Letter from Micheal -

Whew! That's saying it straight (scuse the reverse pun :)

I think lucky is definitely the word.

You have much strength & depth, so is just that damn luck thing.

Some people just seem lucky in that they can let go easily & never seem to get obsessed - yet still feel deeply.

But you & me don't seem to have that sort of luck babe.

So what can we do?????

Enduring levels of compromise vs brief shining moments of hope - just enough to keep one hooked in.

Was going to reply when I read this but wasn't sure what to say.

Still not sure.

Don't have any answers or even any original thoughts about this.

Have sent & received similar (but not the same) many moons ago. Just don't have the energy anymore myself.

But I always admire your searching... 1 am.

Time to go home, get the paper on the way & see if any flats for me tomorrow.

Put my bag in my car boot & it won't open now - glasses, jumpers, other stuff.

Have to try jamming it open tomorrow.

Bugger it.

One day I may venture into that big wild unknown of relationship again, but not tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'll just try to open my car boot.

Oops, the lights just went out.

Left me in the dark - nothing new there :)

My thoughts are with you babe

Bloody life eh!!!???

With love & friendship

Michael

xxoo

Letter to Micheal - my grief -

Melbourne 2007

Hey Babe...

I miss him last night, as the rain leaks down the window and tree branches scrape the wall of my flat.....

I surf through my mobile, picking messages that I sent him at random. I cannot believe my own arrogance, the superior tone of them, how I once tried to tell him what to do and what to think, like every other boys in his life.

I remember when I had my life under control, all those years, and yet just six months, that dark age in my history when I gauged everything by what I had and what others thought on me.

I loved how they said how perfect my life was, and yes I hated it also, there was always that small voice that reminded me: "but you're not happy."

I walk along the Yarra River, read the messagess that he sent me after he dumped me: "but not sure I want to be "free" : I want everything I guess, the most important thing however is friendship......." that what he said.

We stayed there together once in those days when I thought he might change his mind, I cooked him snapper and we made love, I could watch his cheast gleam in the light full of his cum that morning.

If William had not come into my life I would still be wrestling with that same restless but after meeting William I felt more trapped, hopeless, and my trust that I've had bulit had gone.

Men are all the same, they just have different faces.... So that we can tell them apart.... that what I thought, I don't know if you agreed with me, but is true.....

I do not believe anyone can ever be quite like this man, who come into my life by accident when I wasn't looking. "Can I ask you a personnel question? Are there, like hundreds of boys in your life or just one really lucky one?" that was my question.... but never get answer.

Now I wonder how lucky the boys is, for I wonder if they ever saw that William I have known: his passion of just talking in chat room, his passion for just kissing in that small room at Wet on Willingthon, how he can talked for hours about everything but not his private life, about travels.

How he can lose himself in the world of ideas, and the imagination, about love, and about being in love, and knock on the stranger hotel room door at midnight. These are not things I ever wanted from him and I've ever wanted to know.

The love of different boy also, I am learning to accept them both, but how to find a companion for him yet eludes me.

There comes an age when we all must decide whether we will fulfil that essential urging of the spirit or just live to survive, perhaps save the lesson for next time.

"William,

You're the most incredibly talented, caring, and giving men I've ever met, you knidness moves me to the very core of my soul. I wanted you for myself and I wish I could touch your heart. I don't not expect to fall in love (in million years) with you, or you with me.

You're a wonderful man who had touch my soul and continues to do so everyday, your laugh, thought, and mind magical. I think about you everyday. (Don't get me wrong, I love you as a friend, and will never think of you in sexual way, I never dream of having sex with you, my respect were as a friend and the fact that I am really enjoyed in your company and I meant it.)"

No, I ask myself the same question that I've had after my break up with Angus:

"But where is me in all this and who is me? It has been better to be busy and keep busy then uncover the truth. Of late I have desperately tried to cling onto the people in my life who have defined who I am rather than face the frightening prospect of having to define me for myself."

The alchemists of the middle ages searched for what they called the philosopher's stone.

The curious object that could turn lead into gold by some alchemy never explained. Some men thought it was an actual substance, but for the mystics the stone was an allegony for something else, something that could change a man into something better. Karl was my philosopher's stone: there was a chemistry that for all of his faults and all of mine made us both see love in colour, and turned my base metal into gold, at least when I was with him.

Sometimes we leave people we should never lose: sometimes we stay with others much too long.

The next day, when I get on the skybus from Melbourne airport (saying good bye to Matt) why is it I feel a part of me is dying?

"I am dying because the way I have lived for the last fourty two years is not working anymore, I did this but at the price of never being there for myself, or at the cost of being so busy with everything else that I never had time for me.

I have desperatly tried to cling to the external people of my life who have defined who I am than face the frightening prospect of having to define me for myself. My work has defined me and without if I don't know who I'd be anymore,

I have to trust and listen to the voice inside. I know I'll continue to die inside and begin to die outside if I don't do this....."

I wonder if I can do this, I wonder If I can trust. I wonder if I can listen to that inner voice.

And so to sunday afternoon in October. I stare out of the window of the train and let my mind drift through the blow leaves of these last six months and try to make some sense of all that has happened.

It is a jigsaw with many missing pieces, frustrating because I have worked so hard on this enervating task, and there is nothing left to fit into the frame yet it still appears not quite complete.

The train stop at Flinder station, Vincent raises his eyebrows and smiles, taps me on the shoulder. We both get out and walk around the side to the door. I stop for one heavy deep breath, to steady the nerves, and a draught from the hip flask Vincent has in his pocket, the wind distrubs the leaves........

I take another deep breath and now, too late, wish I had been a stronger man, or a luckier one.

But have decided that love willl never give me what I want. I hope for too much, and laid my heart too bare.

It's time to smarten up......I take one last deep breath, Vincent's forehead knits into a frown.

"You okey?" Vincent asking me, I didn't not answer.

Okey, so I am compromising here today, selling myself short.

Isn't that what everyone does sooner or later?

"You ready, mate?" he asked me.

"Give me a minutes." I say and walk off alone, thinking of how many years people really have their life, even the old ones, it's not long, is it?

