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Sunday, December 9th, 2007
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3:35 am - As Per The Other Me
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In case you had not heard:
My Birthday (& Return to Melbourne) Party Shall Not Be Held On The 15th Of December
But rather on
some other date!
All invited.
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, November 15th, 2007
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3:32 am
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So... embarrassingly enough Adeline and I had a little "talk" after that night. She said that I wasn't paying her enough attention and that I need to listen to her more. She wasn't angry just sort of decided to tell me this. I kept looking at one of her posters- a voluptuous art deco woman- and I couldn't help but think that one day I should probably get myself some art for my own room. But framed of course, not a two-bit poster. And not art deco but something a little more refined, such as, say, some Van Gogh or perhaps even some Rubens. I blinked and looked straight at her.
"Look, let's go out to dinner today and you can tell me about things ok? Ok bunnykins?"
"Ok."
MWAH. I gave her a smack on the cheek, put my arm around her and we went out to Matteo's. Over some duck and porcini mushrooms I listened to her go on about work. Honestly I am not really sure why she got so worked up. She's often talking about her work and how there's this creepy customer or that annoying girl. But she's my Adeline and in many ways the way in whihc she gets so worked up is quite... well endearing. The way her hair comes undone slightly around her right ear, the way she screws up her forehead.
By the end of the night though, I had charmed her once more. A joke or two thrown at the right moment. She smiled in that bright, sunny way. Looked me straight in the eye. Lost herself for a moment.
Oh my Adeline... You are ever mine...
---
Life continues in its own way; we had a few more debates and got more names. The thing that becomes quite obvious is that medical students are all much of the same- they will do anything for food. And so we have our sponsored meetings and the scavengers come. The more interesting thing is when we get those of other faculties, or when someone says something a little too controversial.
We've started a livejournal community: ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) generalobs. The email group is getting a little too frisky, thanks to the kind efforts of a certain Graham and a certain Patience. But I am muchly impressed. Evidently there are enough of our kind who are on the "internets".
Not much else to report for now.
Keep on truckin'
Over and Out.
DA.
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| Saturday, November 3rd, 2007
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4:06 am
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I woke up this morning drenched in sweat. The kind of drenched that implies a night of fitful feverish dreams- which I did have. I slept at my own house so I did not have anyone who could tell what my temperature was.
Dreams of the shambling murdered, dead eyes, mumbling meaningful words which I could not remember. And I shot, shot, shot at them but they still kept coming. The worst were the young, gorgeous women with their glassy eyes who climbed over me, pinned me down and up close you could smell their decaying breath, see their hair shedding, their rotting lips. I'd slash and stab and shoot and run back. My comrades had fallen, fallen so long ago. It was just me, me in the fortress of Humanity fighting back the onslaught of the dead and dying, trying my best to keep them back before they infected us all.
I woke and I was wet and itchy. I stumbled to the toilet and took a piss, hot and feverish. My throat ached. My eyes hurt.
I looked at myself and remembered the last of my dream- that they had finally bitten me dirty and tainted; that I was slowly leaving the realms of those who exist to the mottled grey rot. My eyes looked sunken and I felt soaked...
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, October 29th, 2007
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12:52 am - Exes (part one?)
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So I saw one of my exes today. She was hanging out at one of those pov student bars that for some reason I was hanging out at. What a day to have left Adeline at home.
Of course I muscled through the hot crowd to the bar ignoring her and of course she followed me and said hello how are you doing i haven't seen you in aaaaages and what have you been doing haven't you heard from blah blah blah and how come i haven't heard from you.
"That's because I have a new girlfriend who doesn't hang out in lame bars and wear crappy clothes and call ten times a day when we're going out and ACTUALLY PUTS OUT." I said staring straight ahead of me.
"Oh."
Then I reconsidered my point of view through the multitudes of glass bottles. Was it really fair on the poor girl to destroy her truly and utterly? What would she do if I continued along this path? Honestly, if anything the worst thing that could happen would be that I'd have hundreds of her vapid sycophantic friends calling me to tell me how I'd caused her pathetic suicide.
"Look, I'm sorry, I've had a terrible day, and I was thinking about my other ex, remember that girl, that girl, what's her name, you know before you?"
"Sarah?"
"Yeah. No. Rhea."
"Oh yeah."
"Who're you here with?"
"Oh you know the usual SteveandLarsandPaulandTrishandLisaand..."
"OK. Look I'll order another you another beer if you just stop talking. [pause] And sit with me instead."
"Right." I had the idiocy to look at her face and see her twisted embarrassed hurt smile the way it always was and then I grinned reflexively then swallowed it and looked away.
Stupid bitch.
We took our beers and sat down in the corner. So what have you been up to. Still making essays constructed almost like origami cranes only to have them screwed up and thrown into a bin by some lecturer. Still living with potheads. Still complaining because they don't "get" you. Grow up.
Her hand almost brushed mine and I found myself staring at her tight stomach under the breasts swelling under her grey cotton singlet my heart pounding pounding pounding. I looked away. Her shoulder brushing against mine. I thought about her running her fingers down into my groin, leaning into me, kissing me, biting my shoulder, biting my neck, biting, biting my ears, tearing my ears off, consuming my face, chewing it, swallowing it. And me helpless against the couch while she consumed me and I lay helpless until some instinct in me knifed her, penetrated her and we both chorused to orgasm.
My face twisted into a grimace, settled.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You look worried, what's wrong" she smoothed my frown out with her thumb gently the way she used to and smiled. My heart jumped again. She smiled at me again, patronisingly. Patted my shoulder, said it'd be ok whatever it was was probably nothing and I shouldn't worry so much why did I always worry I was so supportive and so good and so clever and so insightful and such a good girl. I wanted to scream.
YOU SOLD ME OUT. YOU SOLD ME OUT. YOU SOLD ME OUT FIRST. YOU SOLD ME OUT FIRST YOU BITCH YOU BETRAYED ME AND YOU SOLD ME OUT.
"So still working with Rick and Vera?" I said, my face finally smoothing over, with that small hint of malice. And it hit.
"No, of course...of course not." Don't ever forget what happens when you try and cheat on me when you look at other people that way and pretend that I don't notice that I'm too stupid to notice.
"Why, what happened?"
"You know what happened. Christ, you KNOW what happened Thilini. Don't pretend that you and Gabriel knew nothing about me getting fired. Like you had no idea that that would happen that you had nothing to do with that fuck you know this was the worst idea here take your fucking money for that fucking beer."
"Hey sweets, what's the matter, can't deal with reality?"
"You haven't changed."
And she got up and left in a huff. I leaned back and laughed. A throaty, deep laugh. Almost velvety. I leaned back, and I drained my beer.
As I walked back the night was warmer than I remember this time of year. I took my jacket off, then my jumper. Stripped down to my singlet and jeans as the cars screamed mercilessly down the quiet street. Dark and menacing. When I got home three hours later the night was almost drawn in grey. The house sterile. I lay down in bed. It was quiet. Then I was quiet.
---
Adeline crept in a few minutes later. She had been out to put the rubbish out. I heard the key turn and almost started but I fell back into my diseased sleep. Her weight fell next to me in bed. I felt her breath on my neck, her hand on my bare back. She put her arms around me. I yawned. She held me tightly and I turned around, my face buried in her neck.
"Tell me a story Adeline"
And there was a story. There was a dog and a rabbit and they were friends. They had an adventure raiding the house where the People lived. They stole some meat and some carrots and the People were angry but the people couldn't find the dog and the rabbit but when they did then they forgave them anyway and they said it was ok, it was ok for the animals to eat and they brought out some water and some milk also and then they were friends too.
"Are you ok puppy?" she said, stroking my hair.
"I'm ok rabbit"
"It's ok puppydog" she kissed my forehead. "I had the worst day. I went to work and there was this customer, this creepy guy who used to come in and..."
"Not today bunnykins, not today."
"Ok."
Later I could feel the warm wet of her tears on my cheeks as I blinked them away. Still later, dozing I fancied that I heard
her cry.
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, October 8th, 2007
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5:47 pm
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One of the interns put up fluids too fast on an old shrivelled nobody and put her into APO.
For some reason this made me laugh.
Ha ha ha.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, April 29th, 2007
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9:30 pm - You know who you are.
