A Note To The Bottom Bar

 

And why after all these years do I still hang out with Jessie? And why, (and this is serious) does she carry in her wallet a picture of me when I was 22?

It is not love. It is something else. Sometimes I think it is stronger. It is pervidious and opaque.*1

She said at the bar (it was St. Valentine's day, but no one knew) "whenever I come down here, everyone is just the same but older." And she was right, but for her, but she could not see it (there is no mirror for this girl). She could only see the faces of others growing old in her gaze. (It becomes a question of the origin of decay). This was sad for her though there was no pain or wonder in her eyes.

She cannot sit still for long. She goes away and comes back. Stillness for this one is a needle. And I understand this purity. The purity of steel. The need to be still against a world. But oh, to watch the shrinking of a soul.

And there are times when we talk of death usually over dinner and sometimes perverse sex when the bars and cafes are closed and it is the hour of forbidden secrets and the street is empty but for shadows' tortured dancing.

She says, "I'm going to show you what I bought myself today. "She takes a small oblong light brown cardboard box from her bag and puts it on the table. On one end is a label on which is printed GOD. "God", I say, "now that's a good buy." She opens it. Inside is straw, and under the straw are ten small painted wooden Indians. I take them out and put them on the table. They can all stand up but one. It is this one we both look to.

There is a level of knowledge that defies the simple love that once was between a man and a woman or would be if you could forget everything. Or the rocks did not hold the proof marks of time, or the sea could stop it lyric and the world at last would finally come out of nothing instead of the dreams of dust and the dust of dreams.

And real knowledge, knowing is just the narrowing of gaze. This is not like the choice of some brilliant young intellectual with flowing hair and eyes too bright for passion. It is the necessity accepted, as in prayer, of the glorious defeat of the vanquished. It is when the weight of everything holds everything but a solitary bird fast becoming the only vanishing point in God's vision.

Love may well be the pure point of it all, but without the energy of evil it has no place in this world.

This is a message well understood by anyone who has endured beyond the first embrace.

Cathleen. Her face when I gave her that book of Tennyson's poetry, the first edition, the one she loved. The one I stole from the library.

I look at myself in the mirror across the bar, 'I can forgive you - forgive you everything - everything but that.'

The memories - they flood in - like disembodied spirits - rushing for a place to be -one moment - in me.

And then?

Forgetfulness? No such luck. There is always the last moment. There is always the next moment.

Forgetfulness.

And Sally who confuses love with bourbon, or was it me she confused with bourbon (?) comes into the bar with her dog, that has a name I can't remember but it sounds like 'bourbon'. Her 'boyfriend', a fifty-two year old 'ex'-junkie who confuses love with 'Harry' and 'Harry' with Sally is hovering out on the street. In the meantime Sally has a love, I mean a bourbon, while I undress her on the pool table and ask the juke-box, 'could I ever want her again?'

This morning I found my old friend Soren in the garage in a trunk. His back was broken and his days barely bound to one another hanging on a thread from the shirt in the old fable opening to the stains of alcoholic visions like the inkblot tests of time's regret and the misplaced histories of broken hearts. And when I lifted him gently to the day he said, "Everything is possible spiritually speaking, but in the finite world there is much that is not possible. This impossibility the knight nevertheless makes possible by expressing it spiritually and renouncing it. The desire that would convey him out into reality, but came to grief on an impossibility, now bends inwards but is not lost thereby or forgotten. At times it is the unconscious workings of desire in him which awaken the memory, at others it is he himself that awakens it, for he is too proud to want to let the whole content of his life seem to have been but a fleeting affair of the moment. He keeps his young love, and it grows with him in years and beauty. On the other hand he needs no finite occasion for its growth. From the moment he made the movement the princess is lost."*2

So, I rang Megan.

The line was dead and she had this to say, "I love you bastard, have you heard from Jessie?"

All those years of learning/ the eating of dry leaves/ taught me the great joy of absence/ (on the other side of God)/ and what to do with a woman/ when all the trees have died/

And the path of knowledge is not strictly speaking a path, for the spirit knows no direction. And the world, the world is riddled with tracks and look where they are going. Find your way out if you can, but remember there is no path.

And the only girl with green eyes that are not cold or evil smiling would say, "what is your advice to me?" I would say, "the heart is not for sale" (but there is not a girl for whom this would make any sense at all) and I would know this before I say it.

And I loved her when I first laid eyes on her, and weeks later when I drank from her sea green eyes, and I know it is the same for her, but I doubt that she has faced the enormity of it, or is it that she is just trying to reorganize the world before she surrenders? What she doesn't know is that I have already left.

The secret of these words is what is not written and never will be written, but there is one who knows. It is buried deep in her heart. Too deep for life but not the sea.

At this point you may abjure.

You see I fixed it so that she would never wish to see me again. In retrospect it was amazingly simple. I never thought about it at the time. All I did was be true to my heart instead of hers.

I said, "you want my magic you bitch, but you won't stand with me in the light."

She left in a sea blue tear.

All it took was years of love and madness, and one walk out on the pier and back.

Tonight the demons are enraged just a little across the Bay.

And mathematics teaches honour without passion.

And loneliness is the ground of all passion. Tell all those who have conquered it and cannot understand why.

It is the taste of absinth. It is exhilaration on a Swiss Alp.

Comparable only to the lock-up in the vice of the lips of a thigh.

And I am a frozen man who has lost the sure knowledge of touch. I am terrified at its faltering. My fingertips are numb.

My heart is white. It is the burning of ice.

And some would point of history for the freezing. But history is just dust and the refuge of weak vision.

I say, 'the moment' or 'metaphysics' / eternity or a thigh.

(And this is what I should have said to Petra when she spoke of why she's leaving her husband. Her father died when she was five - the idea being - leaving before you get left. And when her husband came into the bar he looked as if he had died but hadn't left).

so

what was the point of all those years of breathless?

The colour of flame into the soft black that was as impenetrable as stone, that held no light or warmth when all is said and done, just the illusion of the promise and the promise never made.

Such it was with one girl
and perhaps them all.

though I suspect
her soft dark eyes
on this

something else / yet nothing more to say

her soft dark eyes

The rabbi asked, "do they put you under pressure?" "No", she said, "they just look at me with hurt eyes." "That's pressure", the rabbi said.

And the source of all pervidity is this: we have to play God with each other just to get through the day, not to mention the hours the minutes the tears.*3

And souls continually distorting to the point where shape and motion come to one. All is fluid and nothing fixed till God has left the scene.

"It was a bright yellow Valiant Charger, Officer with a smashed up right front end."

"Yeah, what about the driver?"

"Ah, he was wearing a cowboy hat and those reflector sun glasses."

"How old?"

"Geeze I don't know, very hard to tell."

"O.K., anything else?"

"Yeah, there was a blonde chick in the back seat. She looked doped out like she was having her own party."

"Alright, what about the license plate number?"

"Well I only got the first three letters - LJL*."4

He goes over to the motor-cycle talks into his radio and then comes back. "Yeah, we know who it is. We've been trying to get that dude for some time."

He was about to walk off when he picked up something from the gutter. I didn't get a close look, but it was a small wooden figure of some sort. He looked at it intently for some time, put it in his pocket, got on his bike, cranked it and was gone.

I went back into the bar.

There is a little man in the corner where Snowy used to sit and everyone says he's strange. On the table he has a jar with two spiders in it. He likes to watch them fight. He eats raisins, reads books in Latin, smokes a pipe and drinks Vic. Bitter stubbies. No one talks to him, not even Socrates when he's drunk.*5

And what happens in the event of something? Does anyone know? And you must understand I never expected it to go this way. Not at all (neither did church hierarchy). It has surpassed even my wildest dreams. "It's true I have lived a wonderful life", as I said to the nymphet with the eyes of a cat and the body of an angel. She was a young speed freak who fell in love with my scars. She said, "I'll come back next week and show you my hair." I told her to shave the sides and dye them blue. "Blue?" "Yeah, blue. Then we go. There's a festival in San Antonio - but it must be blue - shaved and blue. You understand that don't you?" "Yes", she said. "I do."

And getting close to each other is peeling back the mountains and building a single cave.

