Recoil – ‘Want’
Daughter Darling – ‘Sweet Shadows’
Mateo Flowers – ‘Boots Are Knocking’
Bowery Electric – ‘Lushlife’
Endorphin – ‘Nighttime Butterfly’
Airlock – ‘I Am’
Martina Topley-Bird – ‘Need One’

Enjoy 😀


You know what? I can’t be bothered posting a description to this other than MUSIC TO FUCK TO.

This is Recoil with ‘Want’.

Dear Filth Peddlers,

I want to thank you for all the work you guys have been doing, fellow toilet users and the remarkable custodial staff here at Beaudesert Central. You guys are stupendous. I mean, I can finger paint with blood and stool if I need to, but wow, you guys are something else.

When I think back on my life’s work on the toilet (I think I read somewhere once that men will spend up to three years of their lives in the loo), it’s hard to recall all the times I’ve had the urge to use my bowels like a sandblaster and try to refinish the walls of a stall, but you guys are thinking it 24/7.

When I entered the washroom, I couldn’t have begun to imagine the Wonderland I was about to enter. Usually I’ll go into a public toilet and I’ll see urinals and sinks and stalls. But this time, as I waded through discarded paper towels and the scent of dysentery and human suffering burned my eyes like smoke from a shit-infused forest fire, I saw so many sights . . .

I want to thank the person that left a condom right on the seat in the first stall, because it’s an unusual touch that is like cinnamon sprinkled on your cappuccino, only in this case the cinnamon contains someone else’s DNA and potentially life-threatening diseases. And is so fucking gross I physically recoiled.

I want to thank the person who used the second stall for faecal target practice. I never would have thought of bringing in a Lazy Susan I could stand on whilst bent over with my arse spread turning myself into a high-pressure water blaster. And a tip of the hat to whatever Indian restaurant’s grease-trap you raided for your last meal, the curry smell really seared itself into my olfactory bulbs.

Usually when I go to a shopping centre toilet it’s because I literally have no other, reasonable options. It’s either this or simply defecate in my own pants in front of the tobacconist’s. And, at the time, I thought that would be the worse option. But now I don’t think that. Now I know simply passing out and shitting in full view of Woolworths and Crazy Clark’s and the butcher’s would have been more dignified, less traumatic and, yes, far more sanitary.

My parents weren’t award winners by any means – I got left in parking lots and with the odd felon a few times a year, but they did manage to teach me to aim the various liquids, solids and semi-solids that I keep brewing inside me towards a basin, a duffel bag, a waste basket or a toilet for the most part. I need to know how, where and by what you people were raised that the act of eliminating waste became some kind of performance art project – a biohazardous Cirque du Soleil, if you will.

I do need to question the third and final stall, the handicapped stall which I settled on using as it was the only one with the human waste contained within the bowl. Of course there’s nothing saying that individuals with wheelchairs or assistive devices can’t be homosexual, but I can’t imagine so many of them are going to frequent this particular stall that it’s necessary to have such a vast spread of gay-themed graffiti scrawled on the walls. From phone numbers, to reach-around pledges, to promises that if I’m not out of here within 15 minutes a man named Terry is going to show up for anti-bacterial soap-lubed handjobs. It was really just too much.

These are great days we’re living in, my friends. You people who made these messes here today are the finest human beings I will ever know. After I rotate back to my own home, I’m going to miss not having anyone around who chooses to urinate on the floor in front of the urinal, instead of in the urinal itself.

And to the custodial and janitorial staff here in the centre – sirs, I am in awe. I have slacked off at jobs in the past but never have I managed to do my job so poorly and with such laissez-faire nonchalance that I actually recreated plague conditions. You should lead seminars. God bless and keep you all. I need to go shower a dozen times and wipe myself down with chlorine bleach.

I just can’t get behind the recent surge in aggressive secularism and atheism. It’s one thing to subscribe to a certain belief system or religion or faith or whatever, but to ram it down everyone’s throats and treat those with a different viewpoint as non-thinking subhumanoids is just bigoted and biased, no matter what side of the fence you sit on. Like Catherine Deveny, especially today. The woman’s Twitter feed has been aflame for the better part of the afternoon with lots of big, juicy denunciations of religion and faith (of all stripes). She even enlists quotations from that half-crazed advocate of atheist jihad, Christopher Hitchens. So far, her invective has reminded me of passages by Richard Dawkins in ‘The God Delusion’, stating that religion is a ‘very evil’ force in the world, or that raising children in a religious tradition is tantamount to child abuse. I wouldn’t be surprised if her next quote was ‘some propositions [of faith] are so dangerous that it may be ethical to kill people for believing in them’, from Sam Harriss’ ‘The End OF Faith’. Perhaps Deveny is one of atheism’s ‘true believers’, who feels that some Islamic states may be impossible to reform because many muslims are ‘utterly deranged by their religious faith’ (Sam Harriss, again).

Honestly, this sounds like the arguments that would be put forward by the directors of the Spanish Inquisition.

