, I hop into the van to escape from the rain and disappear from the scene to the rough contours, and deep, sour tone of a blurry, grey puff of smoke. It's a strange office, but it's mine now.
'Meanwhile, on another day, I'm in Campsie, I have a large Biology textbook under my left arm and with my right fist I'm tapping on white door, shiny like a sweet tooth, on the second floor of a quaint apartment block. I can hear the voice of one young boy, two, three: coarse like the screech of the tires of a car caught in a donut. And now I'm caught in this loop: I can only describe an unsatisfactory experience when I mix the description with that of a pleasant one. But the similarities between the two experiences are profound. Anyway, she opens the door for me, just as he did. She smiles, just as he did. But her smile is a little warmer, her demeanor a little more relaxed. But perhaps I only think this because she's someone I actually want to fuck, she's someone I'm actually attracted to. I smile also and walk into what will henceforth be my office so long as I am seeing her.
'In the van the most prominent object is the gear lever, stiff like his speech at first. He tells me about the time he was denied entry into Canada when he was living in the States. He tells me about the contraband he was carrying in the boot, and later about the child he allegedly attacked, about the film of her which the customs officers viewed with suspicion. But first he tells me about some marijuana he was carrying in film canisters. He knows that it's best to talk about soft topics first. I'm a good listener, too good perhaps. I listen to every word he says. We're just inside a small, moving room, and he's lying on a seat, with one foot pressing an accelerator, another resting against a brake, and one hand on a wheel. There is no visible clock. The session will not be timed, and a fee not requested.
'In her apartment she introduces me to her four children. She is probably 35, with a smile just as sweet as any I have seen on girls half her age. When she talks it is not about soft topics but in a manner so soft, her tone seductive, her gaze focused on my face, and as concentrated as the cocktail she will mix. She talks also about soft drugs, placing a soft palm on my arm as she directs me to the nearest lounge with her free hand. She thanks me for bringing the text book to her place and places the token of her appreciation, the cocktail, on the small table between her and I. Ok, I'm a little nervous, perhaps more nervous than I was inside the van, because now it ain't a gear lever which is stiff. And ok, I have no idea whether I am a therapist or a client. But isn't that how all great relationships begin? We are both so very similar, and we both want the same thing. We're inside a large living room, and she's lying on a lounge, with one foot wrapped around the naked ankle of the opposite leg, and the other stationary, and one hand around the spine of a cocktail glass. There is no visible clock. The session will not be timed, and a fee not requested.
'Oh, dude, it's gettin' late in the lunch hour. I gotta be going. You get the picture, right? My name ain't Frasier Crane but I can talk smoothly when I need to. And I'm listening. Always.'
******
References
1 Confessions Part 1 - Usher
2 As Long As You Love Me - Backstreet Boys
3 Superman - Eminem
4 Do You Realize?? - The Flaming Lips
5 Meltdown - Rob Thomas
6 Let Go - Frou Frou
7 Thong Song – Sisqo
8 Fucking Perfect - Pink (to the female)
9 Shut Up And Drive - Rihanna
10 Like A G6 - Far East Movement
JACKSON CURTIS - 2:01pm - December 2 - 2011
‘Dude, it was this year,’ I say, shrugging. ‘Ok – so you want me to tell you ‘bout it? Here’s an idea: why don’t you try doing this for yourself? But you don’t got the skill, do you? In fact, why the fuck you listening to this shit anyways? Or reading the transcript of my rantings? Live your frickin’ life. Let me tell you something, if you can accomplish this one task, this one thing, then you’ll be able to accomplish anything you happen to set your mind to in life.
‘GCH call it “Scandalous Scholastics*”, I call it a schoolyard romance. It’s simple, through several weeks you work in collaboration with a female teacher of your choice on a diabolical performance. You and her are on the stage together and your fellow students comprise the audience. The performance takes place over several weeks. And let me tell you, you wouldn’t even fit ‘em in the Acer Arena.
‘Ok: so it ain’t so simple. Just like how one doesn’t draw a sellout crowd by sitting on his arse all day writing, ha ha. But it’s achievable. What was it Martin Luther King said: I have a dream something something. Well, at 4:17am on the 17th of March I had a dream, it was about my science teacher. Her name is Holly, she’s 35 with a figure finer than the detail in the science reports I submitted to her. A figure finer than the description of her which I’m providing right now: eyes like waves which lap at the shore of my gaze every time she enters the peripheral of my field of vision. And I couldn’t even swim several months ago. That is to say, I was a pretty shy guy. I hardly spoke to girls in my year, and hardly went to parties where people consumed strange liquids that enabled them to do so. What people find it hard to understand is the adrenaline rush I now get by imitating my former self. No doubt, I now have more confidence than most people I know but it feels so fuckin’ great to simply stand by a desk, the same shade of cream as any desk in the science labs of my High, and roll my gaze off the surface, down to the floor, my feeble feet, and climb it up again to the surface: as I metaphorically submerge my head in a cool pool of water and then resurface. It feels great to play the shy guy. That is to say it feels great to re-enact the play which got me where I am today, to re-enact the performance – prolonged, intense, and simplistic in its immense beauty – which lasted for several weeks, spanning a pinnacle stretch of my life like panties her thighs . . . getting ahead of myself there though. Because this story is so frickin’ awesome I can’t even hold it, so to speak: can’t even figure out whether to tell it from the beginning or from the end, coz this shit’s as volatile as a babe in the throw of an orgasm.
‘Well, it’s December so I guess I’ll be telling it from the end. But I’ll need some time to gather my thoughts. For now, just know that this is how it all began, that this is how my life changed for the better, that this woman was my first, that my time in year nine at the high school I attended on the Central Coast was so brilliant and so perfect that I cannot stress enough how school is so essential to one’s personal growth. So, essentially, I state that you shouldn’t quit the High ‘till you’ve completed a year like my year nine. Shake me and I’ll tell you more.
Trust me, I like it. Peace out.’
******
References
1 Let Me Blow Your Mind – Eve and Gwen Stefani
2 *Scandalous Scholastics - Gym Class Heroes
3 Fight For This Love - Cheryl Cole
4 Battlefield - Jordin Sparks
5 Thong Song – Sisqo
6 Dialogue from Travie McCoy, accessed on the 12th of November 2010 from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8lG3vQ_MBg&feature=related
JACKSON CURTIS - 1:02pm - December 3 - 2011
‘Chin up. That’s the first thing I wanna say. Keep your chin up at all times when you’re trying to pick up, and even if you’re not. If you ain’t confident, then just pretend to be. This