And Jill (we were cell mates in detox) came to see me (there was no one else and no where else to go). Her wrists and arms covered in slashes and cigarettes burns. I bought her some wine. She got up to go to the toilet, "you'll be here when I come back won't you?" "Yeah." "Are you sure you'll be here, you won't go will you?" "No, I won't go, I'll be here when you get back." "Promise?". "Yeah, don't worry sweetheart." She came back, her wrists cut. I said, "what are we goin' to do darlin'?" She said, "I'm not goin' back to any of those places Wink, never again." Her wrists bleeding on the table, the blood running in spilt beer.

And there were times when I felt the great power of indestructibility (at the Gatwick when I was drinking myself to death according to popular myth. And when I was making love with Cathleen), but just now, an acute sense of the thread.

And in the dying Autumn light, the Bottom Bar glass door covered in fingerprints from top to bottom.

Today I bought a card. On it is a picture of a heart on a bottle at sea.

It has a dark background. In the foreground about half way down to the bottom are the waves of a choppy sea. Their contours are sharp and the colour a light blue fading into black. In the centre of the sea is a frosted white bottle. It is leaning about five degrees as if in motion in the sea. On the outside of this bottle, in the centre, is painted a heart in deep bright red. It's curvature is sensuous. It is of a woman's thigh, her lips, her vulva, her eyes. It is a woman's heart.

In the card I write:
'Always in the darkest hour the moaning of a dove.'

Ismini tells me of her heart's dancing - a butterfly lost in shadows..........

..........and I tell her, "you can't just separate out love from sex and regard them as separate and apart." She says, "I'm not doing that." I say, "you are." And she says, "yes, you're right - what are you going to do about it?"

Ismini is a very tricky customer without knowing it or meaning to be. She speaks in metaphor - the subtlest of all. Her heart is like the ocean when the moon is high. Each wave disappearing closer to the shore. Her language is mist, soporific mist. It weaves and enchants and lures. It is angel drug. And then like the moment of waking you suddenly face the literal before you know it. And the truth bare and sharp and vivid and if it wasn't for her bewitching green eyes everything would seem real.

When I am quiet she says, "tell me a story." So I tell her the story of Scheherazade.

Someone puts Over The Rainbow on the juke-box. I say, "Jerry Lee." She says,
"who?" "Jerry lee Lewis." She says, "I like that man he stayed with his madness."

the core uncovered/ the wound exposed/ a brilliant blood/ the silver heart/ a solitary pulse/ beating/

I open the bottle and have the first hit. I look out the window and it's her car. I don't want to believe it. I check it - yes the tow bar - the roof rack - the baby seat - but how could it be? How could it be just outside the room just given me - just after the first drink?

And then I see her from the back getting into the car. Even her back tells me she knows.

And all of a sudden the terrible truth again.

And I look in the old Gatwick mirror - a shadow cuts diagonally across my face from just below the right eye.

And love so beautiful, so fragile - the heart flying spirit

The golden bird in darkness
is all there really is.

Never caged - there is no golden cage.

Build what you will, concrete the emptiness to nothing (this is called living) if you will, and you will.

But still only a glimpse, a wisp, a song on your window sill and gone.

And you sitting there in your civilization. You knew in your heart of hearts it was nothing before you started.

And it aches anciently in your mind - 'so much so little' 'so much so little.' Your mind aches the waiting (there is only the waiting and its name is 'eternity').

And if so, what is left? To drink? To drink?

It is a lonely room and you are a lonely room in the darkness.

Things were not good when I returned to the Bottom Bar.

All the men looked at me with eyes of hate, the women with eyes of wonder.

But this was no consolation.

I remembered only the pain in Michelle's face when she said -

'You slapped me and what you said to me.'

'Look, I'm sorry, and I don't remember what I said.'

'Get fucked Wink.'

And then she ran off.

I was staring at the mirror behind the bar when I noticed on the shelf an envelope with my name on it. I got the barmaid to give it to me. It was an Aus. Post envelope with a vending machine postage stamp dated 1989. The stamp was a picture of a frill-necked lizard. On the back it says of the frill-necked lizard: '....found in wooded areas where it feeds on insects and mice. When alarmed the lizard opens its mouth, causing the frill around its neck to become erect.'

I opened the envelope. Inside was a snap-shot. It was a colour picture of the marble landing at the entrance to the Gatwick in which the name GATWICK is carved in black. I turned it over and on the back was written in blue ink:

1.10 p.m.

Wink...............

What's happening ?? !!

Ring me on 5102267

Sal

In this bar there is a beautiful dark girl who for sometime has been looking at me. This afternoon I ended up sitting at the table next to her. After a while I thought I should introduce myself. I said, "I've seen you here before, I'm Wink." She said, "Vanessa." After a few minutes she said, "Wink, I don't know if you remember but I spoke to you the other night." "Oh, Jesus Vanessa - spare me - don't tell me what I said." "Oh, it was O.K." she laughed, "it's just that you looked so unhappy, I just had to come over and speak to you." "Vanessa, I went on a four day bender, I don't remember anything." "You just looked so unhappy." "Yeah."

I went up to the bar to talk to Robyn, when at my side two detectives appeared. It was Shane, the Detective Sergeant from St. Kilda and the other one I didn't know. Shane said, "I was just passing and I saw your head." "Aw, good to see ya mate." "I just hadn't seen you for awhile, are you still teaching?" "No, I'm retired." "Aw, that's no good." "No, it's O.K." I was trying to play it cool. Shane was O.K., it was his sidekick who un-nerved me - expressionless - emotionless - the eyes of a killer - and he never took them off me. I said to Shane, "how are ya kids?" "They're good.""And your wife?" I asked hesitantly. He just laughed, "yeah, the wife and the girlfriend, it's all working out." "Same one?" "Yeah." "Well, that's solid", I said looking over tothe sidekick. He was looking hungry. "Well, I was just passing saw ya head, just thought I'd say hello." "Well thanks mate, it's been good to see ya." He turned to Robyn and said, "take care of this cowboy."

When they left you could have heard a pin drop or a heart sink.

Dr. Duff said to me on my first visit to him, "you know when you first wake, before you are fully awake, it's often then that you see the truth."

This morning I woke thinking of Sarah. Sarah who I haven't seen or heard of for years. It's so distant or should be now - thinking of her - her and I - it's like someone else's dream.

And I'm talking to her still trying to save her. Jesus.

After all these years - knowing - even now - nothing has changed. Her core, her dark brooding essence. And what she did - unforgivable.

She said, 'a woman wants a man to lay down his life for her.'

I didn't know. Not at the time. Not for years. Does she know? Did she ever realize how I punished her?

But at the end of the day I see only the beginning - her face across the bar at the Cafe Paradise.

The surface and the core.

The twisted core - primeval - prime and evil.
The surface - all light and sunshine - the beautiful girl smile

What is the connection?

And mostly it has been thought that good and evil are equal and opposite forces or qualities. What I know is that evil (however you define it) is more persistent. It has as it were a longer half life. It hangs in. It is entirely at ease in the world. It is of this world. It has the feel for it. It is the grain. What we call evil, identify as evil, its appearance, the phenomena of it, is just its eruptions, its exuberance - spot fires in the desert night. Whereas good is not like this. It floats. It floats in and out of the world. It is a translucent shadow. If it stays, it stays not of its own accord. Its staying is an accident that happens to, and is held by the world, quite without reason and design (from the point of view of the world). It is a constant but delightful exception that can infect is host, spread to near environs and even leave a trace, a mark, a memory.

He was a young teacher of philosophy at the university. And she (who was to be his student, before either of them knew) was a small dark skinned girl about 17 or 18 years old.

And his friend introduced him to her in the Agora. "This is Angela. Angela is crazy." And the small dark skinned girl said. "I'm not really, not really crazy." But he knew she was and he fell in love with her then.

And from then on, whenever he turned around she was there.

One night she gave herself to him and he took her in a dark and violent passion.

From that night they lived as one.

And he remembered his years with her as happy, yet happiness as such was not something he sought or understood. And there were those who knew him back them, who would say later, he was happy in those years.

One day she told him she was 'burning up'. Not long after she left. He went to Texas.

So, T and I. We sip peppermint tea. She says, "do you like my hair?" "Yeah, it looks good sweetheart, but you know what I said - the sides - shaved and blue." She just laughs, pulls her hair back, looks in the mirror, obviously enjoying the attention and says, "next time cowboy, next time."