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Whoever you are, I'm going to find you. I'm going to fuck you over. I'm going to fuck you in the ass. Till you bleed.
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, May 17th, 2006
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3:56 am - An Eventful Time (Part Two)
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It wasn't hard to get some contacts from the MSS to organise sponsors. Muriel may not be the most... emotionally stable friend of ours, however, that doesn't preclude her from being good at schmoozing drug reps on the phone. One should keep friends around who are useful.
Muriel is a girl of many talents, a fair few of which reside between her legs, in a quiet, dark place she calls "Molly". Molly is carefully washed, preened, her hair ripped out and generally kept in pristine condition. Muriel likes to say she's saving Molly for a man she really loves (Gabriel), but we estimate that no less than one-third of the seedy hairy grad students have eased their slimy ways into her nether regions, one way or another. She cries to us, the next week, lamenting their rough ways and refusal to call her while we roll our eyes. I do certainly believe that pity, to someone such as Muriel, is like greasing a stuck door hinge- its orifice moves a whole lot again and squeals as it does so. Penny usually maintains that anal sex is still sex, much to the dismay of our distraught friend. It always amazes me that someone as obsessive-compulsive about her cleanliness as our Muriel would let any man near the confines of her gastrointestinal tract. So I manage her with a firm, consistent approach: "No, Muriel, it's an 'out'-hole, not an 'in'-hole. You really should know better than to do something like that... if Gabe knew how many men had discovered your intimate charms, do you think he'd REALLY be interested? You really wouldn't want him to know, would you?"
Our campaign? Simple. Free lunch and interesting issues. That was enough to attract a large, goodly selection of clinical students from a variety of year levels as well some of the newbie medical students and even a couple of uncomfortable looking, shabbily dressed arts students who looked as though they fit into the crowd as well as the second-hand pants that they were, in fact, wearing.
While Muriel was having it off with the drug rep in an obscure storage cupboard in severe emotional pain about the fact that I hadn't picked her to speak at our first meeting, the debate began in earnest. The topic was quite a simple one... "should interns be subject to an increase in their base rate of pay". I'd decided to forgo the usual parliamentary style to concentrate on an informal style of debate between two hand-picked speakers, ones who I thought would bring a unique perspective to it. Penny, Dux of her posh private school, captain of the debating team and capitalist extraordinaire, I had placed on the side arguing for the base rate to stay the same; James, charming quiet young man with the devastating twists and flexible, intricate ways of turning the debate, I placed arguing for a pay rise. I was honestly intrigued to how this would play out.
Our audience, hungry and driven by the allure of free food, started as a grumbling sort of disquiet. Penny went through the typical argument, that doctors make a large amount of money, and that there was nothing intrinsically better about the work that we do, that we do not in fact need extra money, and other standard left-leaning arguments. I heard a few yawns at first. I saw, with a twinge of anxiety, one of the better fed students nod off slightly... Distracted, slightly disturbed, I squeezed Adeline's warm leg, and she looked at me quizzically as if to say "it'll be ok, don't worry about it".
"Isn't the fact that we pay our interns the same base rate as a slightly qualified worker at K-Mart a reflection of how little we value our healthcare system?"
Suddenly the room was roused. James had spoken. Bit by bit, he demolished the entirety of Penny's argument with a rather novel approach: that in fact, for a social welfare system to function effectively, we should be enlarging the healthcare sector and valuing our healthcare workers and looking after their mental, physical and financial well-being. For a fair chunk of medical students would soon have huge loans to pay back to a government which was steadily moving towards a privatisation of the university system. His approach was an interesting blend of conventional left-wing ideology with a different focus, a different means to the same ends. He succeeded by working from a similar base to Penny's, but to different conclusions.
Penny replied to his argument, agreeing that we should, in fact, value our healthcare sector... but that a system of financial incentives wasn't the same as creating "value". That our healthcare workers, are, in fact overworked, suicidal, depressed, disillusioned, but that a whole lot of money never made anyone any happier.
James, however, then outlined a radically different system of simple and logical financial incentives- arguing in fact, that the base rate of pay should be increased and that the overtime rate should be reduced, with financial incentives for doctors to visit health services (espeically mental health) if they needed it and for completing work such as charity work in underprivileged areas or for starting new projects.
The floor was then opened up for questions. The variety of questions was truly stunning- all the way from "do you really think that could work?", to asking about specific flaws in the arguments, to a certain amount of the questioning of the ideology of "valuing doctors" from the funkier looking medicals.
I placed my arm high in the air.
"A question to both of you... I find it interesting that you've both chosen viewpoints that basically revolve around a social welfare system. I was wondering whether you could justify your reasons for this? What's so good about a social welfare system, why not have a user-pays one? How would your ideas change if we were to have a user-pays system?" I heard a loud groan from one of the arts wankers. But I really was interested in their response.
James: "I suppose in a user-pays system, doctors may in fact face higher medical costs due to the fact that they're more likely to get sick. Thus they should really be paid more to cover those costs, otherwise there's no incentive to go into the healthcare field."
Penny: "User-pays... doesn't really have much to do with medical salaries. It's equally arguable that other people should earn more, or that drug companies should be forced to offer their drugs at a cheaper rate by the government, or that doctors should receive free healthcare, anything really. It doesn't really have a bearing on this issue."
And then, that moment. A quiet voice came from the back.
"Wouldn't the people who cost the healthcare system the most, those who are going to die of complicated causes anyway, be the ones losing out? And should we really be working so hard to provide people like that with a poor quality life which drags on when we should really be offering them a good quality of death?"
Penny and James just looked at each other.
"That's a good question," they said.
---
After the debate, I sought out that quiet voice, Adeline trailing me. It belonged to a 5th year called Patience. She was one of those small incisive introverted sorts of girls. A little like a churchmouse, with small trendy glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, precariously.
"How'd you like the debate?" I said.
"Very interesting, much higher standard than I'd expected. Though I was surprised that neither of them really went for the obvious approach of suggesting that the welfare system is at fault, as you said."
"Yeah. Liked what you said though, that was really quite interesting. And the debate that followed really made it for me." She smiled, then. It was a smile, that, to be honest, creeped me out a little. I imagined her smiling that way dissecting someone's abdomen. Placing a mousetrap. Eating someone's liver with a glass of Chianti.
"You should get an online thing going, get the names of some interested parties and get some really interesting debates going, you know."
"You know, I had just that thought." I was intrigued. Really, really intrigued. What an odd creature...
Adeline gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and said she had to be off.
"Why? Where are you going?"
"I'm off to see a friend..."
"Whom?"
"Just a friend, I'll see you... tonight?"
"Do you want me to come along? Give me a moment, I'll come along."
"Ummm... ok. Aren't you busy with your... thing?"
"No, no it's ok, I'll come." She gave a quick smile.
I quickly took Patience's details and ran off, after Adeline. Adeline walked in front of me, almost running. I could almost see a string pulling me along after her, lifting the clothes off my chest, pulling me, pulling me. After the girl who entranced me.
I was just too far away to touch her.
---
She doesn't answer her phone, she's always late. I don't get it. The other day she said to me, she said to me "are we serious now?". And I said that I would very much like it to be that way, and she said good, that she liked that, and smiled that way she does, looking into my eyes. And yet. She is forever rushing off, forever "busy". Always with some "friend" to see.
"I don't buy it," said Gabe, "I don't trust her."
Gabe had a funny look in his eyes. Sort of this funny glare, with his pale blue eyes that never seem to focus on anything.
"You wouldn't do her? You must admit, she's a good catch, fucking hot. Almost good enough for you, Gabriel."
"That bitch isn't good enough for me."
"Ooh... she rejected you didn't she?" I winked at him and smiled. "It's ok, Gabe, not everyone is capable of falling for your charms..."
"That's NOT it. I don't want you being strung along by that... loser." Suddenly I snapped.
"Call my girlfriend a loser again and I will END you. I do NOT. Pick. Up. Losers. Repeat that after me, Gabriel." He looked scared. He fucking should have.
"Fine, fine. Look, she's not a loser, she's the... Perfect, the best."
"REPEAT IT. I DO NOT PICK UP LOSERS."
"You do not. Pick up losers."