(p/s : I know this will make you angry - I am battling through, just..... and I know that I am going there slowly. I will not go into summer like this, I am complicated, but you know so are you.

I tear you a part but you have also done this to me. I wish I could still talk tou you, laugh with you, but I know this is not what you want, need or deserve. I often wish that I could have one of our time back, or to look forward to, does it always have to be so black and white? either I do this or nothing?

I know this is reality but reality is that we will all die and we won't know when this is. Ok, so now you will be screaming at me, well why don't I change something - my answer is I don't know but I don't want to tear you up anymore. As you never believe I have no love for you.

My loved for you is just as afriend which is : I adore and enjoyed everytimes I with you. I've had never thought of you sexually especially, since I've had know you more and more (your life style). Sorry if that hurt you, but I have to tell you again and again, because you never believed what I said to you.....)

Enjoy the weekend......

with all my love to you

G

Why they cheat......?

There’s something really nice about getting comfortable around each other — we think so too.

But with that familiarity, sometime we lose some of our intense desire. What is always sexy?

Mystery, and nothing is more mysterious than the unknown.

And what’s the unknown?

Wondering how other naked man look like? Wondering how its feel in someone arms, or how good its like when you making love with a total stranger? Or something missing in your relationships that made you wonder and cheat your partner.

Why ‘cheating’ is always happening in our life?

What really matters is, sometimes we don’t really know the other half or we’re not at the same page/direction in our journey especially our culture or the differences, the age gaps, the races, the thinking, and perhaps how we accepted ourselve...

Feeling Lonely in a Relationship. Feelings of loneliness are one of the most common reasons which lead us to cheat on our partner. Though it may seem a contradiction to say that a man also feels lonely within a relationship, your partner may feel that the relationship is not emotionally fulfilling.

This can be particularly problematic if the other partner is deeply involved with his work or his friends and leaves him (the other half) to spend a lot of time alone. Balancing time between work and friends outside the relationship will help him feel wanted and stop him from feeling inclined to seek attention outside of the relationship.

Feeling Taken for Granted. While you may discuss the important day to day issues of your relationship such as work, household chores and family life, but sometime the other half often need to talk about more personal issues like life goals, dreams for the future and what you love about each other. This type of intimacy helps to build reassurance and stability in a relationship and will stop men from wanting to seek these important intimacies with another man.

You Are Leading Separate Lives? Though you started out on the same path together, your lives may have diverged so much that your partner feels you no longer have anything in common. If its come down to the point where he spends more time with his friends than with you, it might be time to consider making an effort to spend time doing things together that you both enjoy. This will encourage him to be more attentive to you than his friends or another man who he may feel has more in common with him.

Revenge Can Be Bittersweet, If your partner has caught you cheating, then he is obviously feeling rejected, hurt and angry. If this is the case, then he may cheat as an act of revenge to try and compensate for these feelings. He may feel that he deserves to indulge himself to pay you back for your infidelities.

The Ego Needs Stroking, Sometimes men can feel insecure about themselves and will cheat in an attempt to boost their confidence and stroke their ego. Sometimes they may feel that their partner is not giving them enough attention or attention in the way that they would like; this can lead them to seek the attention and flattery of other men which may develop into cheating.

Till then, tell me what's in your mind now, cos I can't read it.....

My only Pray.....

Dear God.....

Remember me? George, one of your boys, of course you do, you're God." I paused for a moment because I felt silly talking to the sky. When I noticed the clouds moving, revealing a full moon, and a wave of emotion over him, and I started to talk to God once more:

" I've been hiding from you for quite sometime, but you know that. I won't bore you with my life and what's been going on with me 'cause you already know. I just need some help here. I need some question answered. I want my life to work. And I know you can help me...."

I stop and took a deep breath and began to talk again. My voice fell into a rythm, a potent mix of strength and valnerability.

"I am trying not to let the obvious control me. You know, my being a gay, I have learned to live with it, I want to love it. I guest you in all your wisdom know how I can do that. I want love in my life! Isn't it one of the best gifts you gave us, your children? If it's not "HIM", then make sure it's someone who loves me.

When I was hiding, I knew you could see me, and I know you have protecting me. Protecting me when I got too drunk to care.

Thanks you, I want to be a better person, I want to do more to make you proud of me! I want people to understand that you knew what you were doing when you make us all so different from each other.

But I don't understand why me? uncaning all your childrens, don't understand that why do we spend so much time hurting each other?

Till then, hope to see what's coming from sky soon.....

G'nite and Bless

Umberto Eco's - the name of the rose

I am in some sort of a dream world. It's not a nightmare, just a weird, hyper-real space in which everything appears simultaneously familiar yet strange: a parallel world, perhaps, a facsimile realm, an enormous simulation, but not quite perfect.

In this space there are rooms within rooms: three-sided enclosures, accurate in every detail. There are people everywhere, yet the space feels strangely uninhabited, devoid of the gentle chaos and decay that declares a truly human place.

There are doors in some of the rooms. Passing through them leads to more spaces, almost, but not quite the same. These, in turn, have more doors. It's like walking through a fractal landscape, endlessly self-referential, endlessly recursive.

I am put in mind of the library, the perfect maze, in Umberto Eco's the name of the Rose. There are even books here, but I cannot read them. I do not understand the language in which they are written. There are words, too, on the walls. They mean nothing to me. And these too seem meaningless. Everything gleams. Everything is smooth. I know that is a table, but it is not a table. The words claim it is something else. It is apparently an "antis."

I am lost. I am utterly de - realised. I need a beer badly.

I am, in fact, inside the Ikea store in Damansara with Chris, bemused, befuddled, enchanted, and adrift. Now, OK, from what I can gather I am possibly the last person in Kuala Lumpur to visit this place, but, hey, I live in Melbourne and now in Hartamas. The need to fit out a couple of my restaurant offered a great reason to head down and do some serious furniture shopping.

With two companions, I set off. I wanted to purchase at least coiple of sofas, and few racks. We knew the names of those objects, and thus limited, they held no fear for us. Except, we discovered, such mundanities do not exist in Ikea-land.