She puts on a tape of Piaf and brings out a cardboard pop-up of the Karma Sutra. It looks like a children's book and reads like a pervert's manual. In the hands of T it could be either or both. T looks about 13 but must be in her early twenties.

She asks me if I read children's stories. I tell her I don't. She tells me a children's story she has just read. It is the story of a magpie that lives alone on an island. A sailor and his son bring a female magpie to the island to be the lone magpie's mate. One day the female magpie is flying as a helicopter is passing over the island, she thinks the helicopter is a flock of birds and gets caught in its propeller and is killed. The sailor tells his son that the magpie had had his time with his mate and they had done all they had done together and then it was over. Once again the magpie was alone. The sailor tells his son that this is how life can be.

On her coffee table T has a book by Marc Olsen entitled, TE/The Power. On the back of it is written, 'In Asia it is said he who walks alone must be either a god or a beast'.

I woke with the hammer of death right in the pit of the gut. A dream - Jessie in the Bottom Bar out of control. She was throwing shoes. She had an endless supply of shoes. I went over and grabbed her and held her. She went limp in my arms. I looked into her face. It was dead.

And today my life is too much for me alone. And yet another? How could another? How could another get close enough toknow? Let alone to hold?

Rebekka. Rebekka. At the bar in desperation, "I just don't fit in anywhere. I never have." Rebekka. her pain as much physical as spiritual. She did not fit in even with her own body, or her body did not fit in with her. (It is an open question).

And I said, "either do I." But this was no bridge, no consolation for her. She knew this in her pain. It was her pain (for the ground of pain is just the ache that is the echo of the existence of others).

Has there ever been a love born of truth? Was there ever one love lived in goodness? One love. One love ended - ended with honour? Not in, not with, not for this man.

And still I persist with the great fraud morality. But is there any real choice? It is of necessity. Necessity. Blind pointless necessity. The white veiled woman forever vanishing in view

And beautiful girl faces. Girl eyes. There is no attaining this. Only loss.

And the world. The world is, what is, when you subtract me. And what must it be to be the world? Instead of me? Does the world feel as left out of me, as I do of the world. Or is it just the same from the other side? That uneasy truce - existence.

And I only begin to feel well these days when I write. And in between the word times the pain is the same but for that dice rolling moon.

And yet always you can find me (there is a hidden place I am always in) wishing, wishing for what I am not. This life,my life, this living is just the wish for what is not - for what is not itself? Can you guess? The answer is so funny. Eternity is laughter.

Maureen is one who would give everything to me. She would become me. And I have not taken her. And for that she has gone mad.

For the past two week I have been carrying in my wallet a picture of Audrey when she was fifteen.

I went to my trunk one morning and sorted through the pictures until I found it.

I don't know why I did this.

And I was drinking with Victoria at the bar and we were getting drunk and talking about memories and early memories.

And I said, "I can show you a picture of the person who gave me my first memory." I showed her the picture of Audrey. She said, "she's very beautiful. Is she still alive?" "No, she died when I was 17 or 18. She's my mother's sister. She married a G.I. during the war. She was only 17. When I was about two years old she came back from Texas for a stay. I remember her putting me in a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson hat and giving me the most loving hug and kiss.

Victoria looked at the picture again and said, "she understood the wildness in you."

And there were the drunken days and nights and weeks that ran into a month or two. And Robyn.

Her pain is in her language and it often drives me to distraction. But her gentleness is untouched and unadulterated in the madness of her words. She is thin and quaint and strangely beautiful. An Emily Dickinson yet to be is part of my image of her.

And the days and nights she carried me. She looked after me.

At closing time I told her all I wanted was a piece of floor to lie on. She said,
"you need to eat." And she too me to Topolinos and fed me and then took me to her house.

I drank her bottle of Midori and then shed what was left of my soul, the violence, the anger, the despair. And I remember some sweetness in bitter tears.

This went on for days. She paid for everything, against all my protest. But I needed to drink and she half understood this.

And when I came good for a day and a night, in a record shop looking at a Ray Charles C.D. she said, "I want to buy this for you." I said, "don't do that." She said, "yes I will because I love you."

And they say alcoholics are sick, I think they're just metaphysical.

And the push is this: the eternal unrequitable hunger for the ness - the softness, the wetness, the secretness - the empty clasp of the ness.

"I don't know", says Socrates. "But I know one thing son, I'm gunna have a drink - would you care to join me?", he says passing the vial. "And I'll tell you something else kid, it's the last day and this is your last drink."

"Yeah, sure it is old man", I say, but he doesn't seem to hear.

"So let's get into it", he says, "and cut all this crap about......what was it?"

"It was......." I start to say, but he cuts me off.

"Who gives a fuck - here's looking up ya."*6

I look up and there she is coming down the stairs.

And she starts with the usual happy-chat-crap and then, "I just wanted to see you." I say, "I didn't think you'dhave the gall." And then she feigns surprise and then just as quickly real anger/pain. "Gall, is that all you think it is - gall - well I'll just fuck off then." She walks off and I grab her on the stairs. And then the tears. She screams, "you hate me don't you, you hate me." I take her hand and say, "I've only ever loved you." "And I love you", she says squeezing my hand, her eyes closed tight. She breathes deeply as if trying to control her breathing. And then she says, "don't look at me like that - you're the only one who knows me - it's too intense." I look away. And then silence. And then we are face to face again. I say, "if you ever get close to me again I'll kill you." She says, "I know you would." And the look in her eyes, it was if we had just made love. And then she laughs and says, "why am I laughing?" I say, "I know why you're laughing." She starts to cry again and turns away saying, "I wish I'd never met you, I hate you, I hate you." She moves to me and kisses me gently and deeply. She grabs hold of my hand as if she will never let go, kisses me again and then she is gone.

And the black moon burns fierce in a mad man's heart.

and I am back in detox again.

and here with Vikram Seth, Chaucer and Ray Charles

and all would be well but for the pissing of blood

and where's the horror in this?

even horror has had its day -

and what to make of the madness of my life?

and not just the memory years but from the very start

(there was one a child born with a crazy heart)

and each moment in eternity's clasp

and death is just another day

but one clear and sharp

and strangely, it does not seem to fit or have a part

life is chaos and chaos art, how could such end, how could such start?

and I am struck by the wonder of me

and no longer afraid of this life for all its majesty and all its power now bleeding uncontrollably

and if these words be my last, to this true man

sub specie aeternitatis

lift your spirit, raise your glass

And in the therapy session this morning the psychologist asked me, "why do you drink?" I said, "the short answer is, I don't really know." And then I asked him, "what do you think the answer might be?" He said, "I don't know either, but I think there is in you a strong drive for oblivion, and you go at with all the dedication of a Nobel Prize Winner."

And it's always the same - the haunting - within a day or two she knows.

I walk into the dining room and there is Di.

"What a surprise", she says, "you're back. What happened?'

"Look Di, I'm not telling you anything."

"Wink, I won't tell her you're here, anyway she's...."

"Di, I don't wanna know."

"Wink it'll be confidential. I won't tell anyone."

"Yeah."

"If I can do anything...."

And the therapist comes in and says, "the out-patient's meeting is starting Di."

"I have to go."

"O.K. Di."

She goes off to Group.

And I am numb.

A cigarette out in the garden and a full moon about to come.

And the gods have got it in for me.

I go to the nurse's station. She checks the book, looks up and says, "no leave."

This morning I had an appointment with Worfit for a vocational assessment. This had been arranged by the Superannuation Board as part of their review of my benefits. I left the hospital at 9.00 am.

The woman who interviewed me was a Greek girl about my age. She was a psychologist armed with computers and tests.

The main project was to use a computer program to see what occupations are suitable to someone with the skills of a secondary teacher, albeit a de-frocked one.

The program she used had a U.S. data base. Some of the highlights were as follows:

MEDICAL RECORD ADMINISTRATOR

BAR EXAMINER

DIRECTOR OF INSTITUTIONAL RESEARCH

ABSTRACTOR

UNDERWRITER

DIRECTOR SAFETY COUNCIL

INSPECTOR, WATER POLLUTION CONTROL

INVESTIGATOR, CASH SHORTAGE

POET

HAZARDOUS WASTE MANAGEMENT SPECIALIST

PARA-LEGAL ASSISTANT


And there is one I cannot yet find the words for

and perhaps it is just that I am too afraid

the words will turn to tears

and the tears to beautiful little blue birds

I could never hold and never forsake

I could only stand and watch them fill the sky.

