Booze, love, fancy photos and stories about Generation End
22 May 2013

LETTER FROM HEARTBREAK

Dry trees in the distance - generationend.com

… and I know it’s been a while, but I thought I’d write to you about everything in the world. I want you to know that I’m doing fine and that once in a while I read the work you send me, those poems and stories and things, and I want you to know that I’m proud of you. I mean, I don’t get most of it, but that’s the point, right? I’m sure that one day, you will have that book and one day I will see your book in the bookstores. But in the meantime, just keep it as a hobby, can you promise that? Is everything okay? Do you have a proper job now? What are you doing for money? How’s everyone else, do you still keep in touch with them? How about XXXXX? I know you’ve asked me thousands of questions and I can’t answer them all but I want you to know that I’m doing fine, that sometimes I go to the beach and that yes, I’m doing fine. I remember this time (you probably don’t, especially with the way things are now between us), when we all went to the beach. You were there with the girls and some of your friends and I was so confused, but I liked to see you smile and have fun. Remember that. Remember that I always wanted you to smile and have fun.

Things are interesting here. Sometimes things are shitty and I see two different skies. Sometimes the clouds just won’t stay put. Once I was walking barefoot on the highway and I thought the whole world was going to light me on fire, which was fucking crazy. I walked to the edge of something last night, and I was with a friend of mine, and we just stood by its ledge and looked at what was in front of us. I mean, there won’t be much to look at for most people, but for me, what I was looking at, I can’t describe it. I don’t know. It was a pile of bricks, a pile of dead rubbish, and everything was dark and it smelt like piss and I just screamed at it like an arsehole. Why would I yell like that, you know? It confused the shit out of my friend and it confused the shit out of me. I’ve always wondered why you’ve never written about me. I know I haven’t read everything you’ve done and it’s my fault, but from what I’ve read it’s like you’ve deliberately avoided mentioning me at all. It’s as if all your words have been constructed for the sole purpose of stepping around me. Or maybe I’m just thinking too highly of myself. I suppose it’s my fault.

Why won’t the world always do as we say? Remember how you used to ask me that? I’ve had many years to think about it, and I guess the world has the right to be tough, you know? Maybe something happened to the world before we came around, something that hurt it. And because of its past hurts it’s a bit of a prick to people, to the environment, to everything, shocking them when times are good and shocking them when times are shitty. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I guess I’m trying to say I wish I’d done things differently, I’d done things better, you know? My friend says I can still make things better starting from now on but I don’t know, can I really? Can I really get out of what I’ve gotten myself into? I know you’ll never get where I’m coming from and I know that you hate me, just know that I’m sorry for the way things came about and I hope you’re well.

I wish I had a story to tell you of my own. Maybe an adventure story, or a love story. Or one of those fucking space alien revenge things. But I’ve never been that creative. Well, here’s a story… I had a dream the other night about this girl. Her hair was red and purple and shit, and she was with this other guy, this younger Indian guy, and they were drinking tea next to a mountain and all of a sudden, there was an explosion inside the TV they were watching. Everything was shaking but they continued drinking the tea. The scary part about the dream was that I wasn’t there, that those two people in the dream were people I’d never met or ever seen. I wish I could’ve taken a photo of them and shown them to people I know or maybe people you know and asked who they were. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that dream. Actually, maybe I will. Who gives a shit who they were? This isn’t a very good story, is it?

It’s hot where I am now, and I’m always sweating. It’s not easy where I am, and a lot of the time I find it hard to deal with people. But I’ve been taking a lot of photos of the places I’ve been to and the new friends I’ve met. I hope I can show them to you some day, but I don’t even know when that will be. I don’t even know if you’ll receive this. I wish I was there, and I wish, when all is over, when heaven is here, I’ll be able to laugh with you and your friends at the beach again.

