My Black Book - It's Not Coming Back
  You might've seen my black book a few months ago. It was a sketch book that I carried with me everywhere I went. I drew in it at every opportunity, wrote down thoughts, ideas, emotions... ... It's gone, and it's not coming back. It meant a lot to me. It was in many ways the culmination of everything I thought of myself, of others, of the world. Notes on Sermons, ideas for strips, poetry, art, even a diary. I don't know exactly where it has gone, or who is currently in possession of it. Actually, I do. They read it, and now they know so many of my inner most thoughts and feelings. Now they know so many of my secrets. I feel naked in front of them. I am naked in front of them. But I don't want the damn book back.

Why have I stuck this in the Culture section? I'm not exactly sure. Maybe I have some sort of hidden agenda. Am I trying to hide it from view? That book has some of the most amazing drawings I have ever done. And they're still crap. That book has raw emotion in it. And it's still clouded. It was written with an intended audience of nobody but me. It's not sane. But I'm moving on.

  The United States is Bombing Afghanistan again. Gang Rape. Racism. The Weber Show. U2's Latest Album. Fly TV. Dawson's Creek. Murder. Microsoft. Hayfever. The list of stupid ass shit goes on and on. My watch comes undone when I don't want it to. I have to sit through double periods of maths. I wake up every fucking morning to the 6 o'clock news and Karen, the news reader is telling everyone who listens to Triple J that some other moron has decided Anthrax is fun to play with. I turn on the TV as I'm grabbing breakfast from the cupboard and the Today show is teaching people how use a gas mask, while on the channel, Pokemon jump around like crazed ADD children. There is so much wrong with the world. I still don't want the damn book back.

   I leave the house every morning at about a quarter past 7. Sometimes I'm early, sometimes I'm late. My bus leaves Illawong Shops at 7:23am, and so I have about 8 minutes to stroll down to the bus stop. The bus is usually late. I've often got about a quarter of an hour. I love walking down to the bus stop. Especially at this time of year. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining. The air is fresh with the morning dew and the sweet smell of gum leaves. There's a dog crapping on my neighbours lawn. He's happy. There's an elderly couple going for an early morning jog. They're happy. It doesn't matter how shitty I leave my house, by the time I get to that bus stop, 9 out of 10 times I'll feel good.

   I'll feel good. Even though I still know how many people in the world are starving. Even though every time I open a letter the stupid in me asks anthrax. Even though buildings are falling down while people are still inside them. Even though Red Cross Warehouses are being blown up in Kabul by American fighter planes. Even though Osama Bin Laden still remains at large. Even though .. .. .. Even though sometimes I ask what did Jesus actually die for?.. Such horrible evil is in this world, such complete and utter terror, but at the same time, the birds are singing, and I get to my bus stop happy every freakin morning.

I'm looking at a sunlit picture of Hell.

While I'm sitting on the bus, while I'm sitting on the train.. Talking to my friends, making jokes, laughing, having fun... At the back of my mind I'm grasping at angels. I wrote a letter to a girlfriend once, there was a paragraph in it along the lines of:

"    If I looked up at a cloud and told you I saw an angel, you would tell me.. "No, that's not an Angel, it's just a cloud"... If we saw angels where there were only clouds, how happy would we be? If we saw clouds when really there were angels, think of what we would be missing. If I told you that when I look at you, I see an Angel, would you call me a fool and tell me you were only a cloud? When I look at you, I see an angel, you're not a cloud, you're someone who protects me, cares for me, looks over me and loves me...    "

 Now ever time I stare up at the sky I wonder if I'm looking at clouds or angels. Truth is, every time you see an angel where there's only a cloud you feel happy, but deep, deep down you know it's only a cloud. Soon after I gave her that letter, she broke up with me. I saw an Angel when really there's no cloud. So what does this have to do with the sunlit picture of Hell? Patience my pet. I sit on the train, on the bus, at the station.. .. ... I sit there grasping at angels. An eternally optimistic.. Maybe this one's an angel.. . nope, it's only a cloud.. .. maybe this one.. it goes on and on.

Okay, I'll give you a hypothetical situation now. Just suppose that it's Valentines Day Afternoon. You're in the city, and you're looking for a Valentines Day gift for your girlfriend. It might be a Wednesday, and you might have until the weekend to get it because you go to different schools and you only get to see each other on weekends. Now, things haven't been like, at best for the past say month, so you want to make it up to her with a really good present. You might, i mean, this is hypothetical. So you're walking past a Jewellery store, you might be, and you might see this necklace in the window. It's exquisitely crafted. Gold - her favourite. Simple in design, yet sophisticated in creation. Interlocking rings, like a trail of ants around the neck of the velvet piece the necklace sits on. At the base of the necklace there's no corny cross or cheezy love heart. There's three small silver rings at the base of the necklace. The entire thing sparkles as though it was meant for her.