"Good. Don't forget this. Don't EVER forget this."
Gabe spent the rest of his time grovelling to me. But I itched. I couldn't stay still. It was like I had some sort of tardive dyskinesia and just could not for the life of me stop moving. Nothing I did could get her off my mind. Not the debate going well, not Gabe's attempts at humour, not medicine, not the feeling of having aced my case presentation in front of a crowd, nothing.
After a little while I reached into my pocket and got my phone out and called her.
"Hey..." She sounded happy to hear from me, that was good.
"Hey, how are you? What are you up to?"
"I'm catching up with Phil for coffee, remember?"
"Phil is?"
"My friend. He'll be at my birthday party! I'm so excited! You have to help me organise it, it'll be so much fun!" And she sounded as if she was on the fucking moon.
"When are you coming over?"
"I shouldn't be too long... are you ok?"
"Of course I'm ok, why wouldn't I be ok?"
"You just seem kind of angry is all... What have I done?"
"Nothing."
"Well, I'll be over as soon as I can, is that all right?
"Yep."
"Look, I'm sorry. I, I'll come over soon, ok? Are you sure you're ok? Have I done something?"
"No, it's fine."
"Ok, see you later I guess..."
"Bye."
I just wanted to punch a brick wall right then. I don't know why. But I just wanted to fucking punch a brick wall. I didn't know what was going on. I don't know what's going on.
---
I calmed myself down just enough that night. I was cooking something simple for us, pasta alla'matriciana. I had a glass of red wine as I chopped the vegetables, humming to myself. The garlic smashed beneath my cleaver, then the skin simply peeled away, then finely chopped. Onions washed, peeled, halved, then chopped quickly, precisely, one way, then the other. The smooth, round tomatoes, almost sensual, diced finely, chop, chop.
As I prepared the ingredients, then cooked, I thought about how good my life was, really. Here I was, accomplished, in control of my life (something that very few are), able to appreciate my good fortune. The smell of the spicy cooking rose from the pan. A good cook too, no less. I like to think of myself as the modern renaissance woman (so to speak). Everything I do I wish to do well. I think that's the way it should be. One should take pride in one's abilities and activities. The red wine was a fine vintage, a Shiraz Cabernet Merlot of the better kind from South Australia. Stereotypical but still good. I managed to get it at a bargain from a place that I know. It tasted to me, however, like a much more expensive wine. I fancied it was an underpriced wine in general, one that in some other universe would fetch the highest of prices. Of this I was sure. I smiled to myself at that conceit. Once again, I'd succeeded where another might've just gone for a more expensive wine, for no real reason.
A warm glow flowed down my throat and into my stomach. I felt lit up, almost. My horrendous housemates had left the place to me that evening. I watched the news on and off. The usual. War on terror, war on the populace. John Howard's pronouncements of evil, evil, evil. He seemed evil. There was this look in his eyes. It scared me, filled me with a nameless dread.
"I know that the... ah... usual Australian is a firm upstanding moral citizen but... there are those who are not welcome."
At that moment he looked me straight in the eyes. He was talking about me. The fear sunk into a pit in my stomach, like tar, like this great unswallowable mass of bituminous road surface. I couldn't help but stare. Soon he had disappeared, and the moment passed. I was lucky that the sauce hadn't burnt, I took it off the element then. I glanced at the TV again. Almost as if it had never happened. But I couldn't forget that look. It was almost ingrained into me.
Adeline rang the bell, came in. She looked tired, a glow to her, stray hairs escaping from her usually neat bun, gave me a smile. We sat down to dinner. An entrée of a cheese platter, bread, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Then the main, the pasta. I poured her a glass of wine. Slowly that feeling of quiet contentment came back to me. We talked about the debate, how it had went. The different perspectives. I told her how I felt, about how I just wasn't quite sure that there was much point in prolonging, as Patience had pointed out, the lives of those who would continue to try and plummet towards death and, essentially, take the bulk of the resources that could be used to improve the lives of those who were more, fixable, I suppose. She asked me, suspiciously, whether I meant that we should give up on people purely because they have multiple problems. Of course not, I said, but what point was there in needlessly prolonging a life when more likely than not, a good death was what these people needed, rather than repeated admissions before they succeeded in their final demise. And with a smile, she came round to my way of thinking.
"You know, I'd never thought of it like that. I sort of haven't had the chance to really sit down and think about my beliefs properly yet. This is... nice." And she smiled that warm smile at me, that smile that made my heart jump, the one that made me drown in her eyes, that made me so vulnerable and yet feel so strong for I knew she was also as vulnerable as I, like a wounded bird.
"Well, you are one of the smarter people in our year, even if you don't get the same marks as I do, so I shouldn't be surprised that you enjoy this kind of thing."
"The only other person I've been with who could even hold a conversation like this is maybe Vincent," I frowned, and she quickly added, "but nothing like this, nothing that really made me think..."
I pushed a stray hair away from that smooth, supple neck. I couldn't help it, I ran my fingertips over her ear, down her cheek, looked her in the eye. She really was so young, seemed so young. Beautiful. No matter what Gabe said, she was really very beautiful, like a swan, like a sculpture. I love her. I LOVE her. The words entered my head, unbidden. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to kiss her slowly, bite her lip in passion, let her kiss me back, let her tongue meet mine, push against her...
"Is this Wolf Blass?"
"Oh. Yes, yes it is." I glanced at her glass. "You haven't drunk much, have some more, I can't finish it on my own."
"Oh, no, it's ok, thanks."
"Are you sure? You know, this is a fine quality wine, you shouldn't let it go to waste... and I know you like wine..."
"Ah, no, I'm just not in much of a wine drinking mood." I frowned.
"Is there a problem with the wine?"
"No, no! Of course not, I'm just... not used to Wolf Blass, I guess, I just tend to drink what we have at home which is a little different, you know, French family and all that."
"So, you can learn to appreciate some fine Australian wines, I suppose. And what better day to start than now. Why don't you try describing the delicate tones within it?"
"Look, you know I'm no good at that sort of thing, why don't you tell me." And she flushed and looked away.
"Well, let's see. There's a rich spicy aromatic flavour, with a hint of... say... plum, berries and maybe, a harsher note like, say, oak. Wouldn't you say?"
"Oh. Ummm, let me try." She took a quick sip. "Well, I suppose the harsher note, and the spicy sort of flavour, I can see that."
"Try a bit harder, surely you must be able to taste those fruity flavours coming through?"
"Well, I guess, ummm... I'm having trouble with this. Look, I think you're right."
"No, come on, I think you really should learn about wines." She took another sip, looked a bit unwell.
"Yep, yep, now that I've tasted it again, I can definitely, yep, I can taste that berry flavour, and that, what was it, prune taste."
"Did you really taste that, or are you just saying it?" I gave her a smile, I knew what people could be like, Muriel had tried this on me the last time I gave her some Jacob's Creek to try.
"Oh no, I can definitely taste it..."
"It's good isn't it?"
"Yes, yes it is, wonderful, fantastic." She narrowed her eyes and gave me a smile. "So, tell me about what you have planned for this society of yours..."
"I was wondering whether you'd like to be one of the regular debaters for it? You know, if you don't have too many commitments with your friends to do it that is..."
"Oh! Wow. I had no idea you thought... Yes. Yes, I'd love to do it." She beamed.
"We should definitely have a talk about the debates sometime and the topics, if you like."
"Of course, I'll definitely do my best!"
And that was that.
---
That night in bed, she went down on me expertly for what seemed like hours. Teased me almost to orgasm three times before that delicate tongue brought me to the shuddering brink and I, my self, spilled over into orgasm, a warm numbness filling my legs, rising into my chest. I arched my back almost involuntarily, a moan escaped from my mouth like a secret. She came up to kiss me and we kissed, intently, passionately. I was still stunned for minutes as she kissed me, stroked my face, looked into my eyes, kissed my ears. Once I'd recovered I kissed her back, hard. I rolled her onto her back, ran my hands up and down her body, kissed her neck, ran my fingertips over her hard nipples, hands cupped those perfect, small, round breasts. My hand found her buttery, wet vulva and I rubbed my fingers roughly over her clitoris. She moved under my touch, moaning softly, pulling me to her, arms around my back. I pushed one finger into her, testing, while I kept rubbing her. Pushed another, then another, till I was fucking her with 3 fingers and she was crying out in pleasure, over and over, unable to do anything but be pleasured by me. I was making her cry out, aroused, I was on top of her. Right then I knew what I wanted to do... I started to tease the area around her anus and she arched her back slightly. I ran a couple of circles around the rim and plunged one finger, two into her, while I kept fucking her with my other hand. Right then I felt her tighten around me and the waves of orgasm go through her, and she called out and pulled my hair lightly, her nails digging into my back, as she came...
