A family comes down the ramp at Sunnyside shopping centre. He, in fluro orange, sized XXXL, a four wheel drive of a man, big as a Nissan Patrol. Silver beard and balding, the hairs above his lips taking on the sheen of nicotine. And she, the body of a grapefruit. Waddles as she walks, thighs rub together like tectonic plates colliding. Tsunami Sal. Once upon a time quite a looker, a cheeky binge drinker, deep throating Dale in the back of his Hilux like no other. He is one of the ones on the road works. Not the one holding up the signs, that’s for the soft cocks. He’s one of the ones who doesn’t quite look like he’s ever not on smoko, and he still comes home cranky. Cos she ain’t as beautiful anymore and he forgets when he’s looking at the back of her, washin his dishes, his gut full, the back of her like the whole of America, that he is not the Mona Lisa either. And the kids, exotic names to give them a good start. Names that sound as beautiful as all the places Dale and Sal saw on the tele. Venice and Skye. They think their mum and dad are holy. They’ll hold onto the shopping trolley as mum packs it up with loaves of tip top and frozen meat pies and pizza shapes and cordial. They fight for the spot on the back, where the steel sits between the wheels, just to hold on, while mum piles it up with the bargains and the shiny glimmering rainbow packets, she’ll give them a backhander if they aren’t careful. But they have no idea. They are fluffy and floating. The world is lit up like a fish tank and they are there, crouched on their knees, noses squished the glass, amazed. The world is amazing.
It’s funny how you can have people around, sometimes alot of them, sometimes enough of them to make you feel you have no time to yourself, and you feel alone.
Some people just do life with you but together you’re not really experiencing it. People flock to people like gorgeous cockroach tape, not questioning, just nibbling. We don’t want to feel alone. We scuttle to fill the voids, scuttle under the ovens and into the back of the fridge, we scuttle to find the putty.
I don’t do that anymore. You know I went to a party a while ago and I hardly talked to a person. I just danced. I danced in red pants. To them I was a weirdo. To me they were sheep going to slaughter. I find it sexy when someone can be alone. I find it sexy even if it’s me. I felt sexy that night. By the end four men were sniffing around. They wanted a piece. To them I was alone, vulnerable perhaps, shaking for their pleasure, their very own bird of paradise. To me I just didn’t care, I wasn’t thinking about them, I wasn’t thinking about me, I wasn’t thinking about anything. One approaches me and he goes, “you hate men I can tell.”
“Yes, you do.”
The DJ changes the disk, and its a corker. I close my eyes and sway, arms rising like serpents. He stays and waits to think of something to say.
“Why don’t you give me a chance?” He calls into my ear.
Serpent arms are eating up the air, the MDMA has really got me, I’m in the bliss zone.
“Well?” He calls out again.
The beat starts picking up and i’m really shaking, head tilts back, hair like seaweed dancing, lights on my face, I’m grinning like a garden gnome.
“How bout I give you a ciggie instead,” I go.
It’s important to surround yourself with those who together you burn, you’re alight, you glimmer, crack and create heat as well as the comfort. Intimacy for me is that kind of thing. That togetherness. That twin. I live for the moments of togetherness. I float forever to an extent without them. A squid plummeting airlessly in the depths of dark blue. I need some sort of grasp on me, I think we all do. Sometimes it’s good though to chose nothing even when your choices are limited. Settling, settle after settle chizzles us down. Maybe I’m just too tired to fabricate now. Time alone is good. You don’t always have to love, to desire, to output, to have somebody there for the sake of warmth. Sometimes it’s nice to just be that little squidy. Dancing with no clue where in the dark blue you’re going to.