I have no rich spirituality with which to comfort myself, I need money. It’s the only religion I have.

J letter to S Monday, 6 November 1995  12:11 PM God crappy-crappy, fuck-fuck.  Shit mood Sis. Shit mood.  Wanna go home and crawl under my doona.  It’s one of those rainy days that are ripe for video watching and that’s about it.  I hate this job, I just can’t bring myself to look at these pages of proof anymore, it’s a bit of a concern … Continue reading I have no rich spirituality with which to comfort myself, I need money. It’s the only religion I have.

I’m getting less flexible as I get older, and I’m not talking about hamstrings.

Friday, 29 September 1995  1:44pm Hey Sis, My neighbours kept me awake ’til all hours last night, arguing and cussing.  It wouldn’t have kept me so late if the dividing wall wasn’t so cold against my cheek (tee hee)  The girl won, it was her house, so she could throw him out. Lordy me there was lots of swearing “Get the fuck out you cunt! … Continue reading I’m getting less flexible as I get older, and I’m not talking about hamstrings.

It’s as if I’m standing in the middle of life as a time-line, and I’m wondering which is more important to who I am? My future or my past?

Friday, 22 September 1995  9:10AM Woke up late, feeling groggy, still do as a matter of fact. Read more of that Sartre last night, and it’s provoking some self-examination that I think I probably would’ve been better off without. I suppose I should explain – this book “The Age of Reason” is sort of filled with this feeling of expectancy, a hesitancy and fear of … Continue reading It’s as if I’m standing in the middle of life as a time-line, and I’m wondering which is more important to who I am? My future or my past?

Maybe I’ll shout at the top of my lungs that photography is poor man’s painting. That’ll make sure I’m never invited back – sensitive, arty types.

23 Jan 1995 Dear S, Howdy. Dropped your load yet? I’m getting impatient. What is it, five months to go? In this age of instant soup and TV dinners, you’d think they could speed up the process a little. Eventually, I see all pregnancies starting and concluding within half an hour, allowing you to get back to work for the end of your lunch break. … Continue reading Maybe I’ll shout at the top of my lungs that photography is poor man’s painting. That’ll make sure I’m never invited back – sensitive, arty types.

I’m too level-headed for my old friends, but too freakish for others. Maybe I’m just a second-rate Nihilist.

Tuesday, 5 July 1994 Hi S, I thought it was about time I put fingertip to keyboard and pounded out a missive to Sis in my staccato touch-typing blur.  How you doing?  I should, here at the outset, just say thanks for the super wax letter sealing set.  Completely super present.  I don’t have much in the way of gossip, I’ve been leading a life … Continue reading I’m too level-headed for my old friends, but too freakish for others. Maybe I’m just a second-rate Nihilist.

They say that time heals all wounds. Except amputation, I suspect.

Thursday, 24 March 1994 Dear S, The Day of Reckoning is at hand, this day is filled with strange portents.  The cock did crow at midnight blackest, the cow’s teats did issue forth Grants Scotch Whiskey (we’re keeping that cow) and the sky did crack open and wobblesome jelly desserts poured forth on the innocent street dwellers.  This night I do split with Leah.  Am … Continue reading They say that time heals all wounds. Except amputation, I suspect.

The honourable course of action just seems too fraught with difficulty. 

Thursday, 10 March 1994 Dear S, Hi, the Despatch Boy (ok it is weird calling him Despatch Boy now that he has a son) is away again, so Simon is filling in for him which leaves me companionless for the day, which leads me to ponder things best left un-pondered.  Such as the moral nature of these undertakings with Leah. I’m beginning to think that … Continue reading The honourable course of action just seems too fraught with difficulty.