When I went to Lourdes, France two years ago, I brought back a little wooden cross that I bought for only 6 francs. I've been wearing that cross around my neck every day since.

Last night, I lost it. I think I know where I lost it but by now it'd be far too late to try and retrieve it. The irony is that a part of me believes that bad karma contributed to me losing this piece of Catholic symbolism. But right now, I am in no mood to talk about such things.

It's upset me but I know that I get over these things perhaps quicker than I should, so this will be a written testimony that I am upset over the loss. It is one that is both physical and symbolic.

Ghosts

I am sitting in front of my computer and I am typing away because there is a gun pointed at my head. When I turn towards the gun, he sticks it against my left temple and pushes me back towards the screen.

Write, he says. You snooze, you die, he says.

I am writing because I can feel the cold barrel of the gun against my temple.

I want to point out to him that 'die' doesn't rhyme with 'snooze' but he has a gun to my face.

Lose, I say. He says, what? And I say, nothing.

I am writing because the bullet is less than fifteen centimetres away from turning a quarter century of learning and development into an afterthought.

I begin with the girl who takes a picture of me. She goes home. On a plane. There's a guy sitting next to her that looks like John Laws. She takes a look at her holiday photos. Then I'm stuck.

I move on to the guy who goes back in time. He goes back in time to beat up on kids who used to bully him when he was a kid himself. Except maybe they never really did bully him because when he was a kid he already had his future self protecting him from these bullies. And at this point, I'm stuck.

He says, write. But I am tired. I'm hungry. He pushes the barrel of the gun harder into my head. I'm thinking a bed. I'm thinking donuts.

But I am writing because I want to live.

A girl falls in love with a zombie. A young man has to come to grips with the death of a clown, who also happens to be his sister. A pre-op transsexual finds love on a backpacking tour of a plague-stricken Europe.

I have a box full of stories waiting to be written, I tell him.

He says, then write them. I say, I can't. I'm too tired. He pushes the gun harder. I'm thinking a quilt on the couch and a bowl of chips.

He says, then what about me? Write me. I say, I can't. He says, why? I say, I don't know how it ends. I don't know how any of these stories end or begin. Or even how they middle. They're just ideas. They're sketches. Ghosts of the unborn and maybe never to be born. And now I'm tired. And I want to sleep.

No, he says. You sleep, you die. You don't write, you die.

I say, later. I say, no one is going to die tonight.

And I wave the gun away.

He watches me as I get up and stretch. There would be nothing good on TV right now so I think I'll read that book.

The sound of the light rain outside will help me sleep. I say, I'll see you again tomorrow. And I close my bedroom door behind me.

Hey you

I bumped into you the other day and I have to say that I had a simply delightful time. I really have not had company so entertaining and stimulating in such a long time. You're like three breaths of fresh cool alpine air. So bursting with energy and enthusiasm. It felt as if you were breathing new life into me. You made me smile. You made me want to run and dance and sing (although admittedly, it doesn't take much to make me want to sing) and write over-the-top blog entries about you.

I shall hold back and only write one.

But you see, this isn't the first time. During our many years of acquaintance, my head always screams these same thoughts everytime our paths cross. But the problem is I always forget shortly after the euphoria and I forget about you until I see you the next time. And this has been happenning over and over again. Life often does tend to numb everything.

So now I am writing it all down.

So that I won't forget this time.

So that I will know.

The next time our roads converge.

I am looking forward to it already.

xtn...

Things music-related

Australian Idol is now no more and Guy won. I'm happy he won but a part of me wishes that Shannon had won. But if Shannon had won, I would probably also say that a part of me wanted Guy to win. I like the two of them. Nice guys it would seem. I don't know if I'd buy their albums. Depends on the songwriting quality I guess.

What I did buy is the McDonald's/Australian Idol Karaoke DVD sampler for $4.95. And here's my review of it:

DON'T BUY IT!

It's horrible! It's full of McDonald's TV ads and songs by Idol contestants that couldn't even crack the top 12! Seriously, if I were to compile the most rubbish collection of snippets from the series into a DVD, it would still be slightly better than this. But I thought, it's for charity. Then I read that only $1 of the purchase went to charity. Damn! I should've just gave $5 straight to the Ronald McDonald House instead of buying this crap!

Here's a healthy piece of hyperbole:

Ryan Adams (NOT Byan Adams) is the greatest singer/songwriter still working today! This guy is a genius! Even when he's releasing his so-called B-grade stuff, it's still better than most others' A-grade stuff! He's got a new album called 'lloR N kcoR' and it's fantastic! He's got 3 CDs coming out this month. He originally wanted to release two EPs called Love is Hell but the record company said it was too depressing. So he made lloR N kcoR but now he's managed to release Love is Hell on top of that. Thank goodness there's this much good music coming in.

Damn, I hadn't realised how shite this blog has gotten. I just hope it's not the same reason as the last time I really felt crap about my blog. I got nothing to write. I have an XBOX now. So what am I supposed to write - how my electronic alter ego is going in the world tennis rankings? How he's been twice beaten by Sebastian Grosjean and has 2-1 record against a fictitious tennis player named Gerhard Gide?

Other stuff in my life? Oh boy! I don't wanna be writing about that! There's nothing exciting. Especially since the last two times I've been to Happy Cup, that girl hasn't been there! What else? I've started yoga. That's pretty cool.

OK, this sucks. I'm going back to writing fiction.

I have a mantra.

When things get bad or boring or complicated or I just want to avoid life, I say two words:

OTM SHANK

and I start laughing uncontrollably and the world becomes just that much nicer.

I even start laughing out of nowhere on trains or other public places. It's ridiculous. You may need to watch a particular Simpsons episode to appreciate it though. I was gonna explain but then I started with 'Well they were in the cinema and then Lisa saw...' um... it just wasnt gonna work. Had to be there.

OTM SHANK

Hehe :)

This has been edited. Now it's back to the original.

I’m not bitter (The monkey song)

It must have started in 99
Or some such year I no longer remember
Guess I crossed that invisible line
On a stupid day in that December

Not over it or behind
When I came too close you pushed me away
You had me in such a bind
Cos you’d also never let me stray

That’s all I have to say now
I’ve left. I’ve taken my bow
Well I hear you’ve got your monkey
So I hope you’re happy now

Cats and dogs to me are fine
But you don’t like them to walk on four
When you smiled the sun would shine
All other days it would just pour

That’s all I have to say now
I’ve left, you stupid cow
So you’ve got your friggin’ monkey
Well you better be happy now

So I’m walking, so I’m singing
Sha la la la la la la la la la la
I’m not bitter, I’ve just been drinking
Sha la la la la la la la la la la
It’s a monkey, what are you thinking?
Sha la la la la la la la la la la
And you’re a… damn, what was I thinking?!
Sha la la la la la la la la la la