I…



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04 May 2013

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU’RE BLIND AND PEOPLE COME OVER FOR A DRINK

What happens when youre blind and perverts come over for a drink - Generation End

It’d been about a week since my PRK laser eye surgery and things had improved: I could walk around with my eyes open and when things were good, objects in the distance looked clearer and crisper than when I used to wear contact lenses. I’d also become slightly addicted to the sleeping pills they gave me, Hypnodorm – it was much better than alcohol; I’d take one and I’d be able to fall into a deep sleep, an uninterrupted sleep, a dreamless sleep, a sleep that I hadn’t had in a long, long time, and it was bliss: I could ignore the world for a few good hours and wake up knowing that another day was successfully over.

“OPEN UP, DEAN, OPEN UP!” I woke up and opened the door and there was Jude and six other friends of ours – three guys and three girls – all excited to see me again and all already a bit drunk. One of the guys, James, ran into my toilet as soon as entering and vomited sushi all over the place. He came out about twenty minutes later and said, “Don’t worry, man, I cleaned it all up, I cleaned it all up.” As that happened everyone else rushed to my table and set up a number of glasses and shot glasses and Greygoose and Southern Comfort and some beer and a bottle of red something and a white bottle of something and Sprite and Coke and that’s about it. “You know I can’t drink yet, right? Because of my meds?” I said to everyone but they ignored me and handed me a shot glass.

What happened next was what happens in every drink up: a guy and a girl snuck off into a room and didn’t come back out, a girl became horribly depressed and anti-social and walked off somewhere and no one followed her, a guy kept yelling, “I’M HUNGRY LET’S GO GET SOME FOOD”, a girl kept giggling and flirting while letting us grope her all over, a bunch of people puked; and as this all escalated what started off as laughter and dancing evolved into a lot of slurring and slow talking, which then evolved into people breaking off into smaller groups, which then evolved into someone sleeping and some people talking quietly amongst themselves and someone constantly asking, “You sure you’re alright to drive home?”

It was seven in the morning and we were still awake and I needed to go for an eye check up. My vision wasn’t reliable yet so one of the girls, the one who became anti-social earlier, ended up driving me. We were both dizzy and tired, and once in a while I’d catch her closing her eyes and drifting off into a sidewalk or into another car. We chuckled. After my eye check up we parked at a restaurant in Paddington that was closed, and, sitting there in the sunny parking lot not knowing what to do, we spoke about life for a while, and once we were sick of talking about life we browsed by the stores scattered around Paddington, and once we were sick of browsing by the stores scattered around Paddington we drove off to meet a friend of hers who gave me more Hypnodorm for free even if I offered her money.

We went to DFO where she bought ten dollar shoes; we had lunch; she drove me home. “Do you have cocaine?” she asked me as she parked her car. I said no, and she hugged me and I said thanks for the lift and she handed me a music CD of a group called Ou Est Le Swimming Pool and said goodbye. I was exhausted. I walked inside and looked at the mirror, but not at my reflection: I looked for something above me, to the right; I don’t know why, but it looked strange and dark and frightening. I closed my eyes and opened them and the thing, the horrible thing – it was still there. I walked to my room and put the CD on the floor. I sat on the edge of my bed, which now smelt like sweat and vagina. I thought about nothing for a while, texted a few people. I lay down, took a pill, smiled and went to sleep.

 

***

Some extra news: I’ve published two teaser short stories in lead up to my book, Surface Children. You can view the short stories here.



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16 Apr 2013

PART TWO.