Her name is Isabelle.

There is a guy here named George. He lives in the Flagstaff Gardens in the summer and under a bridge in the winter. For the first couple of days he was so doped out he thought he was in a motel. He would ring the night bell for room service and request various beverages and a club sandwich. When he came good he gave me the low down on the park. He said he had the best spot in the park and that he handled the finances of all the other drunks. He organized the buying of booze and pills for all the other residents. This is why he had the best spot in the park. He said that under the bridge there were a lot of intellectual giants. They've just 'dropped out' he said. At the end of one of the lectures on the medical effects of alcoholism, the doctor asked if there were any questions. George said, "doctor, if you dissolved twenty-five valium in a bottle of port and drank it, would that do any harm?" The doctor looked amazed and said, "what?" George repeated the question. "If you dissolved twenty-five valium in a bottle of port and drank it, would that do any harm?" The doctor said, "I think that would do immense harm, do you know anyone who drinks that?" George said, "I do, frequently." I saw on the white board that George was listed to have an interview with the psychiatrist. I thought that'd be interesting, two shit house rats trying to out cun each other. So after the interview I asked George how it went. He said the first thing the shrink said to him was, "you must be a very intelligent man to live the way you do." George didn't take the bait. He just waited for the next assault. "Nevertheless I think you can be rehabilitated." To this George said, "I don't need to be rehabilitated." So the shrink said, "what I mean is that we can get you accommodation." George said, "I don't need accommodation, I got a bridge." So I asked George, "what did he say after that?" "The swine, the dirty swine, he told me he could get me a job." George said to the swine, "I don't want a job." When the swine asked "why?' George said, "That'd fuck up my pension." When George has his smoko he doesn't smoke with the rest of us. He goes to the front of the hospital and stands directly under the porch. I guess it makes him feel more at home.

Little Penny shuffles into the dining room to get a coffee."And what are you doing up so late cowboy?" "Just havin' a read sweetheart." She takes a look, "Ummh, Canterbury Tales, a very lusty tale if I recall." "Yes indeed, have a listento this." I read her the raunchiest piece I can find and she has a good laugh. And then she looks at me penetratingly with the full knowing of her 70 years, "there's a lot more to you than meets the eye cowboy, a lot more."
She shuffles off with her drink. "Have a good night darlin'", I say "and no impure thoughts." "Don't count on that cowboy."

At the end of this morning's lecture the psychologist asked, "any questions?" There were no questions so I thought I'd lob one on him. I said, "you said, 'when you take your first drink you don't think the result will be death and despondency'." "Yes", he said. "Are you then suggesting that despondency comes after death?" Penny laughed, but the other 'participants' missed it. He said, "well who knows what comes after death? Wittgenstein killed himself." "I didn't think you read Wittgenstein." "Yes, the Tractatus." "Well", I said, "I don't think he did, but so what?" "Well it just shows you that being a philosopher is not such a good idea." It was a cheap shot and I really thought he could have come up with something better, but I knew I had him, "do you know what his last words were?" "No", he said. "His last words were, 'I've had a wonderful life'."

Out in the garden having a smoke with Mandy and Samantha. Out comes Geoff a fire brigade guy in his late forties in for alcohol. Mandy and Sam are discussing their various attempts at suicide and the finer points of self-mutilation.They're checking each other's arms and Mandy is telling Sam why she cuts the way she does and where the best spots are and the alternatives. It's the first time I've actually seen Sam converse on anything at all and she's quite engrossed. Geoff keeps saying. "aw girls you don't wanna get into that sort of thing, ya don't wanna get into that." I thought he's gunna drive 'em mad if he doesn't shut up. "Ya don't wanna start on that", he says one more time. And then Mandy pulls up her sleeve and shows him her arm and says, "bit late for that isn't it? Wanna see my legs?" Just then the call came for lunch.

After being interviewed by a fourth year medical student this afternoon, I went back to my room and opened my typewriter and folded up inside I found:

'dear W ink , thankyou for everything
love f rom Isabelle mathew gena and of course jack

sorry about the lack ofcapitals_______bit rusty

and jack hit the shift when i was about to hit
the w

I can never thankyou enough
love isabelle '

And in the last lecture I was to attend before checking out the psychologist said, "we are the stuff dreams are made of."

After that I went to say my goodbyes.

I ran into Penny shuffling up the corridor and as we were talking the psychiatrist passed saying, "veteran's meeting."

And Joan, her black hollow eyes, every morning when I ask her how she is, she hugs me and says, "terrible Wink, does it ever get any better?"

And Mandy, the little bop girl who continually laps the hospital quadrangle, her Walkman beating out Metallica.

I caught her on a lap and told her I was going. "It was really good to meet you Mandy. You're a good lady." "You're a good man", she says, "give me a hug."

And blonde Samantha, 22, in tears begging for more medication, couldn't remember who I was.

And I was at the nurse's station just as the cab came, about to say goodbye to Kerrie, when she fell dead weight in a fit.

I had no more time for goodbyes.

I went straight to the Bottom Bar. There was no one in there not even the barman.

I wanted to buy my mother a gift for her retirement.

I found an antique shop in Collins St.

The dealer, a sharp urbane guy in his late thirties asked me if he could help. I said, "not really, just having a look." "That's fine", he said, "there's more out the back."

I eventually got around to the back room and sitting at a table was this voluptuous dark haired girl. When she saw me, she said with an air of hedonistic abandon, "and what's your particular interest in antiques?" "None whatsoever" I said, "I know nothing about antiques." And then I asked, "is everything here for sale?" She said, "everything, but what I'm sitting on." "Really?" I said, "I didn't think that'd be antique." The dealer in the corner said, "you're right, it's only 28." No response from her to this little exchange, she just poured herself another wine as he and I went out to the front room.

In the other room I said, "you've got a live one there Leroy." He said, "yeah, tell me about it. There's a problem though, I haven't seen my girlfriend for two days. If she should turn up now, there'd be cat fur everywhere. I don't know what to do." "Well the way it looks to me she's busting for it. But a word of warning, if you take her on you're gunna have to do a lot of fucking - so I'd skip all the bullshit - romantic walks, dinners, movies, etcetera - you're gunna need all the strength you've got." "Yeah I think you're right", he said with a doomed look on his face.

I settled on a Staffordshire figurine circa 1820.

I go up to Carlton. Every brick holds a memory and I walk quickly. I go to Lorenzo the barber.

When I'm waiting and he's finished with the last customer or finished talking with his sidekick Joe, he just motions with a nod of his head and I go and sit in the chair. He looks in the mirror and motions with his fingers indicating a short cut. He cuts my hair. When he's finished he gets a small mirror and holds it at the back of my head so I can see in the front mirror how he's cut the back. I just nod in approval. I get up from the chair and go to the counter and pay him. "Thanks Lorenzo." He just nods.

I've been going to Lorenzo for 15 years. In all that time - 15 years - he's never said a word to me. And it's for that reason I go back to Lorenzo each time. I hold him in the highest regard. He's not just a barber, he's a shaman, a high priest, a mystic. I need his silence. The hair cut is just a cover.

I came down the back stairs of the Bottom Bar and sitting at a table by the pinnies were Vanessa and Mitch. "Finally caught you", I said to Vanessa as I kissed her and shook hands with Mitch. "Did you get my message?" I asked. "Yeah, I did Wink", said Vanessa, "but there was no contact number." "Yeah, sorry about that." "So where the fuck have ya been?" she asked. "Well just between you and Mitch and the lamp post I've been in detox." "Are you O.K.?" "Yeah, I'm fine now."

We moved down the bar to a table near the fire. At the next table was McRoach. He'd been in the bar the day the cowboy in the yellow Valiant Charger did the hit and run. He's a journalist and I knew he'd been keeping tabs on that story, so I thought I'd pump him a little.

"So what's the latest on that cowboy dude, got him yet?"

"Well it just gets curiouser and curiouser. Apparently he was holed up in the Gatwick with the blonde chick. Anyway he must have been tipped off 'cause when the cops arrived there was nothing there. I mean the room was empty but for this trunk."