I washed my hands, of course, after that, then, feeling quite satisfied with myself, crawled back into bed, beside her, arms wrapped around her.
"I love you. I LOVE you." I said to her.
"Do you really love me?" she said, quietly.
"Of course I do, I love you so much I want to jump up and down all the time and... do something stupid. All the time!"
"I'm glad." she paused for a moment. "I love you too."
I hugged her tightly, in that moment. I felt so... good. Warm, fantastic. So happy. I was the happiest person alive. I don't think I know anyone who could have felt any better right then. I was loved. LOVED.
I have everything I have ever wanted in the world. How many people can say that? I have everything. And I want nothing more.
---
The next couple of weeks happened without much import. I finished off my paediatrics term, with a leap and a bound, it seems. I was on top of the world. I'm still on top of the world. Life is good. Life is GOOD.
There is so much to do... so much to be done. And that, more than anything, feels the best.
current mood:  jubilant
current music: Buena Vista Social Club - Candela
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, May 9th, 2006
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6:49 am - An Eventful Time (Part One)
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1 and a half weeks into my obstetrics and gynaecology rotation, and I feel fantastic! A lot has happened while I have been avoiding updating you, my partners in the world of internet catharsis, on my life. This is the first part of that catching up.
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Paediatrics proceeded at its usual rate. I was quite let down by the lack of material in this rotation, but in many ways, "when God closes the door, surely he opens a window". And so I had time for things that maybe are "more fulfilling in life".
Two weeks into my game of cat and mouse with the lovely Adeline, we had a coffee, of an afternoon. The sun came in at that golden angle and lit up her dark hair, shining, shining, lustrous. The kind of hair you just want to slip your fingers through. She was talking about her difficulties with something or another in paediatrics and I offered her help. She touched the nape of her smooth neck in worry and looked at me in the eye. I looked away, embarrassed.
"So this is what I don't get..." she started.
"Yes?" I tried to feign calm but the word choked in my throat, a high weaselly sort of noise.
"I can't tell whether you're into me or not. Do you like me, Thilini?" And that intense stare caught me again. I flushed.
And then what came next happened so suddenly, so quickly that my confidence, my quiet calm was shattered. Maybe I should have left it, should have laughed it off, said I'd call and never call, should have gotten up then and there, remarked on the time and walked away. She could have been another girl, another trinket, another trophy. I could have walked away. I could have been a conqueror, an explorer of foreign lands, an adventurer. And yet...
"Well... you see... that is to say... yes, yes I do." Then she smiled at me and once again I was caught off-guard and blushed and looked away.
"I really like you too. A lot." she said. I scratched my head. The world distorted slightly, things seemed a bit out of place. Disjointed even... Colours, shapes...
"Are you ok?" And in that moment I came back to the world.
"Of course, I'm fine. You got me a bit out of left-field is all. Speaking of which... what were you saying about paediatric surgery then? Perhaps we should, *ahem* discuss the finer points of inguino-scrotal anatomy at my place sometime soon, over dinner perhaps?"
"I'd really like that. Wow, thanks."
"Don't worry, I'll get you in shape for surgery soon enough. It's really not so hard once you grasp the basic details..."
Now she was blushing, Adeline, delicate creature. And soon I was in control of myself, of things again. I felt pumped, on top of the world. Powerful. Exhilarated. So I'd slipped a little, but I'd gained something, something infinitely more valuable and important than the thrill of conquest. We talked a little about things, here and there, but all I can remember was the sun, the sun shining through her hair. The gleam in her shiny, soft hair, as she slipped her fingers through it...
----
For some time I'd had the idea of a political interest society in medicine. For we, medical students, are the inheritors of the only profession guaranteed that otherworldly ideal: respect. We, the healers of the sick, the curators of the human condition. We have a tremendous potential, a voice that rivals that of any other organisation. The Australian Medical Association must be the most powerful unions in Australia. One word from it and the schemes of the government and its petty Health Minister Tony Abbott are silenced. The public listens to us, trusts us. Loves us. Not for us is the tyranny of government. Rather, we are balm to the wounds, the ills of society.
Who better, then, to look towards politics as a method of effecting a change for the greater good of humanity?
After yet another lecture that was more style than substance, about some childhood ailment of little importance, I decided to sound out a little interest in such a thing. Asking a few people here and there, I was astonished at the positive interest. I maintained that controversial, cutting-edge issues would be the topics of discussion, threw in, even, the possibility of drug company-sponsored lunches (then withdrew it, noting the disapproval of several of the less rational members of the faculty) and found the response overwhelming. Of course, it would have to be a lunchtime gathering, on a convenient day, in a convenient locale for we doctors of the future are busy in earnest with our studying and doctoring and busying about. And of course we must have speakers and debates. We must make it entertaining, thought-provoking.
Walking home that day, for the first time that week I was immersed in something other than thoughts of a girl. This idea had potential. And I was keenly aware that things in politics were heading in a dangerous direction fast. Who knows how many chances in the future we'd have for an open and diverse discussion of topics? How long would it be before we'd no longer be able to congregate openly in groups and express "subversive opinion"? Yes, this group must definitely be founded and definitely meet once a week. While I could not openly have an agenda, it would be appropriate to start people thinking about those things we take for granted- our human rights, our freedoms, our security, our liberal values, our trust in government, our political belief systems.
But how, then, to get people to really discuss these issues in depth, to really engage with the subject matter, to be drawn back, to follow coherent lines of reasoning and not just knee-jerk reactions instilled by the greater hegemony?
Perhaps structured debates? Perhaps speakers? Perhaps an online discussion group?
The possibilities plummeted through my head like a great mass of water over a waterfall. Endless, rushing forth, constantly renewed. Sharp, vital, fresh.
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Someone has been entering my room while I've been away. I can tell, because they keep coming in, playing an individual album on my computer, and leaving. All that is remiss is that my playlist has changed to a single album. I've started noticing it recently. Locking my door has no effect. There is something not quite right. I feel a sense of violation. This is my private space. My housemates steadily have become more hostile. I believe it is because of that time that my housemate caught me "stealing" from the fridge. The pigs still don't clean up after themselves.
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Graham and I taunted a few groups of "bleeders" (bleeding-heart softie medical students) about a week after I had that idea for the political interest society. This time I sort of had a point to what I was saying though. My aim was to get them inflamed but not entirely hostile. To engage with them intelligently instead of attacking. To use my wit as a foil, an elegant tool of verbal fencing. Parry, riposte, lunge. To get them to think about the "why". I picked the fairly recent attempted coup by Tony Abbott as an example- is it correct for a government health minister (with no formal training in medicine) to be able to legislate access to a drug, even one that is used for abortions (RU-486)? I argued the side which I disagreed with, for once, that the minister was correct, and elected representatives reflect public opinion more closely than a professional institution.
The pro-abortion students were the worst. Honestly, they were the ones which made me almost reconsider my own position for the worse. Their rabid emotionalism outmatched any prospect of a rational discussion. We soon learnt to leave those ones well alone, though I had a lot of fun seeing them almost scream their rabid position. Pollyanna, the overinformed childhood invalid, was the worst. Her dismissive, patronising looks raised a bloody-mindedness in me. Once or twice I had to stop myself from strangling her in utter rage. Her views were so utterly stupid, so imbecilic, that I had no comprehension of how such a person had any right to patronise me, who had at least thought my opinion out beyond a few clichéd emotive statements repeated endlessly.
We were lucky in some of whom we talked to though. There were a few who responded to what I was saying, who at least adjusted their point of view enough to argue coherently against what I was asserting. There was James, a soft-spoken Korean guy, who argued with a shining smile on his face, calm and twisting his argument one way and another, purely for the joy of argument. There was Lana, a grad, who delivered the occasional stunning piece of insight that forced you to stop, think, and reconstruct a new argument from scratch. And there were Theo, Kylie and Ricky who all eventually changed their minds to my point of view.