Laser Eye Loneliness - part 2 - generationend.com

Time is something you don’t necessarily have to hold on to. I don’t know why, but that evening, last year, when you walked out of the third party we’d been to that week with your stupid friends who didn’t understand us – who didn’t understand me – I couldn’t help but feel hollow – is hollow a feeling? I know I’ve met hurt and anger and happy and glad and all of those others guys before – but hollow? Where does hollow belong? As soon as you left, as soon as the ‘hollow’ came my pleasure in being social and any reason for me to smile and nod and make new friends vanished for good. I stood there in the lonely dark corner of the party and I looked around and I leant on a wall and I fumbled with nothing in my pocket and I thought of excuses to leave and I thought of time; the time it took to call someone, the time it took for a war to end, the time it took for a car to start, the time it took for an evening to rest and an evening to start and for us to die and for us to live all over again. But I stayed, and I stayed, and I stayed, and people came and went and I drank and eventually forgot about you and actually had a good time. As two in the morning came along and as this guy I met some time ago slung against my shoulder and told me how drunk he was I looked out of the balcony of the house on the hill we were in, past the passed out couple on the lawn and past the fences and into the complete black canvas outside. When had it become so completely dark? Were vampires real? Would I be awake in time for breakfast? What am I happy about? What am I sad about?

The second day after my PRK laser eye surgery wasn’t much better. It still hurt whenever I opened my eyes, which was annoying because I missed writing. I wasn’t allowed to participate in any sort of physical activity and everyone was either at work or out having fun. I spent most of the day taking pills, putting on eye drops and listening to the TV shows on my laptop.

Jude came by later in the evening. “You smell,” was all he said about me before telling me about his life: he spent the weekend at some hotel room with his new girlfriend and a bunch of other friends, and the week before that he worked a lot, and he drank a lot, and he smoked a lot, and he went to the gym a lot, and he also tried this new place in the Valley that apparently had lots of alright not-too-slutty looking girls.

“I hate not being able to do anything,” I told him.

“You should be lucky,” he said. “You know how many people are looking for excuses to do nothing? Doing nothing is fantastic. It’s what we all work hard for: to do nothing when we’re old and irrelevant.”

“Your wisdom never ceases to impress me.”

“I want you to try something.” Jude put something in my hand. “At the Coast, right, we rolled up old weed and crushed Panadol and tea leaves and smoked it up.”

“I’m not trying this.”

“Try it.”

I played with it with my fingers. “Have you tried it yet?”

“Of course,” he said. “It’s fantastic.”

We went outside and I lit it and tried it and nearly vomited. Jude laughed and said he’d never tried it before. I tried to punch him but missed, causing him to laugh even more. He took it off me and finished it off, coughing hard and saying how terrible it was each time he took a puff.

“How’s your book going?” He asked me.

“Slowly.” I sighed. “Even when I wasn’t blind. I want people to learn from it, I want people to read it and see the world differently afterwards, you know? To make changes. But I feel like I have nothing much to teach.”

“Listen,” Jude said, “as your really good friend, just write whatever the hell as quickly as possible and put it out there and sell it. Even outsource a writer from Philippines or Mumbai or South Africa or some bullshit to finish it for you – did you know that you can do that? That you can outsource your shit? I know you want to be artistic and pure and shit, but you can’t. You can’t do that. Your fucking Generation End blog or whatever, I mean, you’re getting all these readers but you don’t even have ads. How stupid can you be? You blew ninety percent of your savings to make yourself blind, you’re paying all these bills, and you go out and you party and you’re wasting it all away to the point where one day you’ll tell me that you’re homeless… you’re a man, Dean, a man, not a loser – men don’t do this to themselves. I’ve seen you be poor for the entire time I’ve known you and you’re going nowhere. Vail and I are moving higher in this world and you’re in exactly the same state as when we met you. Just finish it; who cares about the quality? You’ve written manuscripts before, right? I mean, where are they now? How have they helped you improve your life? You’re taking way too long. You’re single and you live alone and you’re jobless. Like, at least get a job or something, because your situation is just depressing, and no one is telling you this, but they pity you. I pity you. Get a job. Do something to make you money. This writing is getting you nowhere.”

I don’t know if you’ve ever cried one night after receiving laser eye surgery before, but it’s painful. I squeezed my fingers against my palms. I wanted to say something but I couldn’t. Nothing would come out. I couldn’t explain why I needed to do what I needed to do; I couldn’t even explain it to myself. We both said nothing.

