A poem/prose with a Singlish slant

Wait one more day, patiently.

Make an appointment at KCD.

Points and Signals, for thee.

Or will we be 'lim-ing' kopi?

No I can't claim transport fee,

SBS bus travel is not free.

Give not just the site tee,

practical knowledge, one should see.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Must see!

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rest in piece

you pushed me down too far

this time you'll see me in the hole

i'm such a falling star

you're the one who stole my soul

you never knew, so let me see you

let me see the terror

of which you were unaware

you were myself, so let me kill you

let me see the holes

in which i slowly stare

soul grinder, i was the monster who betrayed you

pushed it in the hole, and you were the one i knew

death finger, i was the psycho who murdered you

pulled the trigger fast, i was the hate that slowly grew

i knew the presence of the hollow

the sword i swallow

the ones who were at your side

they are the sorrow i hide

so let us run away

to a better place to rest in peace

let them all go away

let the demons all be released

let me rest in peace, let me rest in peace

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04 – The Song Remains The Same [explicit]

Ok… so it’s here. The laptop, the drink, the music, the TV on mute… perfect conditions for an outburst. Or a neurotic rant at the very least. Even the bronchial phlegm that’s been plaguing me for weeks seems to be coming to an end. The gin’s going down like it’s going out of fashion. The diarrhoea has been replaced by your averagely solid faeces (although I must admit that the thirty second shit is much more desirable than a five minute one in this fast paced and ever changing world). My personal popularity has reached a level where I can go out to most bars without being hassled, harassed or bothered by leeches & mozzies. I finally, after waiting for five months, move in to a grand apartment of my own; instilling the much needed sense of independency and comfort that I’ve been longing for ever since I set foot in this godforsaken place.

Everything returns to a semi normal state, and then….

Time to go back home sonny!  

Yeah, that’s right… time to pack up and go home. Well… only temporarily.

Some slime ball Nigerian fucker stole my passport, which has caused great difficulties to extend my visa. The who, what, where and when remains a mystery, but what is clear is that I’ve been horrendously inconvenienced by this act of cheap thievery. The end conclusion by management, HR and security, was that I’d be best off going home with my replacement passport and applying for a new visa.

Not that I’m crying or anything. I am ALWAYS looking forward to the chance to go home. My only dilemma is that this may fuck up my chances of going home at my preferred nominated time of late-July; the time of my son’s birthday. If I go home now they may not grant me leave when I most want it. I even promised Max I’d be home for his birthday over the phone yesterday. I’m becoming more like my old man every fucking day…

*     *     *

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03 – Dear Max

Dear Max,

As I sit here looking at my desktop wallpaper, consisting of a stretched photo of you lying on my boogie board at Torquay beach, I can’t help but feel like I’ve failed you. Everything I promised myself I would not become, I have. I wanted to be a better father than the father I had. I wanted to be there for you, for every moment of your life. I wanted you to have your real father around, and not some substitute. I didn’t want you to have a father that left the country all the time for business purposes, only to return with some expensive toy in vain attempts to win back your love. I didn’t want to end up like all my colleagues – divorced, alcoholic and then remarried to some young girl they met on their travels.

Now as I stare into an almost empty bottle of Wild Turkey, listening to The Prodigy’s “Breathe”, violently coughing up phlegm for the third week in a row; I realise I am all of these things. Instead of playing with you in the park, I am shooting pool and destroying my liver one beer at a time in some whore bar in Lagos. Instead of taking you to the zoo, I am taking my mind to the brink of insanity. Instead of tucking you into bed at night and reading you children’s books, I crawl into bed alone in a small room staring at a ceiling fan. Instead of making you breakfast in the morning (three Weetbix with warm milk and a teaspoon of sugar), I get up and relieve my bowels of yet another bout of diarrhoea.

I don’t really know what to tell you, or how to justify my poor choices in life, but I do know that I miss you terribly. I thought that going back to work would benefit you somehow, in the long run. But now I’m not so sure… I don’t think that no matter how large that bank account has grown to by the time you turn eighteen; it will ever be enough money to replace a father who was never there. I know it wouldn’t have been for me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

If only he was old enough to read this...