"Trunk?"

"Yeah, an old brown trunk."

"And what was in it?"

"Well good question, not even the cops know."

"What 'a ya mean?"

"Well they couldn't get it open."

"Come on, ya kiddin' me."

"No, not even with all their stuff - last I heard they couldn't get it open."

"Ummh."

The barmaid yells out, "Wink - phone call."

"Hello", she says.

"Isabelle, where are you ringing from?"

"Evancourt."

"Evancout. What are you doing there?"

"I went to the Women's Group for something to do. The place seems empty without you. Mandy sends her love."

"How are you?", she asks.

"I'm O.K. I checked into a motel. I can give you the number."

"What are you kiddin'?", she laughs.

"What 'a ya mean?"

Silence on the other end.

"Well, do ya wanna come up?"

"Can I?"

"Yeah sure, it's the Diplomat room 115. Have you got enough to get there?"

"$20 in my shoe, will that be enough?"

"That'll be plenty."

"Look, I'll need something to drink, can you manage it Wink?"

"What 'a ya need?"

"Vodka."

"How much?"

"750 mls."

"O.K., no problem."

"Thanks Boss."

And Robin and Julie came in and they saw I was with Vanessa. They both hate her guts. Their story is that she is one evil bitch. Her story is that 'it was all over a man'. Robin walked straight to the bar but Julie came over and kissed me. I bought Vanessa and Mitch a round and was getting ready to leave when big surprise Robin came over and knelt by my chair. "How are you mate?" "I'm fine Robin, it's good to see you, you look so well." "Yeah, well it's holidays." "Aw, right, I forgot." "And what happened to you, when I didn't see you for so long I thought you must have been back in hospital?" "No, I just got a virus, laid me out for two weeks and then I just couldn't be fucked coming up here. Anyway it's great to see you but I have to go." We both walked over to where Jules was standing and I got my hat. Jules said, "have you been alright?" "Yeah, I needed a rest. What really finished me off was that night at the Lindentree with Ian." "What happened?" "It was just one hell of a night. He was out of control - wanting to kill every bastard one minute - the next minute sobbing uncontrollably - and then back to the killing. But it really got hairy when he started on some detectives drinking at the bar, telling 'em what a pack of cunts they were. We were lucky to get out of that alive." "So what's wrong?", asked Jules. "Well it's J.J., he's into smack and Ian is distraught." "Yeah, well he hasn't exactly set a great example." "Yeah, well he knows that, it's a major part of the pain. Jules, I'd like to stay longer but I have to go. Are you going to be in town for long?" "Yeah, I'll catch up with you on the weekend Wink." "O.K. sweetheart, take care."

In my room I got a call.

"Where are you?"

"Downstairs."

"Take the lift up to the second floor, I'll meet you in the hallway."

When I found her she was coming up the stairs.

"You didn't come up in the lift?"

"They wouldn't let me, they said the stairs. They think I'm a whore."

We went into the room. her right hand was bandaged. When I opened her palm, in her hand were her two rings.

"So what's happened?", I said pointing to her hand.

She turned away and walked around the room in a circle.

"He stabbed me."

"Stabbed you?"

"And a lot worse, did you get the vodka?"

"Yeah, a full bottle, is that what you wanted?"

"Yes."

"Here", I said, "take a hit", pouring her a glass.

She went walking around the room and said, "you don't mind?"

"No."

"I feel so guilty."

"Why?"

"Drinking in front of you, when you're not."

"If I wanted a drink, I'd drink. And in any case, right now I have to look after you. There may be a time when the glass is in the other hand. Here, take it."

She knocked it back and then I gave her another.

"Are you O.K?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. All the better for seeing you."

We slept till about 2.00 a.m. She was starving. We left the motel and went to Topolinos. At the table across from us was a blonde woman in her late thirties writing in her notebook. Isabelle was studying her. "What is it Bella?" "I know her." "Yeah, how?" She just looked away with a slight pensive smile. "She's a hooker, a high class hooker on a break." "How do you know?" "Isn't it obvious, can't you tell?"

The food came. A fish dinner. She wanted fish but each swallow was painful and then a startled look on her face and her fist to her chest. Then she would concentrate, control her breathing and start again. She ate virtually nothing. I didn't know if it was her stomach or her angina. "What's the matter Bella?" "It's nothing, don't worry."

We left Topolinos and were walking down Fitzroy St. when she stopped dead, a startled look on her face. "What's happening sweetheart?" "Deja vu", she said breathlessly, "something is going to happen, just up there, something bad." "How do you know?" "I just know, I can feel it, I can see it, it's terrible, it's going to happen, believe me." "Yeah, O.K. Bella, nothing would surprise me on this street." She was frozen to the spot. I grabbed her hand and dragged her across the street to the other side. "It's on that corner, just there", she pointed to The Prince. I dragged her up a side street. She kept looking around as if we were being followed. I kept forcing her to walk. She stopped dead again. I couldn't move her. "It's a little girl, she's running, she's screaming, someone's got her, she's only five or six", she said crying and shaking - "he's got her."

Back in the motel she was frantic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, this doesn't happen often, but it can happen anytime. I feel, I see things happening - she's just a little girl." "What happened to her, was she raped?" "Yes" "Who, someone she
knows?" "Yes." "Yes, it's incest, perhaps her father, someone close to her." She was pacing the room and looking around wildly, "is there a pavilion of some kind down by the beach?" "Yes." "That's where she is now. Now. She's there. We have to get her. She's just all alone there. We have to go." I said very firmly, "no".

I gave her a glass of vodka and took a pill myself. She drank it and paced the room. Then she said, "now I can't hear her anymore. I can't hear her. It's over. It's finished. She's going to be alright." Her face changed. The horror gone. Her soft melancholy beauty returned. Her whole body relaxed. She came over and sat on my knee. She kissed me and whispered, "I'll love you forever", and then, "what am I going to do with you?" She clenched her fists and started punching me in the chest. I grabbed her hands firmly. She was smiling, her wild beautiful eyes, "I'll get you, you bastard, I'll get you in the end." "Yeah, I know." She went over to the bed with the vodka. I got in beside her. She was already asleep when I put my arms around her.

When we woke it was midday. We had both slept deeply. She looked well.

I had a coffee, she had a vodka. We took our pills.

I said, "listen to this" and gave her my Walkman. She listened to the track, Black Stick by Cruel Sea. She started to cry and when it was finished looked up with a smile, "it's good."

Oh, my sad beautiful woman.

"What am I going to do?" she said. "I don't want to go, I just don't want to."

"I don't want you to go either. I want you to stay here with me."

She stood up, walked across the room ringing her hands.

"Bella, have a shower."

When she was ready we left the motel and headed down Acland. "Two things you're not to do" she said. "Yeah, what?" "Go in a lift or have your hair cut."
"Yeah, why?" "Just don't do it, at least for a week O.K?" "Yeah, O.K."

We walked around to Clever Zebra. I ordered a coffee and Bella ordered Eggs Florentine.

"You're not eating", she said.

"No, I'm not hungry."

"I'll never work you out. Are you O.K.?"

"Yeah, I'm O.K. I'm just edgy. We've been together now and you're going, and what you're going back to - Jesus."

"I'm so scared."

"Yeah."

I took her to the tram stop and put her on the right one.

I walked down to Acland and just wandered around for a while. Then I walked up to the Bottom Bar.

Victoria was behind the jump. Guy was playing pool with himself and Bobby Evans was by the fire working through his form guide. "What sort of day is it Bobby?" "It's a zero day Wink. Zero."

And loss at the end of the day is nothing more than the passing of time. And consciousness always separate and apart. Always the watcher. The stranger on the hill.

Wed. 10.30 a.m. wake to a phone call. It's Isabelle - she's alright.

I get dressed and go down to The Prince. Maxine at reception and she gives me a room.

Back to The Diplomat, get my gear and check-out and then drop it off at The Prince.

Down to Clever Zebra. Steve agrees to let me leave a message for Isabelle.

Having a long black and in walks this blonde. Jesus, it's her sister and now she'll know I'm back in town. Fuck it.

I read my stars for the day. 'Cancer: The key word for Cancerians this week is transformation. Planetary aspects signify that of all the pleasures of life one now stands head and shoulders above the rest: the simple pleasure of doing what others said you would not'.