“I’m thinking of running away,” Jude eventually muttered.

“What do you mean, run away? You don’t live with your dad anymore. You just gave me a huge lecture.”

“I mean from Brisbane. From this place. From my commitments. I want to see different things. I want to have sex with an African girl – in Africa. I don’t know. I’m bored.”

“Do it,” I said. I would’ve been glad to see him go.

“I mean it, Dean.”

“Why?”

Jude shrugged. “I have a few hundred thousand dollars saved in one of my accounts, just getting shit all interest. I might as well spend it on changing my life.” My eyes were closed but I knew he was thinking hard. Eventually, he stood up. He patted my shoulder and said, “I’ll visit you again,” just like Vail did. He made me a glass of water before saying that he had to go now because he had to meet his girlfriend for coffee at Milton and then perhaps have anal sex with her at her parents’ place afterwards if she wasn’t feeling so damn up herself.



Written by , Posted in Crappy News, Jude, Writing | 2 Comments
28 Mar 2013

LASER EYE LONELINESS

laser eye loneliness - Generation End

I had this dream once of becoming a successful writer. I’d be smoking a cigarette on top of a pile of money and every day, I’d buy some girl with nice legs a brand new car. Everyone would buy my books: lonely people would buy my books, the downtrodden would buy my books, bored middle-aged housewives would buy my books, high brow people with ‘a passion for the arts’ would buy my books, angsty but introverted teens would buy my books, prostitutes would buy my books, that dick from high school would buy my books – everyone would buy my books, and everyone would be happy because everyone was in my dream, and in my dream I’d be smoking a cigarette on top of a pile of money.

That dream never happened and I was still jobless. I had savings left so I decided to spend most of it on getting laser eye surgery to fix my shitty eyesight. They gave me valium before the surgery, which was great. The surgeon then had me lie down and look upwards towards a light. I watched with eyes wide open as he used something to scrape the outer layer of my eyes into a pile before using a machine to laser them; I could smell my eyes burn.

Everything was a blur once the valium kicked in. Apparently, after the operation, I loudly told everyone in the room how friendly the nurses were while walking around with my hips thrusting forward. I don’t remember the trip home.

Vail visited me in the evening.

“You look insane,” she said, sitting next to me. She smelt good. Like fruit.

“I can’t see,” I replied with my eyes closed. My eyes were hurting. “I can’t do anything for a few weeks.”

“Wow.” I heard her rummaging through my things. “Look at all these pills. We could sell these to some people I know.”

“Totally.” They gave me Nurofen for the pain, Endone for severe pain, Pramin for nausea and Hypnodorm for insomnia.

Vail put her hand inside my shorts and the both of us went quiet for a while.

“How have you been?” I eventually asked her.

“Good and shit, good and shit. The usual. A girlfriend of mine got punched by her boyfriend. Right across the face.”

“Do I know her?”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Is she hot?”

“She’s not bad.”

“How’s she doing?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t texted her yet. I think she works at Dotti. She’s lucky to have him anyway, he’s normally a really chilled guy. She can just be like, a real cold bitch sometimes. Especially to men. I think she deserved it.”

I didn’t say anything.

“How long are you going to be like this for?” she asked me. “It’s night time and you’re wearing sunglasses.”

“I’ve been told it may take a week, or even months before my vision will improve. There’s also a chance that nothing will happen at all.”

“Months? That’s a long time.”

“My brother bought me dinner,” I said. “People wished me luck.”

“That’s sweet of them. If you need help with anything, just call me.”

“I can’t see the text on my phone,” I said.

Vail giggled, pulling her hand out of my shorts. “You’ll figure out a way to call me.” She stood up, walked to the bathroom, washed her hands then sat back down next to me. “I heard about your night at the casino.”

“And?”

“I’m so glad I didn’t join you.”

“You weren’t invited.”

Vail slapped my arm. “How much money do you have left?”

“Enough to pay the rent and eat for a few more months.”