We ended up buying jerker, trones, a pair of listas, a klubbo, two traktors and a couple of thing I've already forgotten the name of, but might have been called globboes or gubbers or buboes. They were chairs anyway. Along the way, we decided against the skrissels, the bokstas, the innerviks and the didriks.

Language and corporate indentity are intimately entwined. I once went to a hamburger joint in Melbourne and asked for a chicken burger only to be told I couldn't have one unless I ordered an Oink Oink Double.

The sheer size of Ikea, however, takes this to a whole new level. Within an hour of being inside the place, I find myself asking question like: "Do you remember where the leksvik was? Was it over near the summera, or back by the gorms?" And the strange thing is that my companions understand perfectly, having attained easy fluency in Ikea-ese.

By the time We start to head to the checkout, via the kitchen implement section and the towering werehouse racks, I am completely mesmerised, totally in Willy Wonda-land, wondering only where the Oompah Loompahs have got to.

Actually, that's not true. I am also wondering where that clock came from, and those doormats and that rather sexy stainless steel colander. You don't remember picking any of them up, but there are, in the big yellow carry bag, gleaming and foreign.

It could be night outside: it could be noon. Time means nothing. All that matters is pushing a luggage trolley up and down the racks hunting for boxes containing things called bippers and luffers and quinquists and snot. And then all that matters is paying for the stuff, organising delivery and getting the hell out of the nearest pub, where stools are called stools, tables tables and referring to faktums or forhojas will earn me only a funny look from the barman.

Yet. even on the exit side of the checkouts, the wonder and mystery of Ikea is not at end. Exhausted and dehydrated, I spied what appeared to be a small snack bar near the loading bay doors.

Miracle of miracles! The place sold beer!

So, OK, I don't think I was supposed to crack the can and drink it on the spot, but nobody seemed to mind. Perhaps the staff understood that it was an act of necessity for a befuddled city boy so shopped - out he could no longer tell his oppli from his jarna..........

Till then my dear friend, wish you here with me, and we could have glass or two together and could even gossip about the boys we met last night...... It's only my wishfull thinking.............

What's the best way to end your romence? via facebook?

Melbourne's Spring 2007

It goes without saying that there is no nice way to be dumped, but there are definitely some ways that causeless toe-curling anguish than others. A face to face conversation or a phone call if you’re dating a long-distance, seem to be the best way of a bad bunch. A hand-written letter would show some respect, but since eighties pop star and very unlikely heart-throb Phil Collins dumped his first wife by fax, standards of ending etiquette have been dropping dramatically. From Phil’s fax to the horror of email to Britney dumping K-Fed by sms.

Oh, how I wish my ex had had the old-fashioned decency to dump me by text message! You see, I George Junior. found out that I had been dumped via Facebook.

Honestly speaking, my love life has been kind of disaster especially after I finished my eleven years relationship with Scott. Since that, all my date turned out to be crap and started badly and it went downhill from there.

“I just don’t understand why you keep picking such awful men!” my good friend exclaimed in despair when I called him from a phone box in Bali at the bitter end of my brief William romance.

Back then I didn’t understand it either. It wasn’t as though I was always going for the same type. I dated actuaries, banker, Pilot, Accountant, Actor and lawyer. There were no obvious similarities in the worlds they inhabited or in the way they looked. But in the way things turned out? That was a different story. No matter how promisingly this started, after two months I was planning a “honeymoon” holiday and they were planning a speedy escape. Scratch any one of my princely ex-boyfriends and you would find an amphibian beneath.

So you probably won’t be surprised to hear that after the Bali incident, in which I blew four days holidays allowance and nearly a month’s wages on a flight to the mini-break that become a mini-break-up, my confidence suffered a bit of a knock.

“That’s it.” I said to my best friend, Dr. Peter. “I am giving up on men.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Dr. Peter said.

“Believe it, Peter. This time I am serious.”

The following day I went to Brendon’s fortieth birthday party at his flat.

It had to be fate. I had finally, after almost two years spent dating for Australian, announced I was giving up on my man hunt. At long last, I had decided to try taking the one piece of advice I always fond so hard to swallow: “Love will only come when you’re not looking for it.”

How many times has I heard that irritating maxim (usually from someone who had been every bit as desperate to pair up as me six months earlier)? And how many times had I protested that it simply wasn’t true? WELL, I had announced that I was no longer looking for love and just twenty-four-hours later I found myself in the kitchen at that fortieth birthday party, discussing the merits of the latest government budget with the most attractive man I had ever seen in my life!

OK, so I didn’t actually find him all that attractive at first..

Romantic that I was, I had always imagined that when love comes to me – when it was real, proper, true love – I would know the second I laid eyes on him. I had experienced so many thunderbolts that turned out to herald nothing but emotional drizzle that, surely, when real love walked into my life, the entire earth would shake with the magnitude of the moment. The heavens would open. Long-dead volcanoes would erupt. My personal choir of angels would stop filing their nails start singing the ‘Hallelujah” chorus with a guest solo from Elvis.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

When Karl – Karl Walder, the man who would turn my world upside down –walked into the kitchen at that party at Brendan birthday party, he barely registered on my radar. I was busy looking for a clean glass among the jumble of plastic cups and dirty mugs on the draining board. To attract my attention, Karl swilled out the wine glass he had been drinking from and handed it to me.

“It’s safe.” He said. “I don’t have anything contagious.”

I thanked him for the glass and helped myself to some wine from the bottle I had brought with me. Thought it was only nine in the evening. Brendan’s birthday party was already shaping up to be the kind of affair where you couldn’t be certain that the yellowish liquid in the bottle on the counter really was chardonnay. Glass refilled,

I was planning to head back into the sitting room, where Brendan and his boyfriend, James, had bagged a sofa, but as I was about to sashay out of the kitchen, and out of trouble, Karl attempted to strike up a conversation.

“How do you know Brendan?” he asked. Not a very original opening gambit, but better than “I bet you look good with no clothes on.” which was how William disaster had started.

“Brendan and I were at uni together,” I explained

“Oh, that’s great. Melbourne Uni, wasn’t it.”