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02 – Where For Art Thou Purpose? [explicit]

So many weeks have gone by without a single entry. It’s not that these weeks have been entirely uneventful; it’s just that I seem to have lost my will to write. Well, that’s not entirely true. I have been writing, but what I’ve written has been filed into my “forbidden” folder – to be released later in life. The everyday bullshit just isn’t pouring out like it used to. I feel no need to express it.

Yesterday I went and inspected the apartments that I will be moving in to soon. I can’t wait to get out of the shit-hole I’m currently in. I can’t wait to have my own kitchen! My own laundry… a lounge room… a pool… even a gym! I think I may even extend my contract once I’ve settled in. There was no way in hell I would have stayed beyond my written contract in my current abode, but once you have all your creature comforts then who cares where you are? So it took six weeks for me to get what was promised to me at the beginning of this trip, but better late than never right?

Aaaaargh! It’s boring times like these I get really upset about my music equipment being stuck back home under my bed. I could have recorded a whole album by now. Instead I waste hours and hours on stupid computer games and cable TV (having already read all the books I took with me). If only I had an internet connection from home… I could be chatting with friends and family, sometimes even catching glimpses of my son over the webcam. It’s pretty fucking lonely sitting here like this, nights on end. Usually I’d be out drinking but I’m on anti-biotics, recovering from a nasty bout of laryngitis, so I’ve had to take it easy on the piss lately.

Animal Planet is beaming at me on mute in the background. Earlier it was the “Spiders from Mars” documentary, now it’s “The Immortal Salamander”. Both narrated by David Attenborough.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The swear word segment did sound pretty funny, when read by that nerdy monotonic computer voice.

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01 - What Did I Expect? [explicit]

8:50pm, Tuesday, February 08, 2005, Lagos... again!

It was to be different this time. I had planned it so. Searching the Trading Post for days, looking for an affordable digital multi-track recording device, I'd decided that during this trip my free time would be dedicated largely to creativity - not drinking. I gathered all necessary ingredients - electric guitar, two microphones, drum machine, guitar effects processor, cables and accessories - and carefully packed them into the guitar case. The digital 8-track I eventually decided to buy came with it's own hard case. This time I was actually looking forward to it... another three months in the pits of hell - Lagos.


Actors: Asshole Clerk at the Emirates check-in desk (AC);

Billy Boarster the weary traveller (BB).

AC: Umm... you are way over the weight limit for your luggage. Your suitcase alone goes over the limit. In fact, I'll need you to remove some items from it because our OH&S policy restricts any piece to a maximum of 32kgs. (gives a routine 'concerned yet empathetic' look to BB) Is there anything in the suitcase that you can... err... do without? You can either store it in a locker, or we can dispose of it here at the check-in desk. (shrugs as if to say 'only doing my job mate')

BB: What!? Last time I travelled they only checked the number of pieces, not weight! What are you saying? I can't bring these? (points at guitar & multi-track cases)

AC: Well... it's up to you. The rate of excess luggage is $45 per kilo, and you are... 22kg over... so it'll cost you over $1000 when you count the excess luggage handling fee. And you still have to bring the suitcase down to 32kgs. (shrugs again) Sorry... but it's airline policy to stick to weight restrictions for safety reasons.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I'm baaaack....

But I doubt I'll be as active with my writing this time round... think my will has been broken or something...?