“You better find work again, Dean.”

“I hate working. For people, especially.”

“Who doesn’t? But that’s growing up.”

“Can’t a publisher just publish my manuscript?”

“No, they can’t. Have you even been submitting to publishers?”

“Not lately. I’m tired of rejection letters.”

“Well, there you go.” Vail reached for something in my bag. She pulled out a pill and placed it in my mouth.

“What the hell did you just make me swallow?”

“That’s usually a question I ask.” She kissed my cheek. “I just gave you a sleeping pill.”

Vail’s iPhone vibrated – she quickly texted something back.

“I take it you have to go.”

“I’ll be here again soon, okay? Maybe… I’ll let you know.” She put her hand on my face before walking off and closing the door behind her.

As I lay there on my couch I felt terribly alone. I know I had people in my life, people who cared, but there was still something missing. There was still something missing – I sounded like a Hollywood cliché. I suppose loneliness has always been there with me, standing in the background like some weird looking friend I’ve always been ashamed of. It lingers there like a creep, waiting for me to do something stupid so that I can run back into its arms in tears. I took my sunglasses off, wiped them clean. I then sticky taped these things over my eyes, these plastic shields that I was supposed to wear before I slept. I squinted in the dark. It hurt whenever I’d keep my eyes open for too long, but I hated just sitting there. I stood up and stumbled around, found a cigar Jude once gave me and cut it and lit it and smoked it. I played some music and muttered to myself about the things I thought about in life before falling asleep.

 

 

–

(For those who are curious, I had two options when signing up for laser eye surgery. The first option I was given was to get Lasik surgery, which involved cutting my eyes to create ‘flaps’ in each cornea, lasering what was underneath the flaps and then repositioning them back together. Since I did boxing once in a while I was advised that there was a rare possibility that someone could hit an eye and dislodge one of the flaps.

That didn’t sound too promising so I opted for PRK laser eye surgery. I chose this option because it didn’t provide the risk of any of my ‘flaps’ being dislodged, and also because the way they described the procedure sounded exciting: they’d remove the outer layer of my eyes completely with alcohol or with a plastic blade before lasering the outer surface; then, I’d have to wait for a period of time before they’d heal completely again.)

 

 



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12 Mar 2013

WE’RE ALL SLAVES TO SOMETHING

We're all slaves to something - generationend.com

I know I’ve been writing about women a lot lately but my story with Natasha is a story I just had to finish. You see, Natasha and I met again a few more times: we had dinner once in a while, we went to an event once in a while, we texted once in a while.

“You know what I’ve wanted to do lately?” she asked me as she finished off a meal one evening.

“What?”

“Weed. I’ve never had weed. I’ve never even had a cigarette. I’ve been too tame when it comes to drugs, and I think it’s time I started doing more. I dated my ex-boyfriend for eight years, and we were like, good together and everything, but I’ve been living, like, way too innocently.”

“Weed’s underrated.” I pushed my plate away. “You know what’s better than weed?”

“What?”

“Heroin.”

“Whatever,” she said, giggling. “But now that you mention it, I actually had a cousin who was addicted to heroin. She came over one night with a tourniquet and all of this other stuff. I was twelve years old and I watched her get high. And she just sat there, injecting herself, watching me back.”

“Must have been the highlight of your childhood.”

“It totally was. I took a photo of her doing it with my parents’ camera. Then she killed herself a month later. What’s the worst thing you’ve done when it comes to drugs?”

“What?”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve done when it comes to drugs?”

“Oh you know nothing much,” I shrugged. “Anyway let’s go for a drive.”

We ended up at the casino, where I put twenty bucks on a game of black jack and completely lost.

“The key is to watch what everyone’s doing.” Natasha watched what people were doing and confidently put a chip on someone’s cards. She lost.