I nodded.

“We work at the same office,” Said Karl.

Before I could say, “I am afraid I am on a man-break.” I found I had given him my mobile number and said that I would be very happy to have dinner with him the following week. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, Friday, Saturday or Sunday if the other days didn’t work for him. When he joked that he would rearrange the following evening’s tennis practice just for me. I was smitten.

I was doomed.

So much for my man-break. And so much for playing by ‘the rules’, which was something else I had promised I would do if I ever found myself in the unlikely position of going on a date again. Having broken half a dozen commandments from the terribly useful book by acting pathetically keen to see Karl once more, I continued my amateur strategy. That’s right. You’ve guessed it. I went to bed with Karl right after our first date. At my flat of course.

Our physical connection was a revelation. And it pretty much sealed my fate. If you had told me that someone who had the watery eyes of a basset hound in a face like a mouldy potato would kiss like you imagine Brad Pitt once kissed Angelina, I would never have believed it possible. But it was wonderful. My whole body fizzed with excitement from the moment he laid his hand on mine and my new-found peace in celibacy was short-lived indeed. At the touch of Karl’s lips I crumbled like a chocaholic locked in a room containing nothing but a box of melting kitkats. I couldn’t take my hands off the man. I cough his nasty cold as a result.

Two weeks passed. Became a month and a month becomes three months. And I felt as though I was finally, truly living the dream.

Cut to: two weeks after we had short break in Fiji.

It was an ordinary Wednesday morning in the office. Back then I was working at the Alfred Hospital. It sounds more exciting than it was. I’d been with this hospital pretty much ever since I left Auckland City, back when I though what am I going to do with the rest of my life back in Melbourne.

In fact that morning I should have been working on research for my new finding and for my presentation the following Monday. As soon as I was sure no one in my office, I risked logging on to my networking account, facebook first and that was when it happened.

The first thing I notices was that Karl’s facebook status, which he hadn’t updated in months (how could he find time now) was showing something new. And somewhat cryptic. It said “Karl Walder is making some tough decisions.”

Tough decisions about what? I wondered. I went through the possibilities. He had mentioned a few weeks earlier that he had been head-hunted by another accountancy company. Was he thinking of leaving the firm he had been with for so many years to take another job? I thought he’d decided against it.

Or perhaps he was being facetious? When he said ‘tough decisions’, was he talking about the decisions he had to make regarding the new carpet he wanted for his flat?

The previous weekend he had got into quite a bad mood as he examined various different swatches in search of the elusive carpet that would fit in with the chic, pale ultimate-bachelor furnishing scheme he wanted and yet not show too much dirt.

I was just about to leave a massage on his wall saying “Go for the oatmeal berber from John Lewis.” When the live news feed on my profile page refreshed itself with some very strange and unwelcome news indeed.

It said : Karl Walder is no longer listed as “in a relationship”.

This devastating titbit was accompanied by a graphic of a tiny red heart in two pieces.

You can imagine my reaction. I spat coffee on my keyboard. Karl Walder is no longer in a relationship? What the hell did that mean? I quickly sent him a message via the site “What’s with the relationship update?” And then I sent him a text for good measure, “Just saw your facebook page. No longer in a relationship? Very funny. Ha ha ha ha.”


It had to be a slip of the mouse or, at worse, a very bad joke, but Karl responded to neither request for an explanation. I called his mobile. He didn’t pick up. I put that down to the fact that since he’d moved to an office on the other side of the building and the mobile reception was patchy there, but when I called his direct line, he didn’t pick that up either.

It began to down on me that Karl might be in serious. I ran through all the possible reasons why Karl might be in a bad mood with me. Was he still upset about the small disagreement we’d had a couple of nights before, when I’d asked him if he wanted to go halves on renting a country cottage with Brendan and James over the Christmas holidays and he said he hadn’t thoughts that far ahead?


Or maybe he was angry because I’d questioned why he was spending so much time at the gym when I loved him just the way he was: slightly soft around the edges. In retrospect, I could see it was a mistake to have used those words.

All those little things suddenly seemed like perfectly good reasons to start a passive-aggressive fight by changing your relationship stratus on stupid facebook, but things were about to get worse.

The ultimate humiliation was right upon me. When I logged back into facebook, to sent Karl a message asking if he could elaborate on what I might have done wrong. I discovered that Karl’s profile was no longer on my friends list. I had been defriended.

I had been dumped through facebook.

Till, then, did anyone had the same experience being dumped via facebook, and could you please share it with me! Tell me how you deal with it!!!!

Forgive me father if I had been nasty with my words here, and if my word had hurting someone here.....

Why don't you write something nice for a change? Asked friend of mine.

It was a supplementary question to him main query about why all of my friends seemed to be ignoring me of late.

"I don't do nice, I do real things." was my reply, and it prompted a whack to the head with a dairy depressingly devoid of commitments.

"Ok, ok, I'll write something nice." I promised, rubbing my wounded brow with crossed fingers.

So, I will tell you the truth eh.....! The truth hurts. Drop a marble block on your big toe. Feel that, sunshine?

That's the truth hitting you. That'll teach you for not taking my word for it. Go on, soak it in cold water to bring the swelling down. Put some cream on the sucker, too, if you think it'll help, because that's what the truth is, my friends - a great, big, purple throbbing thing at the end of your foot!

Painful though the truth may be, it should never keep you from telling people stuff they absolutely need to know.

Like the guy with the wild hair growing out of his nostrill, or the nervous job applicant with the spring of parsley stuck to his chin. (note: to you guys: always carry a hand mirror, even if it is abit girlie) or the man on the train with the red-back crawling up the ladder of his sock.

Actually, it's ok if the last one's not strictly true, because you could get a fabulous reaction from the man if you're planning to do this - sorry to digress in the middle of such an important topic - please record it with a DV camera or videophone so we can all join in.

And whatever you do, please make sure, you get the man in question to sign a realease before sending it in to us here at the station or post it on the internet, either way. The truth is often an unpleasant thing and can be as difficult to digest as a teriyaki chicken handrolls with too much wasabi paste on it.