Whatever it was, there clearly was a large group of medical students who were interested in politics. And to think that I had dismissed them all as political simpletons, novices...
---
I pushed her onto the bed. She laughed looked me in the eye and kissed me boldly. I grinned and kissed her back, pushing her down, then running my hands down her breasts, up her singlet, her smooth, clean skin, then removing it in one clean stroke. I licked her neck, her earlobe, then bit at her ear gently. She undid my pants, slipped them off, then ran her deft fingers around the elastic of my underwear back and forth, not touching the warm wetness of my groin, just teasing me. I kissed her hard, pink nipples under my hot palms. She took off her skirt and her underwear quickly, then pulled me onto her. We moved back and forth against each other, skin against skin, my entire body tingling. I plunged my hand into her crotch, through the tangle of rough hair to the soft, warm clitoris and she let out an involuntary moan. She clumsily pushed her hand into my groin too and we fucked. I teased her, rubbed her, then took my other hand and pushed myself inside her, over and over... I shuddered in orgasm and bit her shoulder, roughly. I kissed her, kissed her down, down her body which was slick with sweat now, down her tense, lean stomach, down to her cropped black hair and ran my tongue through to her salty vulva. I tasted her, licked her, urgently feasted on her. Soon she arched her back in passion, running one hand through my hair roughly and one hand behind her head, yelling in pleasure and she quaked in the moment of orgasm again, again.
Afterwards we cuddled and she fell asleep. I could not help but stay awake and look at her, breathe in her, her heady smell.
The girl has black, straight hair that falls to her shoulders like an exotic pelt. Pale, smooth skin that is almost translucent. Large brown, liquid eyes that look out from beneath heavy lids. A small, almost defiant nose, plush lips that she often paints bright red. An elegant, long neck, with that sweet space at the meeting of collarbones and sternum, that hollow. Breasts that are a handful with round, pink nipples. Taut, muscled stomach. Brief cropped pubic hair and neat, elegant vulva, clitoris. A smooth expanse of back. Firm, rounded ass. Hairless muscled legs. Impossibly neat, elegant feet, almost as if they were made of china.
The girl smells like clean, like warmth, like freshly washed hands, like wet days indoors, like flowers, like musk, and down there like smoked mussels almost. She is the texture of butter, but also supple. She is beautiful, almost perfect.
The girl... she is like a sculpture, a painting. She lies in my arms, vulnerable, and there is part of me that wants to push her face down and fuck her again, pleasure her till she comes while I come. But I am content, warm, happy and I trace the curves of her elegant body with the tips of my fingers.
The next day she clumsily kissed me and made me breakfast. After breakfast I chased her around her empty apartment naked laughing and when I caught her, finally, we screwed each other silly on her sofa in the living room, in the perverse pleasure of knowing full well her housemate was away.
I walked home with the smell of the girl in my nostrils and a stupid smile on my face. Stupid, stupid smile. "I could have just walked away... I could have given it up... I could have given it up..." I thought to myself. With a big stupid smile on my face, I went home.
current mood:  loved
current music: Greenday - Basket Case
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| Thursday, March 16th, 2006
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2:18 am
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I'm thinking about her at night, that smooth skin. I want that smooth skin, I want to run my hot fingers against that cool supple skin. Cool me down. I want to possess her lips between mine, I want to devour them. I want to devour her mouth, I want to devour her. Consume her within my flames.
We almost kissed tonight but once again I left it. I have to leave it... make her want me, make her want me too.
Let her wait. She can wait. I'm not going to give her what she wants this easily.
I am going to charm her. I have a small gift for her, and tickets to a rather exclusive show with a rather exclusive band. She enjoys my company, and I enjoy hers. She likes much of what I like and I can see that easily she could come to believe my perspective.
I will be taking her out on Friday night.
I can't sleep. Her smile haunts me.
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| Sunday, March 12th, 2006
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2:43 am - The Date Look
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An interesting few days.
I went off to the art gallery with dear Adeline. Several days later we went to dinner. They have been among the most intellectually stimulating conversations I have ever had. Her arguments are supple, lithe, like a thin, flexible blade. A versatile sparring partner. She managed to present the most cogent, coherent, individualistic takes on abortion, female circumcision, world politics and indie rock that I have heard thus far. And yet. She believes none of it. I have no concept of what she truly believes aside from this sunny belief in the goodness of humanity.
And this is it. This warmth. Around us, humanity rapes and murders and destroys cultures and civilisation. Around us, the world is slowly destroying itself. The end of the world as we know it... and she feels fine? Though enraged at the state of the world, this girl believes in things changing for the better. Or does she? She has expressed a healthy cynicism. She has changed her point of view mid-sentence purely to challenge me. And I have responded in like, adjusting myself, testing her, pushing her boundaries...
But to say that only is to gloss over what really happened. *smirk*.
I went to dinner with an attractive, intelligent young lady who transcended my expectations of her. She had that slightly embarrassed look on her face every time I looked her in the eye, like a shy child with a trivial secret. Every now and then I felt that urge to fall into her and steal a kiss from her, to push her against the wall, press my mouth into hers, push my tongue into hers. And yet, something stopped me. Something told me to hold back, to bide my time, to wait, to listen, to just talk. Some quickening in my belly, stopping me short. I enjoyed myself, very much. The sun lit up the city of Melbourne with a buttery light, the grass glowing and the trees arching their way up to the sky, the buildings ethereal and majestic. A perfect day. Adeline smiled. I smiled.
I have told her I will call. I will call. And then what? Drinks with a girl who smells faintly of musk...
current mood:  optimistic
current music: The Polyphonic Spree - When the Fool Becomes a King
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| Saturday, March 4th, 2006
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7:08 pm - Innocent Victims of War
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These days we've taken on the semester of the innocent victims of war- Women's and Children's. Paediatrics has an intellectual thrill to it, aside from the lectures which are all style and no substance.
Paediatrics brings out the "experts" in a way nothing else has so far. We have a quarter of our year level with us. Lal is, thankfully absent, having been rerouted once again via ancient tribal hatreds to another inoffensive group. We have, however received a hateful young lady named Pollyanna who expresses in no uncertain terms that the lecturers are not adequately describing her childhood ailments, and a greying professional woman who feels the need to expound aimless words of nameless wisdom while seeming to gently float off into oblivion.
Muriel, my dear friend, is once again separated from the rest of us by some unfortunate quirk and is doing women's instead. Daily she complains to us smugly while looking imploringly at Gabe about how much she misses us and how she hates the smell of pussy.
"Some women have the most hideous hygiene! Would you believe that there I was, ready to..."
"Muriel, I have no idea what on earth you are on about." Gabriel's bored, languid features almost liquidly falling into a smirk.
"I just mean... you see, I..."
"No, Muriel, I too have no idea what you're talking about. Would you like to explain?" I winked at Gabe. Muriel, flustered, almost looked like she was going to cry.
"My dad's a gynaecologist. MY DAD'S A GYNAECOLOGIST." She started to sniffle.
"It's OK, dear, sometimes our parents make mistakes with their career choices..." I patted her shoulder absently. Strangers were staring at us, clearly disturbed.
"You don't GET it DO YOU?! My bloody fingers aren't LONG ENOUGH! THEY ARE NOT LONG ENOUGH TO PALPATE THE FUCKING CERVIX ON THAT FUCKING FAT BITCH!!"
"Look, shut UP, don't you see you are making an utter SPECTACLE of yourself?" hissed Gabe. I shot him a look, shook my head.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I have to go..." And she just got up and left us.
"Give me a call, if you want the... notes..." I yelled after her. But she had stormed into the ether. She wouldn't be back. Penny walked in, just then, on her phone. Hung up, sat down.
"What have you done to Muriel this time?"
"Gabriel pushed Muriel a little too far, didn't you, Gabriel?"
"I just don't fucking get her. Always going on about her obsession with hygiene. WHO FUCKING CARES."
"I think hygiene's important," said Penny, distractedly.
"That's not the point, I mean..."