The next thing you know, hypothetically, you're in the store talking prices with some old lady wearing too much Jewellery. Y'know the kind. Too cool for clothing like the rest of us, instead they choose to drape themselves in golden chains and bangles, rings, diamonds, ear rings... completely and utterly decked out in expensive minerals. The kind of person it takes 1/2 an hour to get through a metal detector. You ask her about the necklace in the front window.. .. No, it's not for you.. You (might) try to explain to her that it's for your girlfriend. She looks at you with a puzzled look. She squints her eyes. It's at this point you are wearing a slightly torn t-shirt, you have a shaven head, the pants you are wearing have holes in them.. .. it hits you, little miss wears too much gold doesn't think you'll be able to afford the damn necklace. That (possibly) pisses you off and makes you want to buy it even more. Aside from the fact that it's the most amazing piece of craftsmen ship you've ever seen in your life,  now you're feeling spiteful.

So you enquire about price. She tells you $200, but there's a special Valentines Day thing going on. So it's down to $152.. maybe.. You think for a second. Money doesn't matter to you at this point. You have quite a lot because well, the previous year you might have maybe, been paid to deliver stuff.. .. or something, I dunno.. and at that point you might have a job at a bookstore, even though it's closed for renovations. This is all hypothetical remember. You begin to talk again to the Snooty lady. You begin bargaining. You ask her to take out the necklace, one of the rings might look smaller than the other two. is that really 24 carat gold? Maybe you get on her good side - or so you think. Maybe, she brings the price down all the way to $120. Maybe, you've found the perfect gift.

So you pull out the cash, which you just happen to have on you, $120. You pay for the necklace, with the box and everything, there's a little bag.. You walk out of the store feeling mighty happy with yourself. So happy in fact, that you keep walking around the city, just for another half an hour. You walk into Dymocks and buy yourself 2 black, ruled, books. Spiral bound, 240 pages. There are no holes along the sides. You buy a few pencils too, maybe a pen, an eraser, a sharpener.. .. hypothetically.. You catch the train home.

You're sitting at home, wrapping the present, thinking about what she's going to say when she opens it. It's been 20 months of pure joy up until now. 20 months of absolute bliss with her. The girl who got you to kick so many of your habits, who was there for you when you were going through tough times. The girl without who, you would not have turned up to your School Certificate exams. The girl who might've shared a few precious moments with you, at a dance, a formal, the movies.. .. Walking through Hyde Park just after midnight while it was raining.. just after you'd finished a performance of Macbeth, where you played MacDuff.. You proudest performance... Hypotheticals.. that's all..

 You take out the first black book, and begin to draw in it. You write little memos to yourself in it. Then you write a diary entry. The sun is setting outside as you write how much you love your girlfriend. How much you want to spend every moment for the next eternity with her. About how right the present is for her. You write for what seems hours, but in essence is about 45 minutes, no more. Then you hear a knock at the door of your room, and you're mother speaks.. "Michael.. Phonecall".. You walk out, to the phone and pick it up. You hear sobbing in the background, and you know its her. Hello? What's wrong? are you alright? .. . talk to me!.. Say something.. Do you want me to come over? .. but she stays quiet.. You don't know what to do. You look to your mother, "was she crying when you picked up the phone" - your hand covers the mouth piece.. Crying? no.. She sounded fine.. .. I think.. You remove your hand.. what's wrong.. .. you want more than anything for her to speak, but by the same hand, you dread the words that might come from her mouth.. she's been hurt, will she be okay.. will she tell you she has to go away.. .. what will it be?.. almost like on a game show, the possible answers dance around in your head..

Suddenly, the sobbing quietens.. (Hypothetically remember) .. "Michael, there's something I have to tell you..".. .. Shit, she's pregnant.. wait.. it can't be yours.. you guys never.. . or.. alcohol.. oh shit.. your mind races.. . "what.. tell me what's wrong first.. .. why are you crying?" .. and then she tells you. She'd gone away to Hong Kong at the end of the year, you knew this.. and since she'd gotten back, things hadn't been peachy.. We've been through our rough patches before!.. eveyrthing's going to work out.. No.. there's something else.. ... there's someone else.. she tells you about how she'd fallen in love now, with a guy who was, well superior to you in every way. She tells you about how he can actually kiss properly, how he's so mature, how he's got his liscence, a car.. How he can provide for her.. He can see her during the week, not just on weekends.. you recognise his name.. "Don't you remember before we were going out? .. You were going out with him! .. He treated you like shit.. don't you remember? Farout, he threatened to beat up your family when you broke up with him.. he's violent.. he.. he.. he".. .. the reply comes .. "He loves me..."..

See You 'round like a Record - Sucker..