And please do not try this yourself just to see, otherwise you'll notice a white substance dripping out the corner of your mouth and realize it's the enamed coating from your teeth (This cannot be replaced inexpensively).

There are times, of course when the truth simply doesn't matter - like what my friend Daniel always says to me.

But of course, there is truth and then there is truth. Here we draw the crucial distinction between permanent, absolute, universal truth and transient, ethereal, not-around-for-very- long truth.

In the former category we consider things that will always be true, no matter what occors. The impessibility of getting a straight answer from a local council, for instance. Or that the day you tell lie to your boyfriend, or even when you didn't tell the truth about your sex life to your friends because you just want your friends thought that you're a Mother Terresa and very innocence person.

Yet, given all the concept of truth we must deal with, there are times in my life when we should not tell the truth, yes... that's right, you heard it here first, my fellow friends, sometimes it's ok to lie, (only white lie is ok, as my father told me when I was a kid....).

Say, for instance, Lex Luthor comes knocking on your door looking for supermen. You're not going to let on that he's hiding in your kitchen, are you? Of course not, because supermen is the good guy who's looking out for your interests, and Lex Luthor is the one who want to enslave humanity and make it listern to house music.

So you lie and say, "Oh, you want superman, No, that's no. 14 across the road down near the corner."

Then as Luthor is walking away, you get superman to use his laser vision to zap him in the arse. And, as my friend always complains to me (look at this story, am I wrong or right by given him my straight answer? You tell me!).

Jared, 53-year-old man, and he seem incapable of sustaining long-term relationships. Several good looking mans were left wondering why he rejected them. He've been with a great guy now for 5 weeks and he can feel it happening again. None of them seem to be the "ONE". Is this a case of "It's my fault, not yours." syndrome? Jared's asking me, over dinner last week. My answer is easy. I told him: If you can see that the guy you're dated were good and your current partner is 'great' and you still can't sustain it. It must be you, if you care about your partner, tell him it's best if he leaves, then get yourself into counseling for a "commitment" problem, saying, "he's not the one" is just another way of saying "I can't do this...."

But why he upset with my comment when I told him that he need a "counseling" to help him go through this stuff/problem he had? For fuck sake he is 53-year-old, grow up!

This proves that when George Washington said: "Honesty is the best policy." What the poor cap meant was that "total honesty is a disadtrous policy." But of course, back then he didn't have Lex Luthor to deal with. Plus he was probably on crack.

In any consideration of the nature of truth, we should above all, remember that truth is a relative concept - meaning that the most awful truths you face in life will always come courtesy of your relatives.

This is why contact with them should always be absolute minimum, even if that means participatings in family get-together via text.

Or even if you tell me : "George, you're such a wanker (of course I am a wanker, cos' I wanking every morning)." Perhaps if you don't like me, just tell the truth, but don't pretend that I am is your friend or just to petty me, I didn't do petty to please someone......

That is an awful lie....... So, want to feel the sting of honesty? eat wasabi then.....

Till then, forgive me father for not being kind to my dear friends.... Happy sunday.....

Psychic, astrology and me.....

Just under two weeks left and still counting. According to my star sign this week, this month I will fall madly in love with a man who is tall, dark and speaks with a British accent.

Excellent. It’s going to be a long labour weekend next week, and I may meet a handsome British man. But here I am, still single and it's April 22. Dear psychic, where is he?

Like many man, I consulted a clairvoyant who revealed many private and uncanny details about my life.

Throughout the reading I was captivated and impressed by her intuition.

Regardless of the paranormal mumbo jumbo. I hoped for the love she predicted. But was I being set up for disappointment?

As modern man, we want answers and we want them now - or at least a sneak peek into our future with an affirmation that it's going to be OK.

Whether it is paying a person who claims supernatural power or skimming over our daily horoscope in the newspaper, most of us are searching for direction.

Take my friend Andy, who had a psychic predict he would quit his job, meet a guy in finance and travel overseas. Eight months later Andy left his job and is now enjoying a honeymoon in Rome with his accountant partner. His psychic seemed to get it right.

When my friend James was 32, a psychic told him that the love of his life would work with planes. Since then, every man he had a major relationship with has been connected with aviation.

"I don't know if it was my fate that she predicted or rather the fact I was fluttering my eyes a little more around pilots," James says. "Perhaps the psychic's prediction subconsciously altered who I found attractive. Who knows?"

Even the daily horoscope can assist in moulding your life. Predictions such as "Today you will face your fear" can cause you to spend the rest of the day worrying about being eaten by a shark.

Perhaps we like tracking our future unpredictable.

It's a bit like the weather forecast. By promising an insight into what the coming weeks and months have in store, astrology gives us the feeling of control, however spurious that impression may be.

Another reason is flattery. Personality profiles tend to be prepared with characteristic such as sensitive, emotional, active, practical, pleasant and so forth - traits most people like.

Some people use horoscopes as a form of flittering out the chance of bad encounters. My friend Danny is guilty of "horoscope-ism". He's prejudiced against all men who are Gemini.

Why? Not only is his astrological chart a bad match with a Gemini, he has had a bad experience with one.

"Ruling out men with vaguely similar personalities as a way of protecting myself. I was hurt by a similar type and I don't want to risk the chance again. So that means 'no' to all Gemini" Danny says.

Despite the appeal of such astrological insight, one misses out on the fun of letting nature take its course. Eliminating certain people based on the alignment of stars is as ridiculous as ruling out a person based on their hair colour.

I have 8 days left before my psychic is officially wrong. But the lack of a tall, dark British man in my life is not devastating. If he doesn't turn up this month, it isn't my fault. Maybe that's the secret to horoscopes and an attraction for the supernatural - if it's out of your hands, no one is to blame but the planets and the stars.

But then who can blame us for having a little fun?

Till then my dear, catch you soon

God + Me....

Oh

I had loved and lusted, loved and "loved."

And sometimes I was not sure whether I had loved "love" or the man in question, myself and my role as Inamorata, or just the adrenaline rush of love, that most powerful of all drugs, that highest of all highs - kicker than cocaine, more euphoric than opium, dizzierthan dope.