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20 - Welcome To Fiji... Bula! [explicit]

Nigerian Diaries

As if I was rejected... these days only materialise with the bold consumption of daily existence. Either way... I'm fucking exstatic to be here!  The kava shall lead my way...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Umm... ok, what happened was... I dropped in to Fiji on my way home and blew several grand staying at a luxurious beach resort, opting for the all-you-can-eat-drink-and-do "special". To be honest I was much too busy scuba diving, snorkelling, kayaking, drinking in the pool with its swim up bar, playing beach and pool volleyball, dining in fine restaurants, playing mini golf, learning archery, playing squash, partying in the night club, over the five days that I was there, to have time to sit in my hotel room writing some silly diary entries. This particular night I'd just come home from the night club, drank half a bottle of my home brewed Kava, then had all the intentions of staying up all night and reflecting on all my wonderful experiences in this pacific paradise. I have no idea what train of thought I began on, but Kava certainly did show me the way - straight to bed!

This was the final entry of my "Nigerian Diaries", but stay tuned for volume II, which are already in progress... yes, back in the pits of hell again - for another three month stint. Hope the two or three readers of these diaries enjoyed them - love hearing your comments.


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19 - Welcome To America... Not! [explicit]

Nigerian Diaries


What a fucking ordeal!!! It is now 3:44pm, at Los Angeles airport, where I have just sat down to calm down with a cool pint of Samuel Adams, after spending over two hours picking up my luggage, going through customs, getting fingerprinted, photo snapped, continually asked casual questions about my occupation, destination, originating point etc. by every fucking airport official I walked past, then lining up again just to put my luggage through to the connecting flight to Fiji! I mean c'mon! I'm in fucking transit here!!! I have flown around over four continents and never have I come across such unnecessary and pedantic checks just to swap planes! I guess I know now why I've never set foot in this country earlier... instinct must have told me to keep the fuck away.

Ok, so I lied in the last diary. I did comment that I was just coming down off a very bad NYE. At least I don't dwell on my self-pity. Usually doesn't last longer than 48 hours. Besides, I was given a confirmation that I have at least one reader. Perhaps a bit quiet lately but she spoke up as soon as she heard I was gonna pull the plug on the diaries. ;o) Right C?

My connecting flight doesn't leave until 10:30pm this evening, so I guess I really should be doing the touristy thing by hopping on a quick Hollywood tour bus and whipping out the video cam. Seeing as I went through all that customs bullshit it means I can fuck off from the airport - the only downer to being in transit in most other places where you don't have that ability. But after what I just went through I know which I prefer.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I'm baaaack...

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16 – Whatever Happened To London? [explicit]

Nigerian Diaries

11:10am  Shiphol Airport, Amsterdam

So… three nights in London, three nights in Amsterdam, and now off to Stockholm for three and a half weeks. Too bad I was struck down with gastro for five of the last six days. So much for my wild party plans. I mean, it’s not much fun traveling alone, but it’s MUCH worse when you’re traveling alone and you can’t get shit-faced. Well… I did still get kinda shit-face though, didn’t I? ;o) Nothing stops this boar. The mushies kinda made me feel wholesome again. Like they had some weird healing powers. You’d think that poisonous mushrooms would complicate your illness to a higher degree, but for me they seemed to make things better. In fact, I had my first somewhat solid shit this morning – for the first time since Friday evening.

So what about London? No mention, no diary? Well, to be honest I don’t have a lot to say. After spending time here in Amsterdam I wish I’d just skipped London and come straight here. London was sterile… lacking character and charm. It may have been different traveling with friends, but as for solo faring, Amsterdam is the place to go. The beautiful canals, the old European architecture, the squillions of bars, restaurants & “coffee shops”, the laid-back atmosphere all make this the perfect place to chill out for a week or two. Three days wasn’t enough. I had to give away my remaining ‘mushroom enhancer joints’ and an almost full bag of Dutch Shiva to the beautiful receptionist at the hotel. “Does anybody smoke here?” I asked her, just before leaving in my taxi. She was busy decorating a Christmas tree with the porter, but her eyes immediately lit up and she replied, “You need to get rid of some? Sure!” I pointed out that the tubes contained the enhancer joints, and that the bag was the Shiva weed. “Great, thanks!” was the happy response.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Once I get back to Oz I might post a short clip of me laying on my hotel bed in Amsterdam, with my headphones blaring out insane psytrance, going "mmm... these mushrooms are intense!"

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