"Look, Penny, make sure she doesn't, you know," I drew a line across my neck. Muriel had this habit of occasionally calling people up claiming to be 'on the verge' so to speak. Inevitably she would be found passed out and inebriated under her bed with no recollection of ever doing such a thing.
"Ha. Right. You know, you guys should stop upsetting her. She's constantly calling me up telling me about these 'horrid' things that you do to her. I can't stand it anymore!"
"Alright, Penny. Gabriel promises, I'm sure, to be on his bestest behaviour, don't you Gabe?"
Gabriel just glowered and flicked his golden forelock.
I assisted in paediatric surgery the other day. It is usually an endless stream of minor procedures and odd deformations of infant boys' genitalia. This time it was a temporary loop colostomy. Something real for a change. They say the ano-genital region is the most common anatomical birth deformity. Because it doesn't KILL you right away. It does make me wonder what happened to small children back in the day. If you were born with no anus back then- as many children are now, and survive- would you die a slow, obstructed death? It seems shameful, and yet, we only have our modern skills, our antiseptic technique, our deft fingers, our expensive knives to thank for saving these only slightly imperfect children.
After surgery, I stripped off my surgical clothes, dumped them in the laundry bin. Walked confidently in my underwear, my fit body, to my neat hospital clothes. Pinstriped woolen pants, tight short-sleeved grey shirt, elegant 3/4 length jacket. Washed my hands of the sins of the flesh, washed my face, shook off drops of water, grinned at my attractive face.
Some days it is great to be alive!
As I was walking over to the lockers to collect my bags, I saw Adeline. I hadn't seen her for a few days, certainly, we hadn't talked since last semester's meaninglessness. Adeline, looking strangely alive in her weariness and her out of kilter clothing choices. I had the notion, some time ago, that I would like to find out what went on inside someone like her. That "save the world" type, that sincere, earnest kind. How do you maintain that sort of idealism in the face of this rotten system? How do you stay so naive despite the fact that you are entirely the kind that consultants find irritating, that pathetic quiet nervous boys hang around because you are altogether too nice? That KIND of person.
So I walked over and I decided that I would find out. I would talk, in depth, to this strange individual and, you know, maybe I would get a reasonable date and a good fuck out of it. Maybe I'd finish that story I'd started so long ago, about that person who gave up med for their "art". Ha!
I put on my most charming smile as I walked up to my locker, near hers. My stomach knotted.
"Hey."
"Oh! Hi." she seemed slightly confused for a moment before she smiled back.
I deftly slipped open my locker as I registered a generic complaint about medicine, ha, so what did you do on your elective? I went off to London... you just stayed home? oh how AWFUL was that Pollyanna how DREADful was that lecture oh, how... and yes, entirely, did you see that new girl and...
"I can't BELIEVE Pollyanna asked the lecturer whether she thought mentally retarded girls should be sterilised," she said, incredulous. I realised I suddenly had to have an opinion. My palms sweated slightly.
"Yes, awful! You'd think that such things would have gone out of fashion after Hitler, or the end of Apartheid or something. It amazes me that people think they can get away with saying that kind of thing with no context whatever and not look like some sort of eugenicist. Though, you can see that she might have had some sort of argument..." A smile curled onto my lips. That's it! I wanted to see what she'd say...
"I can see where she's coming from, but if you were worried about people not having the ability to consent then why wouldn't you do something reversible like one of those hormone pill implant thingys?"
"It's Pollyanna, she'd never think of anything reasonable unless it caused someone else interminable agony. Hey... Adeline."
"Yeah?"
"You don't by any chance like art galleries, do you?"
She did.
current mood:  restless
current music: Pixies - Alec Eiffel
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| Friday, February 24th, 2006
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4:53 am - Return
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I have returned from my electives. My months of travel. My time abroad.
I have watched as genius surgeons have repaired the most delicate of things- consciousness, the mind, the soul. What power, to have psyche soft to your gloved touch. The hum of opera as we do finely co-ordinated violence to our fellow human, to help, the shrill avid saw. Brains like a giant pudding covered in a gelatinous raspberry sauce. The slick knife.
I have operated under supervision- removing cysts, skin lesions, repairing slashed skin. The slight give of the knife as the tip pierces the skin. That visceral pleasure, that intimacy of contact. The feel of tissue parting before your fingertips.
I have walked the streets of London, immersed in the feeling of a great city. Centuries, millennia of culture, of history, of learning and conquest and buildings wrought by great minds. Felt the pull of that ancient other. That call... of destiny? The knowledge that there is a higher purpose for my existence. The feeling that my time at home has been enjoyable yet idle. That there are duties that call upon me to power, to the beyond. I have felt that grandeur. It is within me. It flows through me.
I have walked the streets of London, the filthiest by-ways. Whistling the Thieving Magpie to myself. My tendon hammer swinging, heavy, a comfort at my side. Passing the bums on the street, that sudden urge to vomit. Vomit and vomit. My stomach almost spasming. My eyes bulging. Knowing exactly how I would kill a man- I would sneak up behind him with my hammer and hit him square at the base of his skull and he would stagger forwards and I would hit again, a dull crack, and another, and I would splinter his cranium and send shards of bone into his brainstem. I would kick him in the gutter till he bled and bruised. And he would not be missed. I thought this as I whistled. The dangerous, heady smell of petrol and urine. Of burning.
I ran away to Turkey one weekend, stood in the rising heat and the crush of people. The smell of life, of freedom. And I thought "damn those who speak of saving their 'people'- these are also my people, my fellow humans". Humanity are my fellows and not just those who are inbred to resemble me. I purchased for myself the strongest coffee. I threatened to savage a taxi driver who tried to rip me off.
I have walked through the world, through existence. And it is so shallow, the lives we lead. The purposeless mind-numbing slave condition that we find ourselves living. That superficial belief in a superficial democracy. The blind faith that things are right and on the up-and-up. That hollow sickness of emptiness.
I have a sudden urge to vomit. Vomit and vomit.
It makes me want to choke and laugh- it is so obvious we are being manipulated. That there are those who pull the strings of our "democracy", our enlightened "culture" of mediocrity. The media cats get fat on our consumption of their political lies. And we drown in this trap, this lie. The world ended in the year 2000. This is the "Y2K" bug we never heard of- the moment at which our fears had distracted us from the downward spiral from free choice to the point where the current manipulators took control. Absent and meaningless opposition parties. Tribalistic foreign policies. A distaste for learning and science. A culture that advises us to swallow this bitter, bitter psychotropic- WE are the incomplete ones, and we must navel-gaze and be medicated so that we serve the hollow men. An inability to subject ourselves to this slave morality is punishable by ostracision, psychiatric treatment, even prison time.
Let me spell it out to you: The populace rendered most unable to protest against their servile nature is one that is fat and rich and self-absorbed and has the illusion of choice. What better way to subvert our natural desires to further the development of the human species than to "satisfy" our basic human "needs" and to fake the rest? We HAVE no opposition party. Neither do most of the "developed" countries in the world. They have been replaced by phonies, by cardboard cut-outs controlled by the self-same ones who mastermind our government. And the media follow along mightily, convincing us of the rightfulness of our "leaders", our hollow men. If we are well-fed, if we have this "democracy", then we have "no-one to blame but ourselves". And to that end we see the rise in psychiatric medication, in blaming ourselves for that deep feeling of dissatisfaction and disturbance. Free thought, in the form of education, freedom of expression... it is all clamped down upon. We are spied on to ensure that we do not spontaneously develop this "freedom of thought". God forbid if some enlightened individual saw through this sham, finally, and exposed it.
And all this in the name of the "War on Terror". A false war, created, "1984"-style to control the populace through utter fear.