For sometimes we create a lover out of parti - colored fool just to feel that rush again - and when the rush is over, we look at him and laugh, asking ourselves why.

But at it's truest, love is altogether another matter: a matter of Gods and goddesses, or spirits merging, of a holy communion in the flesh. And one never knows, before making that leap of faith, whether one will find pure spirits or mere motley, Holy communion or sexual aerobics, Gods and Goddesses, Orgoat and Monkeys.

"Who chooseth me must give a hazard all he hath" - the essence and the test of love.

Till then, Blessed us all....

Let talk about sex....

It's Monday, and I bet no one like to be at work, especially when you had so much going on, on the weekend.... But then, we'll have to work, so to servive.... Forget about monday blues or feeling down, we'll have to deal with it.... just move on...

So I know it's not exactly original (since everybody talking about it already), but I sense a more than relevant urge to explore a topic that applies almost anammously to all of us gay people these days. Let's face it, everyone want it, most people are having it and despite those with aspirations within the elergy or various religious sects, sex isn't exactly perceived as sinning anymore.

In fact. It's arguably one of the most central aspect of the gay scene/culture - getting sex, having it, enjoying it, celebrating it, etc.

In the past, while holding onto my glass of bollinger - than - thou image of sexual conservativeness, intent on "saving myself" for Romeo. I must confess I secretly reised myself on a pedestal above those, including many friends, who were much more liberated in their sex lives.

Having once read a statictic which claimed the average 35 yrs old gay guy had between 50 to 100 sexual partners. I dismissed that seemingly axaggerated figure as indicrous however, after passing my mid-forties last March, those statistics, I admit, are ganning more and more credence.

Today, promiscuility seems to be acceptable, while sexual conservativeness seems to bare the social stigma. It's not so much about labels anymore as it is about what sex can offer us to improve or sustain a healthy lifestyle. Let there be no ilisions, sex like life, can only much of a good thing is too much, can be quite tricky.... or is there such a thing as too much? Many of us have been guilty, and possibly still are, of looking to sex for thing or answer it can possibly give us.

Countless times I have painted the perfect picture in my mind of a guy I have known a few hours, unable to comprehend how two people can work so well together in the bedroom yet so disastrously in a relationship, or even just on a date, even when our star sign are the perfect match!

And may be sex is so addictive because like most things that provide us with euphonic pleasure, it is purely an escape. In the bedroom, we can go places and convey ourselves in ways which just aren't practical or realistic in our everyday lives. Sex, like most hedoristic things in life, has become a billion dollar industry, late night adverstisements target the desperate and dateless, while the "dotcom" are has cashed in on it's ability to sell sex to anyone anywhere, anytimes.

That gets me thinking....... When I instinctively purchase another pair of Jeans or the latest D&G glasses on my credit, is it purely my love of fashion that drives me to buy things I simply can't affords, or is it subconsciously their appeal towards my sex life?

May be there are more similarities between myself and a call boy that I thought - we both give ourselves to strangers and are driven by materialistic needs that are intert wined with sex. Is sex possibly a deversion from the thought of what we really want or from the realisation of what we don't have?

While another generation of gay people struggle to define it's meaning about boundaries, one thing is for sure, it is fabolous and for all it's faults, effort and ambiguilty, it continues to keep us smilling....

So, shall we all think of it? and yes tell me your comment about this..... Cos keep me wondering... course the more sex I get the biggest smile I will give... :))

Till then, you guys take a good care and be fun and be safe....

Making a new relationship work requires a healthy sense of adventure..

Most of us, at some point in our lives, have faced the dubious honour of being set up with a blind date. This typically occurs when those friends who are closest to you decide that you have been enjoying single life far too much and that the time has come for you to get back “out there”.

Being subject to the attentions of friends in this manner always comes with a double edge. On the one hand it is reassuring to know they care for you so much that they want to match you with somebody who will appreciate your erudite charms and sparkling personality. On the other hand, it’s a tad perturbing that they think of you as this pathetic loser.

Friends know the muffled insult the mention of a blind date can imply and so carefully avoid the term when broaching the possibility of introducing you to somebody they think you’ll like. But you know what they’re up to.

“This isn’t a blind date, is it” you ask, eyeing them suspiciously.

“No no no, it’s not, we swear, no way,” they insist. Then they say, “Oh, you’ll love him. He got the best personality,” which is usually code meaning the Man either has halitosis, a moustache or affiliations with the National Socialist Movement.

But you figure, hell, what have I got to lose? Even if things go badly it’ll get me out of the house and I’ll have an amusing anecdote for the next time my friends set me up with a moustachioed Nazi with bad breath.

So I agreed to meet this man, even though there is a FA Cup on cable.

I must confess I did get a little nervous while waiting in the restaurant. I didn’t have an exit strategy in case things went off beam, such as arranging for the phony “emergency call” a half hour into date. I braced myself for a rough night.

Then he arrived.

Well, what can I say? Five minutes after we kissed hello I was in Heaven. He had described himself on the phone as being “a little on the shy side” but I could tell straight off that he felt as relaxed with me as I was with him.

He was wonderful. He was charming, attractive, had a great sense of humour, excellent taste in literatune and had a love of classical music equal to mine.

Nobody’s perfect, though, and if I had to nitpick and find fault with this man, I guess his sole drawback was that he was 50- feet tall.

It’s one of those things that if you pretend to ignored it the other person become self-conscious, so just came right out.

“You’re a little taller than I thought you’d be,” I said gingerly.

“You never said anything,”

“I was worried it might put you off,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” I said with a very sophisticated chuckle. “To be honest, I didn’t really notice at first. I just thought you were wearing pumps.”

Now, admittedly, there is some downside to dating a 50- foot man. Pre-dinner drinks, for instance, can cost you a small fortune, especially when his gin and tonics come in a glass the size of an ice bucket. The meal, too, can test your credit card limit. Luckily, he was dieting and so only an entrée consisting of six sides of beef lightly glazed with four kegs of honey sauce and garnished by seven bushels of parsley.