And then Isabelle's: 'Scorpio: Press your claims and press on with plans or projects specifically designed to give yougreater freedom. You should now be ready to admit true happiness and contentment can only be found in a completely different environment'.

I had to pay some extra money to The Prince today. I knew who would be at reception this morning and I wasn't looking forward to it. And sure enough
there she was - 'the dragon lady'. I went up with my hand out and said,
"I'm Wink, room 220, Maxine checked me in yesterday." Her handshake was very unconvincing. As she turned to check the books she said, "you've been here before haven't you?" "Yeah I was hoping you wouldn't remember that." "I never forget a face. Sign this." And as I was doing so she said, "try and keep a low profile this time." "Yeah, you can count on it." "Ummh", she breathed.

I was with Fritz, another long term Gatwick resident, down at the Bottom Bar and he was in a bad way. He gets these severe migraines and they're getting worse and worse. And nowadays he just hits the piss to try and kill the pain. But not even that's working anymore. Basically he's lost it but every now again he comes up with a good one - an arrow from the void. He just fixed me with his black hollow eyes, "you must be prepared to burn yourself in your flame. How could you become new, if you had first not become ashes?" "Yeah, ya got a point mate but I've given up on the new day and the new man. I am what I am and there's nothing more to it." I was hoping this would shut him up but the bastard bounced back with another one. Even blind drunk he never misses. "Some cannot loosen their own chains and nevertheless redeem their friends." "Well that's a lotta shit too. You're just diggin' your own hole deeper. And isn't it about time you gave up on this saviour shit? No body saves no body. Tell me Fritz, who loosened your chains? All they did was tighten them. They strangled you Fritz."

It was no good getting worked up. Fritz was gone and I may as well have been talking to a ghost.*7

In a trunk I have a box. In the box are scraps of paper, cards, pictures, letters. These ite ms are the only physical traces that remain of those I loved who left and those who loved me who I left. I decided to trash the lot - but one more look -

A letter from Carol (17/2/84): 'The image I conceived when I was relating to you has not been complete as a finished work. All preliminary drawings were completed in december. The painting's dated 6th of february'.

A letter from me to Ferrie. It was one I never sent. One of Chico's pencil drawings: a lake in the foreground, bushes and flowers in the background, a bird in the distance. In the corner is written: 'To Wink, love Chico'.

Copies of two letters from me to Ruby. These I cannot bring myself to read.

Then I come upon all her letters to me and the only picture I have of her and I.

I cannot go on with this

I know I could destroy everything
everything that is left

everything
but what is left

of her and I

I went downstairs to the pool room for a look at the comp. And I remembered the first time I ever walked in there, It was with Megan. And then I realized it was Megan who introduced me to every dive in town from the Lindentree to the Bottom Bar. She must have known, even then, I'd need somewhere to go, after she was gone.

.

all morning consumed
her mouth her
red lips abandon

the vice the strength
of her sex

I want to be
in her
warmth

never
to be released

breathless

and to drink
to drink

the spirit
craving spirit

or just
the touch
of her thigh

.

I get back to the bar and Zac says,
"did Bella catch up with you? She called
10 minutes after you left."

.

and I cannot stay
I cannot stand
the waiting

.

O I love her heart

.

It's time for the soft forgetting

And Zac said she rang at 1.45 to say she's alright and she'll be in touch

but still I waited all night till closing time

(and I look at all the other girls and there's not one I could even kiss)

it's time for the soft forgetting

I was in the Piano Bar downstairs with the old guys. And Alex was there this afternoon, and I thought if anyone would know he would. "Hey Alex, were you around when that little guy they call the The Spider Man lobbed in the Bottom Bar? It was just after Snowy left actually. He kinda took Snowy's spot with his jar of spiders and his books." "Yeah, I know him", Alex said, very definitively. And then he said, "Yeah, I've known him for years." "Yeah, so what's the story?" "The story", said Alex, "the story?". "Well basically he's an outcast." "Yeah I figured that, but why?" "Well I don't really know. I know that wherever he came from he had to get out of, but I never got the full story on what it was about. There's a girl involved somewhere - a young girl - he never recovered from - but from what I can remember", and here Alex paused, trying to concentrate, "that wasn't what got him - there was something else - something to do with authorities of some kind and I think he went up against the Jews in some way and they pissed him off." "Aw yeah, so another mystery man hey?" "Yeah." "So what's his go, what's he do now?" "Well I know one thing", said Alex, "he's a lens maker by profession. He used to have a shop in the arcade here, next to Si Bon, but it didn't last 'cause no one ever went into it. Though I do remember he used to eat with Rex at Si Bon in the afternoon. What a pair, Rex Buzzard and the little Spider Man. But he seemed to get on with Rex and Rex got on with him and that was when everyone gave both of them a wide berth. Remember how Rex was back then?" "Sure do. I remember he hated everyone, especially the cowboy. He wanted to kill him. And I don't know how it happened but they're real good mates again. So Rex is back on the track and that's real good to see, but what about The Spider Man, what's his story now?" "Don't know what he does now", said Alex, "but watch them fucking spiders." "Yeah, even in this town that's strange." "Yeah, but he's a nice little bloke", said Alex, "I've had a few chats with him. He's very educated - a philosopher if ever there was one. I used to always wave to him on my morning walk." "Yeah?" "Yeah, there he'd be standing at his window every morning when I passed." "Yeah, where's that?" "The Gatwick. He's got the end room on the top floor. It's the very last one. He's been there forever apparently."*8

it's just collisions

windowless monads
without harmony
Wilhelm,

it's just chaos

but what you must
understand

is that chaos

cannot escape
itself*9

I was crossing Swanston St. when I saw Peter at a phone booth. "Hey Pete." "Wink, just a sec." He finished his call and said, "hey good to see ya, let's get a coffee." He was carrying a duty free bag. "Hey, you off again?" "Yeah, European Correspondent, off to England in two weeks." "Fuck, the last time I saw you, you were off to China. Still with The Age?" "Yeah."

We found a street cafe. It had been four years since I had seen him but he got right on the case. "Do you still see that Jewish girl?" "Sue, no, I haven't seen her for a long time After it all ended she just kinda dropped out of existence. It's strange the way that can happen. I haven't even run into anyone connected with her." And then he asked, "have you seen Kim?" "No, I haven't, but just a week or two ago I had a dream about her. It really surprised me and I tried to work out when I had last seen her, Jesus it could be ten years. What about you?" "Yeah, I have, but it was strange." "Well, that's not surprising", I said with a laugh. "No", he said. "She contacted me at The Age, just out of the blue, after I got back from China. Apparently she was trying to get a restraining order against the guy she was living with. Her story was that he was molesting the kids. I mean you don't know but I met him and it didn't strike me that way. I think he'd been playing around on the side." "Aw yeah, so she did a Mia." "Yeah, but it's a mess - a family torn apart." "Ummh." "So sometime later I got a call at The Age from him and basically he wanted me to intercede for him and I wasn't going to get involved in that." "Well, what could you do anyway?" "Yeah, that's right." "He sounds like a poor desperate bastard." "Yeah, well he just seemed to me to be a normal kind of guy." "Well, if that's the case we both know he'd be no match for her. I mean Kim was an extraordinary person, an extraordinary woman." "Yeah, it's pretty sad. As it turned out she was living just around the corner from me in Kew in this little flat with three little kids. I don't know what she was living on or how she was doing it. And then I drove passed there once and he was hanging around outside." "The poor fuck. She'd have him so he wouldn't know if he was coming or going." "Yeah." "Pete, when we knew Kim, she was just passionate - every nerve in her body - and I don't know - but I think the crucial point in anyone's life is when you decide or have to decide whether you're going to go with it - or drop it - and there's always good reasons for letting it go - but that's the crucial point." "Yes, you're right. I think after Alan something in her died." "Yeah, I don't know, I mean I can well understand that she might have wanted to believe that, even needed to - that she wanted to go straight - but with someone like her - it never really works. You can do all the normal stuff, and do it for years, and then one day you realize the hole has just got bigger. And I'd say, just at a hunch, that's what she's facing now."

When we finished the coffees we exchanged cards and headed off. He had to go to St. Kilda Rd. so we caught a tram together and talked about Spinoza.
We made a plan to meet at the next Dead Liver's gig.