We live in dangerous times. Dangerous, paranoid times.
current mood:  determined
current music: Franz Ferdinand - Do you want to
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| Thursday, December 29th, 2005
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3:31 pm - Hospitals
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No matter where you go, hospitals are always the same. From the moment you set foot in that foreign city, you know which one the Hospital is. It's that collection of utilitarian, blocky slabs, complete with huge smokestacks. Inside, the same hard plastic floors, the grey and white walls, the strong stench of disinfectant. The beep of ECG monitors, the drone of medical terminology, the repetitive sounds of sick people. That smell of patients- a sour, leathery smell like bodies pickled in formaldehyde. A front desk manned by a harried clerk, nurses in ridiculous uniforms rushing about, sometimes physiotherapists in their own uniforms. Patients' relatives, always disoriented and benumbed to the happenings of that unit of medical infrastructure, the Ward. And then, the doctors. You always know the doctors, for they are the ones smartly dressed, with their stethoscopes. No uniform. Their seniority allows them this freedom from uniform that the others aspire to. The doctors are the only individuals here, the only ones that do not come pre-packaged. Even the patients have their own uniform of hospital gown, pyjamas. Their relatives wear as their uniform that blank, irritated stare and their "visiting" clothes. It is the small details of layout and routine and disease pattern that sets these places apart, nothing more.
I'll see you at the Hopsital. Which hospital? Any hospital. THE Hospital.
current mood:  calm
current music: Eels - Mr Mastodon Farm
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| Tuesday, December 13th, 2005
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11:18 pm - Riots
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So the wrath of the people has finally been unleashed. Thousands of disaffected young middle-class Anglo-Saxon men have finally stood up and expressed their anger and frustration with the world. They are no longer emasculated, they are men. They are proud, they are strong. They are no longer mediocre, homogenous, bland members of the herd; no, they have purpose. They are engaged in something greater than themselves. A cause if you will.
A pity, then, that this cause is nothing more than the most pedestrian of causes, that of racial vilification. A boring aim, and one that is ultimately futile and self-defeating. Their leader is, as it turns out, no more than a rather mediocre radio personality. So much promise, so wasted.
Still, it does seem to demonstrate a couple of things:
1) People are dissatisfied enough that they will commit to the most tawdry of politics with zeal and passion
2) There is fire in the hearts of Australians; this both surprises and pleases me
current mood:  blank
current music: Kaiser Chiefs - I predict a riot
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| Friday, December 9th, 2005
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6:26 pm - The State We Are In
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Labor have caved in. An apathetic opposition party led by the most uninspired of politicians. A house full of bickering, ineffectual boring men who affect the semblance of an elitist, worker-pitying liberalism. Kim Beazley, who I have earlier referred to as a fat toad, and the smarmy leaders of our state parliaments have submitted to the demands of our "security conscious" government. The very one who has incurred the wrath of terrorists for the purpose of keeping us scared and distracted.
And now we have an undiluted set of "anti-terror" laws coming into effect. Another step towards a police state; another step towards perfect control...
It does make me wonder, this absolute lack of opposition that has been demonstrated by Labor. What is going on here? It seems too perfect. The way that the government is seemingly unassailable, no matter how disorganised, ineffectual, scandalous or ridiculously powerful they become. The absolute lack of cohesion in an opposition party almost poised to take over, if only they had the guts to stand up for their convictions. There is something seriously wrong with this picture.
The populace is no better; like zombies, like soldiers, like cult members they have fallen into a trance, fallen into line. They march on as if possessed by the ghosts of potential horrors. The only passion within them is to deride our "enemy"- the Muslims, the terrorists, that elusive, shadowy enemy who could be hiding amongst us. They are drained, strangely. Apathetic. Depressed.
I have a thing for Oporto, I must confess. When I have my ridiculously large meals, I often eat there- the chilli is very good and the burgers tasty for a fast food joint. I eat voraciously, messily. My moment of secret disinhibition. Others come here often too. Unlike me, however, they are usually fat and listless. That listlessness of the average fat Australian. They have vacant eyes and they munch away as if completely unconcerned for anything, not even the taste of the food. Consumption. They are like cattle, in their herds. When I go to the supermarket, I see the herds, the cattle. Disobedient, plump children screaming their heads off while their sullen mothers peruse the "Women's Weekly", only paying attention to their offspring so long as to screech at them and slap them publicly. There is something uniquely off-putting about this display of "parental skills" and family structure. You can see that mediocrity breeds mediocrity- it is not a lack of intelligence or genetic fitness that seems to contribute to this situation, but, rather this incredibly poor parenting style and a culture that just breeds mediocrity.
On all levels we are assailed by the same message: fit in, tune out, eat more, rot. "Tall poppies" are cut down unless they do well in something intellectually numbing such as sport or acting in terrible movies; attempts to disagree with our government are met with punishment; a university education is labelled "useless", funding is cut and students portrayed as dangerous; visionaries and leaders are labelled as "insane" and medicated until they are ineffective. Our culture is infected with a vile disease. A mindset that rots us, that renders us too stupid to protest. A self-perpetuating Panopticon where we collectively bully each other into submission and "get on with it".
It was not always like this. There have been times, not so long ago, when individuality, drive and ambition were praised, when terrorists were freedom fighters and rebels, when education and healthcare were funded properly and where we were not distracted from our systemic worries using the suggestion that the problem lay with us. Because the truth of the matter, according to the Bushes and Howards of the world, is that there is nothing wrong with the current doctrine of neo-conservatism- there is, however, a problem with us. The Government is the Way, and we humans stand in it, obstructing its progress. What is more important is the entrenchment of politics, and not the good of humanity.
Ask not, of course, what America will do for you, but what you will do for America.
I warn you of this now, now, before they start to clamp down upon our freedoms further. We are at a crossroads, my friends. Do we let this continue, or do we fight the good fight and spread the knowledge of what is going on? Do we feed our minds or do we rot? Do we submit to the occupying force, or do we become the resistance, bold, brave and free? For it is, surely, a greater thing to give yourself to freeing humanity from its shackles, than it is to go about life without purpose, feeling only that numb deadness, that void...
Are you with me, or are you against me?
current mood: determined
current music: The Thrills - Tell Me Something I Don't Know
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| Tuesday, December 6th, 2005
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9:46 am - Exhibition on Collins
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Worst. Pun. Ever.
A few nights ago, I was walking home with my shopping when I noticed that the lobby of a large building on Collins street was home to what appeared to be an exhibition. Investigating further, I found myself in what was, in fact, a photography book launch and fundraiser for a development project in South America. I took for myself a complimentary glass of the, as usual, coarse red wine, swirled it, inhaled, took a sip and took a look at the photographs. They rendered their subjects beautifully, though stereotypical scenes of rural Latin America. Bolivian women, in tall hats in the muddy landscape; wizened men in Mexico; small children with large eyes. It struck me, as it often does, as I read the descriptions of the chronic hunger and malnutrition that they faced, that this is the ultimate shame of the human race. The opulent waste of the developed world and the abject poverty and illiteracy of the "developing world"- a term that suggests some kind of improvement in conditions, regardless of its inaccuracy. The most ridiculous part? The fact that this is a problem of economic distribution and politics, not underproduction or a failing on the parts of the people involved. The incompetency of the world's governments disgusts me. As does the cost to humanity as a species. Who knows what thought, what progress, what heights our people could rise to if lead properly, if opportunity was given to those who were capable and willing to grasp it. Who knows, indeed, how much the humanity would benefit from the additional geniuses in latency, if it were not for this "economic distribution" nonsense.
One day... one day I will find a way to change this.
current mood:  groggy
current music: Cat on Delivery - Sunday
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| Thursday, November 24th, 2005
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3:12 am - Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor
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88, ♀, #NOF, lives alone. Seen in ED, brought by ambulance. Presents confused & in extreme pain L Hip following fall in bathroom. Precipitated by ?EthOH, ?BZ. Found by concerned neighbour. PHx: Osteoporosis, osteoarthritis, IHD, previous EthOH abuse (bottle of rum/day). Expresses passive wish to die. Investigations requested: XRay (Hip) AP + Lat; XRay (Chest) AP + Lat; CT brain; ECG; FBE, CRP, U+E, Coags, Blood Group & Hold, tox screen. Request urgent ortho referral for surgery ASAP.
current mood: calm
current music: The Eels - Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor
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| Thursday, November 17th, 2005
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3:10 am - Dammit.
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So, every now and then I like to steal small things from the fridge. Not big things, just occasional sauces or spices, or a cup of milk or so. I figure that since I share a house with pigs, it is only fair that I steal resources back for the time I spend cleaning their filth.