Sneezing, too, can be a problem. Fortunately he turned away, which was good news for me but bad news for the people on tables 16, 19 and 24 who found themselves sailing through the front window and onto the street.

But these inconveniences are easily outweighed by the advantages. For a start, you get no attitude from the waiter, lets he wants to be pummeled into the floor as he hammers his fist down onto his head. Also, anybody rude enough to use a mobile phone in a restaurant – and foolish enough to do so within earshot of 50 - foot man – can soon find themselves being over-armed into the next postcode.

And you quickly find the expense of feeding a 50-foot man is offset by the savings in transport costs, never mind taking a cab to that night-club. He just picks you up and, two steps later, you’re there. And forget about all that waiting-in-line nonsense. When you’re with a 50-foot man you not only go straight in, admission is free. Just like the drinks. And you pretty much have the run of the dance-floor.

We ended up having a splendid evening, although the kiss goodnight took five and a half hours as there was so much area to cover. We are still seeing each other, and even though we talk every single day the cost is very low because the other great thing about dating a 50-foot man is that when he calls he doesn’t need a phone.

Till then my dear, it was great to go for a 'date' one in awhile, you'll discover alot of things, but my friends, don't put too much/high expection on the other half, just enjoy it!

I remember, my late father told me once: "If this felt so right we should go for it and see where the piece fell. What happens when you meet Mr. Right too soon? You grab him. There’s no such thing is too soon." and he always right! thanks Dad...

Love Letter (No ll)

Melbourne

Hi baby,

It's late and I am feeling crap, my head hurts...moan ..moan ..moan...I need a hugg baby, I am missing you a lot right now. I want to come and see you but the flights and accommodation are expensive at short notice, and I really don't feel too great. My doc says to rest a bit and take it easy for a couple of days.

I went to warrens house tonite and watched some teev with him. Tim is staying with his sister for a night or two as her partner is away.

I am happy to hear you are slowly getting your life back together. I was so releived the charges against you were dropped, and I know the other issues will be resolved soon. I hope you enjoy your time working at the Alfred Hospital, and that you find a nice place to live I wish I was there to help you look..

There are a couple of remote depots for DHL in hobart, so send me an address and I will send your laptop.

I don't know what to say. I know you have been hurt before and can understand why you would be reluctant to enter another relationship. I knew from the moment I saw you that I wanted to be with you and the time I spent with you while you were here re-enforced those feelings. i don't expect that any relationship will be easy, but as with all things worthwhile they have to be worked at.

I will do all I can to make a relationship between us work. I don't care if you are rich or poor, but i do ask for honesty, what ever the truth may be. Once I find a job in melb and get my house tenented I need to find a place to live, and I am hoping that I am able to live with you as your partner. You seem less enthusiastic about a relationship than I am, is that because of past bad experiences?

Tell me your thoughts babe, I know I want to be with you and I know we can be good together I dont know what the future will bring us but If you like me enough to give it a go please let me know.

In light of your current problems with your ex-partner I would not be offended if you wanted to enter into to some sort of a pre- relationship agreement in relation to assets and money etc. if that's what you want. Tell me your conditions baby!!

I love so many things about you, i am attracted to you physically and sex with you drives me wild. I love catching glimpses of you naked on your way to the shower I love waking up beside you, I love sharing meals with you and being close to you at the movies, I love that you are tidy in the house and that you pay a lot of attention to you clothes, I love it when you cuddle me in bed.

I hope you find me a little attractive in spite of my bad dress sense. Hani I don't know what else to say, I didn't know what lonley meant until I left you at the airport on saturday. Will you be my boyfriend?

Well Babe, let me in to your head and hopefully your heart.....

Love Rob xxxx

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find the happiness I seek

When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek
Yes, heaven, I'm in heaven

Love Letter ......

Melbourne 2007

Hey baby,

How are you? i hope you are not feeling too stressed. how is your court case going? what does your lawyer think about the information on your notebook, are you able to support your defence without it?

If you want me to email any files to you just ask. you know i wont open or read any of your private or personal documents, i could copy to disc and then to my pc to email to you. i guess you were pleased to get back to melbourne after your time in hobart. i hope it wasn't too bad for you.

I have been missing you like crazy since you left, and i can't wait to see you again. that is if you want to. I sent an email to bayside employment seeking information relating to some engineering/technical officer positions available in melb, who knows i may be lucky enough to get something soon.

Well baby call me or email me when you can.

I am thinking of you all the time and wish you well with everthing in Melbourne.

love you babe

Rob xxx

Fly me to the moon

and I will play among the stars,

let me see what spring is like on Jupiter or Mars.

In other words hold my hand

in other words

darling kiss me.

Fill my heart with song

and I will sing forever more

you are all I long for

all I worship and adore.

In other words

please be true

in other wordsI

love you.

Inner feeling ..... what is all about?

Melbourne 2007

I am in my mid-forties, single and not quite ready to kick the bucket. As anyone in similar situation can tell you, it's a jungle out there. The danger is not Osama Bin Laden but my friend best friend. Or this friend of friend, or my best friend wife who has a lovely single young men friend and would I mind if they dropped in?

I am not sure what drives seemingly sedate a young man to desire meaningful relationships with an ugly old bloke like me. It must be biology, which can play dreadful trick.

A good mate, an affluent, semi-retired nurse (at the age of 35?) met Peter, and happily in the relationship since. Or Andy, meets an attractive, handsome young men. When the fling is over, he becomes nasty and keeps phoning his family, causing trouble. Some gay men can be so unreasonable.

Let me assure you that I have nothing against gay men (remember! I am one of them!!!!)

Actually, I’ve had a boyfriend, a lovely man (but then, the relationship end-up not even we started!) He tends to be a trifle suspicious, like many members of our sex. And at times he can be kind, nice, generous, bossy and vain.

However, he is really a lovely man, really.

The other night we had a dinner at one of the fancy restaurant in the city centre, we could talk and talked, we had a lot in comman. I don't claim to be a pin-up boy but I do wash, shave and iron my shirts and strongly resent any claims to the contrary.