As he headed off I recalled my dream about Kim. In the dream we met outside a shopping complex. (I couldn't understand why I was there - outside a shopping complex of all places). She hugged me and kissed me gently, softly and sadly. And she said, "if only we could go back to how it was." Then we walked into the shopping centre. I turned around and she was gone. I had lost her. I woke suddenly.

Back in the Bottom Bar in comes Robyn. She comes straight up to me and says, "seeing as the mountain wouldn't come to Mohammed, Mohammed has come to the mountain.” Well it's great to see you Robyn." "I hadn't forgotten your birthday either", she says taking out a wrapped gift and a card from her bag. "It's something especially chosen for a nomad", she says passing the gift and the card to me. "Put it in your bag." "Well thanks so much." "So where did you spend your birthday, in jail?" "Well no, but close. I was in the 'spin-dryer' at the time. Spent about three weeks there. I hadn't forgotten you, it's just that there's been a lot of turmoil in my life of late and I just needed to drop-out for a while, but I'm fine now, in fact quite happy." "I rang Chippie the other night and he said you were at The Prince Of Wales." "Yeah another well kept St.Kilda secret. I moved in there a week ago and it suits me fine."

We went and sat down at a table and she told me what she'd bought for her new house. And then we started talking about books and she said she wanted to read something with a fantasy bent. I told her that wasn't really my line but that the best thing I'd read in that genre was Peake's Gormenghast. I suggested that we walk down to Cosmos and see if we could find a copy. As luck would have it they had a single volume containing the trilogy. She bought it and we went and had a coffee.

On the way back to the bar I said, "you know that book just reminded me. When I look back over the past six or seven years and how it all started, how it all went wrong - it all comes back to that book." "How?" "Well I was living at the Gatwick at the time. It was a summer's night and I was sitting out on the bench in Fitzroy St. reading Gormenghast when this beautiful young blonde came and sat down right beside me. She said she was being hassled by this guy up the street and asked if she could sit with me. I said, 'sure'. And sure enough up comes this guy and says, 'found a pretend friend have ya?' Well it was clear he was just one real arsehole and there's only one way to deal with that kind of arsehole - you have to be a bigger one. So I gave it to him full on verbally. Half and hour and he was still at it and not a cop in sight. So I stood up, turned around and put my right foot up on the bench. As I did so the right leg of my jeans slid up showing the tooling and stitching of my cowboy boot. He looked down at the boot and was momentarily fixated. I knew this was my best chance. I came through with a right cross and decked him on the spot. He got up stunned and just walked away. After that I walked her home. But it was from that night and that meeting with that girl and what followed from it that my life went to hell. It's not that she was responsible. It's just what followed. In a very real sense if I hadn't been sitting on that bench reading that book, it could have been so different. But how I don't know and it doesn't really matter anyway." "So what did happen?" "Well sweetheart, it's just too complex to explain, but it all began with that night and that took and that girl."
"Who was she?" "Who was she?" "Yeah, what's her name?" "Her name ...... her name is 'Jessie'."

The Bottom Bar closes. I'm walking back to The Prince. Pig and his girl have broke n up and I've been caught in the middle for the last hour. I'm thinking how good it'll be to go and lay in a bed by myself. And then I think of Isabelle and how much I want her. Coming towards me is a couple and for some reason I decide not to look at the girl. But I do. And she's looking at me with a thrilling smile, but there's something else - is it recognition, embarrassment, surprise - or all three? Her face? Do I know her? Her face, her body, her walk? Could it be Megan? Only if she was younger than when I knew her. Her face, the expression, her walk? Yes, unmistakable, Megan's walk. It was Megan. I'm sure.

When I get back to my room I decide to get my filing in order and start with the pictures. I decide to put the general snapshots under P for pictures, the Texas pictures under T and the Gatwick ones under G. I start with the general and one that comes up amongst them all is a picture of Megan. It's a shot of her in her backyard in Nth. Melbourne. She is sitting in the grass with her eyes shut and smiling. I turn the picture over and what I see written there, I'd never seen before. I didn't know it was there. I didn't write it - not my handwriting. On the back of the picture is written in blue ink, 'these were the best years but I did not know it.'

Jesus, I can't believe she wrote that. And when? When was it written?

I go down stairs to the Piano Bar. There's no one there I know but Old Kenny. He's always at the far corner of the bar. He sits on a lounge chair instead of a bar stool and as a result he appears to be just a head on a bar. He has a strong broad browed head with large piercing blue eyes, a ruddy complexion and an eloquent mouth out of which comes the profoundest language. I always enjoy talking with him but tonight I am quite happy to blend into the anonymous crowd.*10

The dreams of Ruby are getting worse and worse. Some say when you drink you don't dream. Perhaps that's why I drank.

And I am hoping my days could become like Willa Catha words
there is a chance
and this just may be the time
for God's fields
and the peace of righteous men

Walking up Fitzroy St. I head up to my post office box. I glance over at the tram stop opposite and there she is standing waiting for a tram. Without being obvious I take another look. Yes, that magnificent mane of golden hair is unmistakable. It's T.

I have the feeling she's seen me. In fact there's no way she couldn't have. And I see her turning her shoulder just slightly. This apparition has un-nerved her, just slightly.

I am not tempted to acknowledge her, though this would be the natural, normal thing to do.

She will have to come to me and she knows it.

Walking down Fitzroy St. I am imaging when she comes and what I'll say.

"Yeah, well things went from bad to worse that night. When I left your place I nearly got killed."

and it's not that
each particular
has it's own
essence

(as the father's son
said)

in each particular
is The Essence

the totality
if you will

realized
in particular

(just a glimpse
for the moment eternal)

nevertheless

the source
the power

that draws
connects
holds

for that
moment

the girl
at the corner table
sitting all alone*11

He is a man. He could be any man of any age culture or race. He is waiting. He is in a hotel room. It could be any hotel room anywhere in the world at any time. In fact it need not be a hotel or even a room. It could be a street corner. It could be a desert. It could be a place not known. A man not known except by that place. A place not known except by that man. This does not change the fact. He is a man waiting.

He is a man waiting
a man waiting

a man waiting for
a whore.

He is a writer.

And she
the one who comes

stands before him
naked

her nakedness

is what he has
lived for

it is his death

she is the world
(undressed)

but for her bangles
and cheap perfume

(he has already
paid for her
with his life)

and she
will give
with a toss

of her long auburn
hair

only what she wants

but still he hopes

a life
a heart

a word

It struck me at Flinders St. Station all I'd have to do is ring the operator to get her new number and address. When I got back to Fitzroy St. I did just that and back at The Prince I thought I'd strike while the iron was hot. I rang the number and she answered. "Bella?" "Yes." "It's Wink." "Who?" "Wink." "How the hell did you get this number?" "I rang the operator. I just wanted to see how you were." "Everything is O.K. I went cold turkey last weekend. I'm still in the midst of un-packing. Actually you rang at a bad time. I've got the baby in the bath." "Yeah, well I just wanted to know how you were. I hope you don't mind." "No, I was going to write but I couldn't remember your post box number. I've got so many numbers going around in my head, new bank accounts and everything. What is it?" I gave her the number yet again. She said, "I had it the wrong way around and I wasn't going to write until I got it right." "Don't you remember I wrote it down for you?" "Yes, I knew you wrote it but I couldn't remember where." "In your bag, under the label." "Well are you alright?", she asked. "Yeah, no change in the weather no change in me." "Well that's good you're alright." "Look Isabelle, I'll let you go." "Yeah, the kids are screaming and the baby is in the bath without water, I just let it out when you rang." "Well Bella, if I don't hear from you in the next year or two, I'll know
where to ring." "Look, you'll hear from me soon, O.K. Boss?" "Yeah."

And down in the Bottom Bar I remember saying to Ruby when I saw her last that I was getting close to insanity – real close. And I can see it - feel it - that thin white line. The white substanceless line. A white line on a white plane.

Spinoza was right. Knowledge does defy passion. But is this an argument for knowledge? For the little lens grinder passion was confusion, an imperfect state of knowledge.Thus it would seem to follow that the imperfect state of knowledge guarantees the continued existence of passion. And who is to say that this state of knowledge can be overcome or even diminished? And if so,
what then is the difference between knowledge and passion?