But it’s only to be expected. After all, one extreme incites the other. And religious intolerance encourages irreligious intolerance. Certainly, Ms Deveny, there have been plenty of sins committed in the name of religion, but are they any greater than the sins committed in the name of secularism or atheism? Think about it for a minute, Cath. The French revolutionaries built a statue to the Goddess of Reason, then incited a Reign of Terror that killed over 20,000 people. The 20th century genocides of Stalin, Mao and Pol Pot with the Khmer Rouge were motivated not by religion (which they tried to eliminate) but rather by ideals of a perfect secular society. The nation-state has become the god that many (millions?) are willing to die for. Or kill for. Do you count yourself amongst those folks, Catherine?

Personally, I feel that it’s pretty hard to imagine the world without the positive influence of religion. Its’ values lie at the very foundations of civil society. Our concern for social justice issues and human rights evolved out of the biblical prophetic tradition. Anti-slavery campaigns in Britain and the US were established and led by Christian abolitionists. The nonviolent resistance movements of Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. were inspired by spiritual beliefs.

Really, Catherine, biblical literalism is a pretty easy target. But it’s doubtful that your patronising approach is persuasive to many believers – especially those who truly understand their faith. Being tone-deaf to the attraction of religious commitment, you also seem pretty ignorant of the larger issues that attract people to God in the first place.

What is the meaning of life, in the face of inevitable death? Religion is our way of denying our mortality. It is also the cultural institution that most encourages us to reflect on our mortality and be transformed by it.

Language is metaphorical, and religious language especially so. We talk about things that cannot be seen or touched, and these may be the most important things. The mind needs symbols like the body needs food. Spiritual myths close our minds when they are taken literally as propositions that will save us if we but assent to them. We crave that kind of security, yet religion also encourages us to question our desire for that kind of security. The greatest religious myths challenge us to awaken from the collective delusions of everyday life.

Whether or not King Midas really existed, it’s pretty doubtful that Dionysius ever gave him a Golden Touch. Nevertheless, the allegory of that myth has taught generations of people something very important about materialism. Religious institutions have sometimes been obsessed with money and power just as much as many other institutions, yet religious teachings have also provided the main (and most powerful) critique of our preoccupation with money and power.

Likewise, it’s doubtful that a young Siddhartha Gautama renounced the world because of his encounter with an old man, an ill man, and then a corpse. Nevertheless, the Buddhist story conveys something essential about humanity’s origins and the purpose of religious quest on which people around the world would have embarked throughout the ages.

By ignoring and decrying all forms of religion, hyper-secularists and militant atheists like Catherine Deveny are throwing the baby out with the bathwater, ignoring the spiritual hunger for deeper meaning in life.

Thanks for your emails, everyone. I’ve been down in South Australia hanging out in the desert with awesome friends and writing an album. Yes, an entire album. Of actual music. IKNORITE?! It was a wonderfully productive time, but the trip has ended and I’m back home now.

The only problem with this is that I’ve come out of a hot, dry environment (Beltana, SA) and back to a currently wet’n’cold environment (Tamborine, QLD). This has played havoc with my body and I am currently wrapped up in bed, miserable with a bloody flu. Stupid friggin’ rain.

Leonard Cohen is a living legend. He’s undoubtedly one of the most influential songwriters to ever be in a recording studio. This song is particularly high on my list of favourites from him. I could float away on his vocals for the rest of my life. I’m also posting this particular one because I’m pretty down-in-the-dumps at the moment – for the reason, see my last post.

From his 2001 album Ten New Songs, this is In My Secret Life. Enjoy.

I’ve started dating again. It’s been a long time off the horse for a number of reasons – too busy to think about relationships; distance from a place where the majority of women aren’t breeding bogans; heartache and ambiguity over the previous relationship, amongst other things. All of these factors have contributed to the situation I’m currently in – namely, that I feel a bit like a teenager again, all awkward and foot-shuffly about going out with someone.

The lady I’m dating is lovely – she’s cool, funny, warm and ready to talk about anything. And yet . . . and yet I can’t help but wonder about a few things. Foremost of which in my mind is a question I probably shouldn’t even be thinking yet, but still continues to crawl around inside my skull, driving me to the point of distraction . . .

“How does this person feel about me?”

I can’t help myself from thinking about it. It’s far too early in the game to even think about emotional connections in that way, but that question still continues to vex me, and for good reason – I have absolutely no idea about the answer. I mean, she hangs out with me for a reason I suppose, even with all my glaring faults and personality quirks. She giggles at my awful jokes. She engages in conversation readily. She’s amazingly tolerant of my vaguely obssessive nature. So far, it looks pretty good.

And yet, when it comes to thinking about the two of us, I have no idea – she’s a closed book. I don’t want to ask her about it, lest she think I’m pushing her into something too early for her to make up her own mind. But I wish I could just get a glimmer of what goes on inside her head at times.

I’ve done my absolute best to make myself open and emotionally available for her, and I’ll continue to do so. I suppose that’s about all that I can do, really.

But jeez, I wish she’d throw me a bone sometime.

EDIT: I’ve been told that she doesn’t feel that certain spark about me. Bummer. Oh well, at least I know now. Excuse me, I’m going to go make some greasy comfort food and cry for a while.