My lovely man and I get along very nicely: at that time, I have no intention of swapping him for some blonde, nor have I implied or insinuated such an ambition.

Things have calmed down now. However, he wants us to discuss our inner feelings and me to express my emotions. I have strong opinions on footy games, movies, food, or even religion even, and I am happy for is to talk about them, but inner feeling?

This was always the sort of thing that gay man discussed with each other without requiring their partner to get involved. It worked well enough for my father's generation and for mine. Why change now? I suspect gay man want to copy the younger generation, but I reckon that too much honesty is the cause of their high divorce rate!!!!

My lovely man is an attractive and glamorous men, live in South Yarra, few block away from mine, a fashionista, I believed. I tend more to the Alf Garmett style, but we enjoy each other's company. I have a few good mates and we like to get together occasionally and solve some of the world's problems. My lovely man also has some old friends and new friend, they meet regularly on the internet gay.com....

My lovely man, and I had agreed, that both of us can't be a lover or partner, this because we having some problem in bed and also I am not skinny enough (not that I am fat! Just that he likes skinny man instead). But, instead he likes me to be his "f**k buddy" (if you know what I meant) It's the gay things, you won't heard that in hetro life....

My mates all agree that gay men have change and not necessarily for better. When we were young, boys were great fun, always good for a bit of a lark. Age is so unkind to some gay men. But it’s not to my lovely man. Sensible and calm mostly, attractive, perhaps a trifle b*@&*, and still good for a lark...............

Till now, hopes you still enjoy reading and sharing my journey…..

Chow....... Have a lovely weekend and don’t get too drunks and ops! Be safe, play safe and enjoy!

Love Song - what we learned from it...!

It was Wednesday night, and it was raining outside. For the first time I felt empty and alone, seem like everyone is busy now days and never pick up or return the called.

So after failure of keeping in touch with peoples around, I just pour glass of black label for myself and start to turn on my music and continue my reading.

Looking at my CD’s collection, made me realized that so many CD’s that I haven’t had the chance to re-play or hardly played. Suddenly I felt like to listen to all those sloppy love song from my generation. From Diana Ross to Richard Max, all is about love, lost, sadness, being alone, being in love, happiness bla.... bla.... It felt like my life "soundtrack" been replay. But it's the sad soundtrack!

Those words from the song's made me realized and hard to believe how love songs can be easily attract our ears…

So let me talked about "love" and how fast that "fallen in love" exactly took.

After listening from one CD's to another, there are two main schools of love, you either subscribe to the Phil Collins "You can't hurry love" philosophy or Take That "It only takes a minutes."

It's hard to say who's right, Collins was balder and had a man band, not a boy one, so he is more wiser. But his "give and take" sounds like advice from an elderly auntie.

Meanwhile, Take That's argument suggest the pop-star' immune system might not cope with more than one minute of passion:

“If you get a flu attack, for 30 days you're on your back, Doing not a single dance, Baby give me half a chance”

Perhaps they were commenting on life's fragility.

Anyway, neither answers could we get from that song. But how long exactly does it take to fall in love?

To my relief, academia is on the case. Dr Frank Bernieni, of Oregon State University, reckons love falling is a 30 second phenomenon. The slightly more conservative estimated from Rutgers University's Dr Helen Fisher is eight minutes. And then there's New York - based psychology professor Arthur Aron, trailing with a positively tardy 90 minutes. Forget about not hurrying love - you'll be lucky to catch up with it.

They all claim their studies prove instant love exists. "You can simply look at somebody and trigger that brain chemistry for romantic love" says Fisher, who scanned her subject' brains and found them swimming in feel good hormones, "we are animals that were built for love at first sight."

Aron agrees it's all in the first gaze. When he asked strangers to stare silently into each other eyes for four minutes, they felt attracted and connected. In fact, one couple were so love struck they married six months later.

He also recommends fear as an aphrodisiac and suggests "somewhere scary for a first date." That explains why I once fell for a man with an apartment so terrifying the cockroaches stayed away. But why don't I love the dentist? Or Marilyin Manson? Or myself, first thing in the morning? Perhaps I should have taken my credit card bill on some first date 0 it doesn't get more frightening than that.

Unless you believe Frank Benieri who says that after 30 second's love's a done deal. If that first impression is favourable, your beloved will strive to make everything he subsequently learns about you fit it.

Bernieri doesn't explain what happens when image and reality simply can't be reconciled but perhaps it's why a past encounter of mine didn't work-out. I met the man while wearing layers of shapeless items I'll charitably describe as "leisure wear" a scaffs on my neck, an unshaved face and angry, angry because I have to sit on the taxi which in normally took me 10 minutes but it took me 45 minutes to get there.

For our first date, I dressed up and the very next days, at my friend house warming party he told me that he love me. It took him less than 30 hours to fall in love, but it took me, if you want my honest answer, three months, ten dates and four sex's.

These theory are manna to peddlers of quick - fix match making. Speed-dating agencies often quote Fisher's eight-minutes rule and in her man-catching book, "Mr. Right, Right Now" agony auntie E. Jean Carroll raves about Bernieri's research, rechristened "the clicking phenomenon."

"Knock his socks off in half a minute, then relax," she says, "Because after that, it's a irrelevant."

If only it were that easy . Other professors have sobering news about instant love. The brain's love drugs, say London researchers, undermine your critical faculties, making you blind to someone's faults. An Italian study claims their effects resemble obsessive-compulsive disorder. And they wear off.

I wonder how long that takes? Perhaps only minutes, explaining why my dates keep getting shorter and shorter. Forget heartbreaks: I might more likely to suffer motion sickness......

Especially when all the song lyrics was like :

You tried your best to show me
that you really cared
said if there were days I was lonely
Just call you - you'd be there

You tried you best convinced me
that you understand
and if I needed someone to hold on to
You wanted to be the man....."

So what you reckon with this? I mean how long will take you to fall in love.... 30 second? One hour, one day, one weeks, one month, or one year.....!

Till then, I wish you the best and was my pleasure to know that you still keep reading this old man journey. Remember - don't push it, it will come naturally - I meant don't pust love...

Have a good night!