('God' for Spinoza was the totality - infinite and eternal. There is by definition nothing other than such a God. Spinoza's God is sui causa and self sufficient. This God is not faced with the problem of loving another. For such a God there is no other. For all the pain of love I pity such a God).

I went to the old brown trunk I keep my writings in and found they had all been stolen. And in their place the thief had placed thousands of frozen sea blue tears. I closed the trunk and locked it.

and up at Topolinos
I look up from the menu
and there she is
standing at the counter
on her way out
just where I can see her
but her face
looking away

Ruby

I look away quickly
and know
if she comes up
I'll be speechless

she doesn't

she looked grey
her face looked grey

I wait
and look again
she's gone

and my first thought
first coherent thought
is Bella's bottle of vodka
back in my fridge

and I really hate myself
for that

one look at her
and any sense of me
is erased

erased

walking down the hall
of The Prince

how can I let
her body destroy me?

the emptiness of it

and then the real
emptiness of it

each time I see her
it's a death

and I have only learnt
to mourn

and the mourning
goes on forever

Ruby

Perhaps if I just finish the bottle and no more. No more after that. Even if I see her again - no more. Make this the last one. It's just that it's here. If it wasn't? What would I do? Would I go out, hit the town? Bourbon at the Lindentree? Mellow out till dawn?

What bothers me in a logical sense is that I have understood there is no end to alcoholism. No resolution. No certainty about abstinence. But I only have to see her face once, and there is no doubt. No real doubt. It's clear. Definite. Necessary. Drink.

and it goes deeper than
a man's weakness

and a man's weakness
for a woman

it goes straight to Hell
it comes straight from Hell

at least with this man and this woman

Hell

and I've lived here
for so long

but not alone

at least here
she is with me

I really wasn't ready for that. Damn well should have been. Just not quite ready. Why does it never change? Why no resolution, no forgetting? Why no loss of her? Where is Time and why has it forsaken me?

So a few quiet drinks to stop these theatrics? I can't believe it's come to this.

And right now I feel that Isabelle knows. Right now she knows I lied. I didn't pour the vodka down the sink.

But this was not the reason for the lie. I was trying to save her.

God, I wish she was here now.

Bella where are you?

And the smell of vodka is the smell of Bella.

so I wake up

and it's 9.00 p.m.

I can hear the bands downstairs

I don't know what day it is

how long it's been

what I've done

there are three empty bottles of vodka

four empty bottles of rum

one empty bottle of bourbon

I recall going over to Leon's. He's got a room at the Gatwick. Leon opened the door. He was just in his underpants. I've been there many times. It's always the same. His two women. The casks of wine on the table. The loaded automatic shot gun on the bed.

The last thing I remember before finding myself at Evancourt again was leaving the Lindentree. I got as far as the car park ramp at the pack of The Prince when I blacked-out. I went head first into the asphalt. When I came to, my head and face were pissing blood. I stood up again. I couldn't close the buckle on my belt. In frustration I made the mistake of pulling the belt out and throwing it away. Then I realized I couldn't keep my jeans up as I head butted the ramp again. I couldn't get up this time so I started to crawl up the ramp holding onto my jeans with one hand and clawing my way
up with the other.

andmainlyithasbeendruggedoutandsleeplessforeveronly
theblurofvisionatwilightzoneofconsciouslessnessago
nyforthosekeptinaplacebeyondtheinfernothestayeterna
l

but there is a moment
that comes

only a moment
just a moment

(and always in the garden)

it is the diamond moment

hard sharp and perfect

when I see I know I am

uncuttable


There is a particularly strange young man here at the moment. I like him very much.

This morning I found him in the garden talking in whispers to the shrubs. He bent his ear to the orange blossoms that had fallen from his shoulders. I went over and asked him who he was. He looked up with a strange puzzled air. "If you could tell me who I am, I should be greatly indebted."

In this afternoon's lecture at one point the psychologist asked each of the
'participants' what they thought of the point he had just made. When it was the young guys turn he said, "the world is my idea. The Sun exists only as I see it, the earth exists only as I feel it. Man himself is a dream." "And what is the dream that is you Arthur?", asked the psychologist. His response was, "I shall be greatly indebted if you can give me an answer."*12

And there is Michelle. She is small, her features exquisitely fine. She has powers. She is a psychic and a numerologist. And a group of witches, black witches have set upon her and tortured her. And for years she has tortured herself because she could not accept her gifts. She did not want them. Pain killers are her demons. The demons the rest of us can see.

A letter on my bed when I came in today. Inside a postcard. On the front of it a picture: there are three deck chairs in a row with red and white stripped coverings. These chairs are identical. They are spaced equally apart. In front of the third chair are three ducks. Two are facing the camera. The third has turned away. Above the deck chairs on a grey-green wooden planked wall hang two oars.

I turn the card over and read:
23/8/93
'Dear Wink,

Hi boss! How are you feeling? Sorry to hear that you're back 'inside'. I rang the Bottom Bar and Zac told me. I've been thinking of you and somehow I thought something wasn't right. I don't know that I'll be able to come over and see you this week but I'll try to give you a call. I won't send the letter because I really don't have any news. Life goes on boring as usual but I'm fit and well and on top of everything. So buddy have a good rest and recoup. I'm thinking of you. Take care and hang in there.

love
Isabelle
xxx'


This girl comes up to me asks me for a cigarette. Then she asks me what I'm in for. I say, "alcoholism." And then I ask her, "and you?" She says, "suicide attempts." We hit it off immediately.

We go out into the garden and she reads me this poem she has
written:

She stalks her prey
It lies there in wait
as she circles
Creeping ever closer
to where it lies
Neither hiding nor afraid

She lifts her face
It beseeches her
as she circles
It's scent overwhelming
Sweet and potent
an invitation

She is still
And only the thunder
Of her own heartbeat
Betrays her fear
As she faces the truth
Within herself*13


And always in this place I come back to the heart

And always when I leave I go back to the start

And always on the outside the shadows bright and dark

The neons and the concrete

The soulless the empty the stark

It's 6.00 am and I'm leaving today. And I want to leave
something special for Judy. I write this for her:

one night
in a garden
a girl

in her beautiful words
gave me back my heart

for Judy
love
Wink

And I have to rewrite it. The ink ran everywhere. The words just fell apart. Too many tears. Too many tears.

And in this morning's patient-staff meeting we were told the hospital is closing.

And when I think about it all

now I can see
the last six or seven years

all it has been
is loose connections

loose connections

and never once
in all that time

never once
in a glance
an embrace
an act of passion

did one heart
hold another

in the grasp
of the fist

of love

I get a phone call. It's Ruby. "I heard down at the Bottom Bar you were back there. I just wanted to see how you are." "Look Ruby, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to see you, I don't want to have anything to do with you." "Alright then, you can go and get fucked." She slams down the phone. And I feel it come over me like a wave. I can even taste it. It's the taste of rum. But it's too late for her. I could never forgive. Never forgive.

and this
this writing
is always
against

the angel

(you know
the one I
mean)

she's
the sweetest
beauty

and she
loves me

and I know
she is
coming

for me

she
promised

and
I know
she
is true

the true one

but
I am
just a man

weak
in her embrace

I
have been
with her
many times

but
she told me

next time

she'll stay
forever

forever

she is

death


In a cab back to St. Kilda. I left it as late as I could. All day worried. Worried about if I even had a room to go back to. The worst possible scenario is that my stuff will be packed up and they'll just tell me to fuck off. The cab stops at the lights on the corner of Balaclava and Chapel. I look out the window and coming out of the chemist shop is Jessie. She sees me and yells, "hey cowboy". The lights change but I give her a wave goodbye.

I'm back in my room at The Prince. I am happy here. I don't want to go out. I don't want to go out ever again. I just want to stay here. Stay in my room. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want anyone to come around. I want the world to leave me alone. Alone. But I know it won't. If they don't see me they'll come looking. And what can I do to stop it? What can I do? I've got an idea. I'll send them a note.

A note to the Bottom Bar.

p.s.

And if you are looking for the reason
for a man or a woman's fall, try as you
will, no thought, no word, no deed, will
shed a ray of light on why, for some, the
necessity to feed on darkness. You can
only look into the darkness beyond the
reach of stars.



(c) greg t. charlton. 2005. 2025.