A rare photo of me using sparkly eyes technique. 23. Full of Hopes and Dreams.
I made my way to Australia and rapidly found the stories were true.
I went to Blinding bright , Bondi Beach and it was just a total invasion naked tits and asses out on the sand. It was almost too much for me tame Kiwi eyes.
And It was Hot!
I had never felt hot in my life except for on the front half of me when standing next to a bonfire at a bush party in NZ. It never got hot in NZ. While I was in Auzzie it seemed that every day was just a scorcher. Very realive of course… but It felt so hot to me that I would often think of going up to cops on the street and begging them to shoot me dead.
But I was ready to rock.
I’m a Kiwi, a friendly guy and I will say, I was good-looking and healthy. I was a strong young working-class worker lad, lugging slates up ladders or mixing concrete like a blue-collar boss.
Let the adventures begin!
Now of the adventures, I am not going to go into raunchy detail because I am not that kind of writer… and I feel sex is a sacred bond between two people even if one of them is a completely feral Australian gal, with ribbon-wrapped dreadlocks and takes place in the fine red dust of an outback rave chill out area.
But the results were in…
Ultimately within a few months, I was an ashamed and drained husk and so I switched over from physical gratification and making up for lost time to actually trying to find a soul mate.
To build a sane stable relationship based on love and trust.
Well, I discovered that I was not going to find a partner who wanted to settle down from any of the following:
A crazy redhead heavy metal gal, who had been kicked out of home for being too nuts and lived in her friend’s lounge.
A sly secretive Goth gal who was in a total state of hate against her parents, and the world, that I could only meet at the clubs or after midnight by climbing through her window.
A 36-year-old very rich Afrikaner gal who, at least once a day cried over the fact that her tits were starting to droop.
A possessed Witch gal who was 33 and lived with her strict religious parents.
A good-looking blond super healthy gym gal whom my friends started calling Manhands. She was one of the best of the lot … but the callused hands… and the muscles…and the super thick Auzzie Accent and the intensity of doing too much sports…and the muscley cooch… I just couldn’t handle and I had to fake a sick relative and fake fleeing to New Zealand. I even had her drive me there… then I got the bus back to the city and hid. I could write a story just on this.
I’m not going to go on… as it’s just too sad, but I loved them all deeply.
I would try to create a sane stable relationship based on love and trust with these girls.. and it would often start out pretty good but soon they would realize I was obsessed with self-improvement and the improvement of others.
My energy and my enthusiasm for things were never-ending… and as I type this late at night… may still just be so…
Apparently my “Rules” were too harsh for the Auzzie Gals.
The rules were.
Eat food.
Don’t do drugs and don’t drink so much that you spew.
Don’t cheat or flirt with other guys.
Don’t be crazy and get super sad or super angry for no reason.
I felt that I had to put guidelines in this game… gotta be strict!
The relationships would almost always end the same way.
Usually, we would be walking along and I would say something like…
“I punched him out because he was fake fucking you on the dance floor!”
Or
“Why haven’t you eaten all day?”
Or
“Your grumpy and feel sick because you drank three bottles of wine last night.”
There would be a pained silence then she would literally sit down on the footpath and say …
“I can’t do this.”
Me: “Do what?”
“This!”
Me: “What’s This?”
“The always trying to be better. I think you need someone who, you know wants to be better. Someone that wants to like take vitamins and stuff”.
Then she would burst into tears of loss and relief.
Analyzing it now… Loss because I was fucking amazing.
The best boyfriend they would probably ever have. And I can say that as truth because almost every one of them reached out to me through Facebook as they hit 40 or so to thank me for the special time we had and “See what I’m up to now?”
Which was happily Married and living in America…much to their disappointment.
And Relief because I was relentless, driven, testosteroned out, and obsessed with self-improvement. Even I find myself a bit much to handle… and I’m me.
So it would end but that would NOT be THAT.
Because I was Goth AF, I could get more out of this breakup, than sadly walking away from a gal crying her eyes out on a Sydney sidewalk…
I would go back to my place and put my purple beanbag right by the stereo.
Turn all the lights out. Light one solitary candle and put on something super sad.
Bands such as:
London after Midnight.
Girls under Glass.
VNV Nation.
Wolfshiem
or others of that ilk.
Some pretty super sad goth darkwave super sadness.
OK. So on that beanbag with that candle going listening to that…
I’ll give you the link… but you have to supply your own candle, dark room, and bean bag.
I would put that on with the candle and just focus with everything I had on the pain. The total dark essence of abandoned aloneness.
I would just let it consume me. Every part of my being focused on the loss, the gothness, the words, and the beautiful sadness.
Till I was a crying shaking wreck.
At this point, the friends I lived with would usually come home and say
“ What the Fuck dude! Is this sad enough for you?”
And I would say
“No… can you put it on track 7? ”
I would do about 4 hours of that. And it would cleanse me.
I would cry it all out and emerge reborn!
Because I had a way of confronting and processing the pain with my candle bean bag system I could be back in the game right the next fucking day and would not have to write any sort of teary, embarrassingly heartfelt, and slightly beggy Facebook message, 3 kids, 20 shitbird boyfriends and 20 years later.
I’m a very slow learner and love emotional pain, ( hence my career as trauma counselor ) so it was a full two years of hope that this gal was the one….followed by the crying and my bean bag system before I realized something had to give…
Stay tuned…
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I’m sorry, easily 50 years ago I invented lying down in a dark room listening to sad music until I sobbed .. so step away, crazy man.
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