  For the next what, 3 months, yeah, about that, that necklace sits on a shelf in your room above your bed, in a box, collecting dust. Nobody touches it. Not even you. You never forget it's there. You don't look at it, or think about it, it just sits there. The next three months go by pretty quickly, soon it's May, and hey, it's your birthday. Your parents and family don't get you anything, because like, you're not close to them or anything. You don't have a party, so your friends for the most part don't know its your birthday, maybe there's a few kind souls who get you cards.. amazingly kind souls.. You don't really look forward to your birthday or anything, it just comes and goes.. or rather, that's what you would've liked. No Hullabaloo, no fuss, just another year.

The day before your birthday, the very day before it, you get a card from your ex-girlfriend. It's a sweet little thing, it's got a picture of a camel on the front, and the caption is, "I would've got you something better, but there was a hump in the way".. knowing your ex, well,.. ... let's not judge.. Anyway, in side the card, there might have been, (hypothetically) $50 worth of HMV vouchers. Wow, that was nice of her. You ring her up to say thankyou.. You start dialling.. 9..then you read the rest of the card.. . "Michael, I miss you, I want to get ba.. ..."  fuck off.. No.. fuck off.. There is no way you're going back there.. no fucking way.. you've been down that road.. and.. nope.. it's not.. it's. not.. going to happen.. You don't make the phone call.. you stuff the card back into the envelope with the vouchers dump the thing on your desk and make a phone call to a different friend.

That week at school, people wonder if you're distracted. They ask you, badger you, you get a few e-mails along the lines of "we're all worried Hing.. what's doin?" .. A few people feel guilty they didn't get you anything.. You tell them you didn't expect anything, and that their friendship was the greatest gift anyone could have.. they move on.. you don't.. every night before you go to bed you read over the card to yourself. All this time, you don't actually bother to look at the vouchers, or the envelope. You also refrain from ringing her to say thankyou. Why? Because you're afraid. You're a weak, weak man, you've been screwed around before, and you know that if you ring her, or rather, you wonder, if I ring her, will I be able to stand up to her? I loved her once.. .. ..

One night, as you go to bed, you take a look at the vouchers again. .. .. You think to yourself, how sweet, I mean, $50 is quite a lot of money, as well as that, HMV vouchers are cool because y'know, you love CD's.. blah blah blah.. you read them.. "To..Hing.. from.. xxx".. .. whatever her name was.. .. these vouchers expire 1 year after purchase.. .. date of purchase.. 24th of April 2000.. .. wait.. .. wait.. it's like, the 20th of May 2001.. .. The bitch sent you expired fucking HMV vouchers.. you look at the place where your name is written.. there's fucking white out tape underneath it.. You feel done.. like, .. .. Like Poland in World War II done.. Like Russia in 1941 Done.. .. Like a guy in Pearl Har.. you get the idea.. sorry, I'm reading a page about WWII now, and .. yeah.. So now you have $50 worth of expired HMV vouchers..

Hey, hypothetically you've been screwed over. And if that had've happened, I'm not saying it did, but if it happened to me, man, I reckon it shows you how much luck I've had..

So um, exactly what was the point of all that. Look, in the past, well, in 2 or 3 years, I have not been in any way, shape or form a good boyfriend. I mean, it's not something I've ever prided myself on, but for the past couple of years I've done exceptionally badly. Every relationship I've been in the last maybe even four years, ever since.. .. Melissa?.. no, sorry, Melissah, I haven't really done anything special that has paid off. Every time I make some big move forward I end up screwing things over. For some reason gifts don't go down well with me, anticipated, given, received.. .. Nup.. they always suck.

.. but getting back to its significance. Those diaries I kept, or, the black books I filled up this year, one of which I burned soon after Valentine's Day, the other whom somebody has right now.. They were all about two things. The first is how I saw life.. A sunlit picture of Hell..  they were about how horrible the world is, or was.. But how somehow, I managed to see the sunlight.. Like, the sunlight didn't change the horror of it all, but it made it easier to cope with.. The world was fucked, but not totally. The second thing it was about.. was grasping at angels that were clouds.. Everywhere I looked I saw them.. Angels.. everywhere.. Everywhere you could see them, they were.. Didn't matter who I was looking at, what I was looking at.. They were the sunlight on the Hell.. .. and they were all clouds..

Now, I don't have a diary. As I write these words, I want one, but I don't have one.  I know though, that if I start a new diary, if I start writing, and drawing, and ... .. if I start it all again.. it's not going to be a sunlit picture of hell anymore.. and there won't be any angels for me to grasp at.. She knows who she is, I said this to a friend last night.. That when I arrive at school and see her every morning, it wasn't a sunlit picture of hell I saw.. but my entire world became a darkened picture of heaven.. It's not a perfect world we live in, I'm far from lucky.. .. in some cases, because I'm far above it, in others, far below.. But there is so much more for me to be thankful for.. there are so many reasons to see Heaven instead of hell..

+Hing--->Out

Whatever you do, don't trust him with an axe.