After losing a few more times we headed for the bar. We talked to each other for a while until Natasha recognised a couple in the distance and walked up to them. I sat there, watching them talk: the way they spoke, their body language – there was something suspicious about it all. The guy leant into Natasha with a serious expression on his face, nodding once in a while, making an occasional comment while glancing up at me; it was as if Natasha was offering a business proposal that he was very keen on listening to. It was only until later that the couple smiled. But it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile Jude likes to make when we’re out and he’s looking at a girl in the distance, thinking that she’s looking back at him too.

Natasha returned about twenty minutes later. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I’m drunk now.”

Natasha nodded at the couple in the distance. “See that woman over there?”

“The ugly one?”

“She’s a transvestite.”

“Okay. And?”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re fine with that. I see that couple around here a lot. They’re game to have a foursome with us. You’ve never been with a tranny before right?”

I put my glass of whiskey down. “What the hell are you on about?”

“I said they want to have a foursome with us. I mean, if you’re down with that. I’ve been with them before and they’re clean and they don’t hit you or anything dodgy like that.”

I looked at the couple before looking back at Natasha. I’m a writer. I should experience more things.

Natasha slapped my arm. “Oh my gosh, look at that look on your face! You didn’t think I was serious did you? They’re old high school friends. Far out, Dean. First, you wanted to watch snuff films with me and now this? You want a foursome? I told you I only like you as a friend!”

“I didn’t say shit!”

“But would you consider it?”

“Of course not.”

“Well,” she said, “you better change your mind because they’re coming now.”

Natasha wasn’t kidding. The couple arrived and introduced themselves to me. They seemed friendly enough but they eventually brought up the foursome, and when I’d change the subject they’d bring it up all over again. I was afraid but some part of me was curious to see how far they’d actually go. Plus I wanted to see Natasha naked.

We had one more drink before the guy brought us all upstairs to the room he checked into. It was a plain room: there was a TV and a few chairs and a kettle and a bed. Ever since high school I’ve been in countless situations where I’d think: I thought this only happens in the movies. This was one of those situations.

But then all of a sudden I had an image of myself as a grandfather, telling my grandchildren about my wonderful youth and deliberately censoring out the time I hooked up with a guy, a well-dressed transvestite and a girl I met online – all in one evening.

“Yeah you know what guys, I can’t do this.”

“What?” Natasha looked angry. “You can’t back out now and leave me here.”

“Well, come with me if you want.”

“Don’t fucking back out, Dean,” she said, looking irritated before calming herself and saying: “It’s fine. You’re fine. It’ll be fine. Don’t embarrass me like this.”

“Yeah I don’t think I can do this. Do you want to go?”

“You’re doing this.” She placed her hands on my hips and stood in front of the doorway. “It’s too late, you’re doing this. Trust me, it’s not as bad as it seems. You’ll be fine. Don’t be scared.”

“Listen, I’m going!” I pulled her hands away but she put them back on.

I pushed past her, but she grabbed my arm tightly. “You coward, Dean, you dirty coward! You think you’re so smooth and so high and mighty but you’re lonely and sad and you have no future. You better fucking stay or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

I shoved her hard and she fell on her back. She winced. The other couple just stood there, eyeing each other without saying anything.

Natasha slowly stood up and gave me a pained, frightening look. Her face was completely red. Then she said something I didn’t understand: “We’re all slaves to something, Dean.”

“Whatever, psycho. I’m going, and it’s up to you if you want to go with me.” Natasha said nothing. I looked at the couple. “Sorry to lead you on, guys. Feel free to add me on Facebook or something.”

I drove home alone. I wanted to speed home dramatically, but there were way too many red lights. Instead I repeatedly changed the radio station, thinking about my life and thinking about what I should do about the past and what I should do about the future and what I should do about all the mess in between. I remember listening to a seminar by a motivational speaker once who said that no matter what situation we’re in, our world comes down to how we see it. While I waited for a light to turn green I figured that I could see my situation as either one of two things: depressing or funny. So I decided that from then on, it would be depressingly funny.

 



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