Today, as I was rummaging through the other fridge, I got busted. My housemate surprised me, yelling through the window. He then interrogated me as to what I was doing. I explained that I had left some of my things in that fridge (true) from the start of the year. He clearly did not believe me and pointed out that he hadn't seen me use that fridge at any point this year. I lied cunningly but the fact is that he was watching me for several minutes doing this activity and saw me looking at another person's shelf.
I've been caught. I've got to come up with some corroborating evidence tomorrow.
current mood:  anxious
current music: The Beach Boys - I Get Around
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| Wednesday, November 16th, 2005
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3:55 am - Freedom Fighters arrested in raids across Australia by Terrorist Regime
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Not much more than a week ago, the police of our enlightened state carried out violent raids upon several Muslim men and their families. Their aim? To supposedly avert an unnamed (and therefore vague beyond belief) attack by an "unnamed organisation" against "no specific target". In this day and age, the fact that a major police investigation manages to snare and imprison men on such flimsy notions astounds me. It is a testament to this new culture of idiocy that this blatant misuse of police power is not the front page news, rather than the lauding of the "great work" that this operation has done.
It amuses me somewhat, the amusement that underlies a dark, bitter laugh, that the very media outlets who praised in past days the heroic actions of Freedom Fighters in the hills launching incursions against oppressive regimes now demonises terrorism as a government-destabilising menace. Yasser Arafat, that liberator of the traditional land of Palestine, has gone within a decade from Nobel Prize winning hero of an oppressed people to being compared to the filthy likes of Hitler and his kind upon his deathbed. The hypocrisy astounds me.
The gullibility of Australians is without equal. This is the race who believed in the innocence and purity of a drug-smuggling Beautician arrested in Bali purely for her good looks, fair skin, Fair Dinkum 4&20 Pie Australian accent and ability to cry on command in front of swarthy (and therefore frightening) Indonesian men clothed in Muslim garb, and and yet cried for the blood, the brutal execution, the bloodiest execution of those accused of the destruction of that insulting class of Establishment known as a "Foreigner's Only Club" in that self-same island.
Isn't it interesting that what is upheld by the Australian media is the right of Australian citizens to disgrace themselves and promote racism in various scenic locations around the world?
As the "anti-terror" laws slowly become passed throughout Australia, one can only imagine a reign of terror (ha!) becoming rampant in this country- a police with right to imprison and torture without trial and representation almost indefinitely people who have committed what crimes? Membership (not even direct action, merely membership!) of a "terrorist organisation" (one can imagine that this is itself a completely arbitrary designation). "Advocating terror" and sympathising with "violent action". It would not surprise me if sedition laws were passed soon in this country! The extent to which this oppresses freedom of thought and organisation verges on the truly frightening. If this trend continues, there will be no real way of opposing the actions of this clearly corrupt and power-mad incumbency.
If these men do indeed turn out to be terrorists plotting a bombing (a questionable assertion, knowing this government), I am heartily proud of them. They have done their Australian duty in attempting to oppose a regime that edges closer towards totalitarianism on a daily basis. They have done their duty in attempting to defend their religion, which is threatened worldwide with incessant bombings and wars. They are soldiers in what amounts to a war against the ideology of Islam, a religion which has caused far less human suffering worldwide than certain other concepts that are supported by the current political climate, and therefore most worthy of their right to fight this war.
Hail the Freedom Fighters! Hail Freedom!
current mood:  discontent
current music: Les Nubians - Makeda
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| Tuesday, November 15th, 2005
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5:35 am - Lectures, Epworth-Style
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Earlier this year I went to one of the Epworth Lectures- for the uninitiated, these are a series of optional lectures held at the Epworth Hospital- a shining bastion of private healthcare- for med students in their clinical years. I, of course, attend them on a semi-regular basis. The feeling of assimilating knowledge, of having things taught to you in such a way that it crystallises in this structured way- giving form to the copious amounts of minutiae and footnotes of the human condition- is just incredible. Invigorating. Powerful.
The scheduled lecture on neurosurgery, to my annoyance, was cancelled, and instead we were given a lecture on adrenal disease. Cushing's, with its images of "buffalo humps", "lemon on a stick appearance" and stretch marks, people gone fat and crazy with steroid; Addison's disease, that romantic disease of Jane Austen and JFK, that causes people to brown and then wilt away, flaccid and pulseless. As my attention wandered at the 100th insistence on checking for adrenal failure, I found my eyes resting on the exposed neck of one of the girls in front of me. Her dark hair was lifted up away from her neck into a ponytail, the hairs straining at her neck so that you could see each individual dark strand. She concentrated on the lecture, seemingly unknowingly, her supple neck bending as she wrote, her ponytail bobbing. I could barely make out the outline of her face, and I wondered... She turned and looked at me. Our eyes locked. She was gorgeous, feline. Over the next half hour, our eyes met several times, each time lingering, lustful.
After the lecture concluded and we did our routine applause, we went on to eat the snacks that the drug reps had provided for us, smiling in that plastacine way. My fingers lingered over the merch- pens branded with bright drug logos, torches and laser key-tags- as I walked over to the food. I took several small triangular sandwiches which I picked meticulously- 4 chicken and avocado, 2 smoked salmon and cream cheese and one salad- and gorged myself ravenously, hungrily, lustily. The remaining sandwiches glistened, their contents splayed. I glanced around the room for the girl. She was slouching by the instant coffee and tea, and I came up to her.
"Still can't believe they cancelled the neurosurg lecture," I said, testing the waters.
"Yeah, I only came because we're doing neuro, and I got a lift." An unmotivated one then. But still, good for a fuck at least.
"We're doing neuro too. Though, I don't believe I've seen you around... I'm Thilini, RMH." We shook hands. There was a noticeable lingering of the touch of fingertips
"I hear neuro's really good up there," She paused and looked me in the eye, "I'm at the Austin."
"I'm really quite enjoying it. How do you like the Austin then?"
"Too far away, but I... really quite enjoy the Liver transplant unit there."
"Oh?"
"Mmm. I love theatre time... and liver transplants are amazing"
"You know, you should really come down and see some neurosurgery at RMH..."
"I'd love to." Our eyes locked.
And with that it was my cue. I took her hand and pulled her to the bathrooms, relentlessly clean and hygienic, even clinical. As we entered the toilet block we kissed, roughly, her tongue finding mine, my hand creeping up under her singlet. She pushed me into the nearest cubicle and locked the door deftly.
I pushed her up against the door and kissed her again, my hands running from her face and down her breasts to her stomach. She slipped her hands under my shirt, under my bra and squeezed my nipples. I grabbed her ass and ran my hands under her skirt to her panties. She undid the button of my jeans and unzipped them slowly. Her tongue found mine and pressed into it roughly. I rubbed my hand into her crotch, then slipped my fingertips past her panties into her wetness, as she did the same. I fucked her against the door, and she moaned and fucked me too. I bit her, hard...
Afterwards we neatened ourselves up. We re-dressed ourselves, quickly ("I've got to make sure my lift hasn't left yet"). She adjusted my collar, and I swept her hair to the right side. She looked at me again for aeons, which sort of defeated the purpose of all her inane rushing and leaned in and kissed me slowly.
"I still can't believe we've never met... I'm Susan."
"You'd remember if you'd ever met me..."
"Oh, definitely... do you want to meet up sometime?"
"I'll call you." I said, and proceeded to key in her phone number mechanically. God knows it was a number that I'd never use.
We walked out and both washed our hands in that methodical way that only a medical student can- 2 squirts of Microshield, then thoroughly scrub every surface, palms, in-between fingers, backs of hands and around the cuffs, then rinse off and paper-towel dry.
"Give me a ring, yeah?"
"Sure."
As she walked out I almost laughed. I went to join Gabe and Graham with a knowing look on my face.
"Where've you been exactly? You almost missed out on meeting the fascinating Lal again!" said Graham, clearly amused.
"Oh, you know, the usual. Speaking of which... Gabe, I have the number of a med girl who is rather into you but far too shy to let you know. I think you should give her a ring," I said, winking at Gabriel, Archangel of Pussy. I sneezed and wiped my nose. My hands still smelt like girl.
"So, I'm starving! Any sandwiches left?"
current mood:  chipper
current music: The Polyphonic Spree - When the Fool Becomes a King
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direassassin's journal