Starfucker dream #20371.

I was at a Talking Heads gig and it was cold and grey and I was naked as the day I was born. The security guards were pursuing me but not for indecency or anything like that but because they disagreed with a quip I'd made about turtles at the turnstiles.
Talking Heads only played bluegrass throughout the set which left everyone in a bit of a culturally disconnected fug but everyone remained respectful, if a little stilted on the applause, nonetheless.
After the set I sat between Harrison and Byrne discussing many things but as it is with most dreams, it felt as though three very distinct and altogether unrelated conversations were taking place simultaneously. In one of the many awkwardly quiet moments, I asked if I could try out Jerry Harrison's Roland guitar synth. And he said, "Not dressed like that, you fucking can't."
I was disappointed, to say the least.
After the feast, someone kindly lent me a paisley shift they happened to have spare in their backpack. They'd sown a strange little pocket into an awkward point over the right shoulder blade. I managed to extricate what looked like tens of thousands of dollars from it and offered to hand it back but they simply replied, "Keep it. You look as though you'll buy some nice things."

I believe, some day we'll live in a world without love.

Scribbles on a strangely normal liar's past.

There weren't many daisies outside the encyclopedia. We had dandelions and clovers, come spring and summer. Eastview Avenue kids down at Kent Road creek made ropes of 'em because we felt necklaces were pointless.
Leeches were perfectly safe to handle, as long as they were turned inside out on twigs the right way to ward off other kids in our patch of the creek.
The penny bunger should never be held in one's hand at detonation point. The tuppenny bunger was generally kept in the same category until Kerry and I stole one from my brother, lit it and threw it into the reeds. When it didn't go off, I went and fetched the cracker and held it aloft, proclaiming, "Here it - BANG!!!" So no. The penny bunger would take one's hand off. The tuppenny would simply leave your hand numb for a week.
Cigarettes were only to be enjoyed at the ghost pipes in Santa Rosa park, as the chances of being busted by someone's parents definitely diminished the satisfaction quotient.
Chalcedony was a word and a semi-precious stone you definitely did not share with your school friends. This is true of Galena, the mention of Moh's Scale, Toluene, igneous formations and Obsidian. The one time it was tried over in my primary school in Perth led to blood between an English or Scots kid - Stewart - and myself. Equal amounts of blood.
The Eastwood Odeon took twenty five minutes to walk to from my old man's girlfriend's house in the Dundas valley. My Sis and I timed it on her new watch when we went and saw the Batman film. The one with Bat Shark repellent. That stuff must've been deadly on an unparalleled scale because to this day I've never heard of an extant bat shark.
Sneaking in to see American Graffiti eight times at the Picadilly in Perth garnered me much awe and respect amongst my peers at ten years of age.
The ticket for the Temeraire Ferry to Rottnest Island was $11.60 return when I was eleven. I ran away from Knutsford Ave. Slept under the old Thompson's Wharf for the night, got very cold and very hungry. Caught the ferry back the next day. No-one noticed I'd gone which saved me a hiding. I still wonder why I didn't simply purchase a one way ticket.
Girl's perfume burned beautifully. I demonstrated this when I stole some from my sister and set fire to a puddle on the lino of her bedroom floor.
Metho took care of centipedes, funnel webs and from what the adults whispered, Billy Argue up the road.
My primary school in Sydney was a block away from 'the nuthouse' where my Ma worked. The proximity of these two places had me thinking for years that they were all fundamentally part of the same thing.
Catching Echidnas in garbage bins was immeasurably more fun than doing a 5k run in the hinterland of Cloverdale Public School.
Growing up was, still is and - I suspect - always will be a lot more elusive than most people would have us believe.

We knee skinned it you and me we knee skinned that river red