29 November, 2005

i'm walkin down that lonely road. and my heavy load, i didn't bother to bring it

Goodness gracious, what a nutty few days I have had!

Our tale begins last Thursday. I got home to discover two rather pleasant surprises. The first was small-fry, but warmed my heart nonetheless. A work-man had called into my flat that day to service my smoke alarm. I was a trifle uncomfortable about having a stranger in my place when I wasn't home. But he left a very sweet card on the bench, telling me he'd installed a new type of alarm for me that wouldn't go off when I was cooking. Then he drew a smiley face. A smiley face! What kind of work-man leaves notes with smiley faces?! The second surprise was a package from my dear friend
Mr Michael in Chicago. The package was filled to the brim with goodies for my brain. Hurrah!

Friday saw more surprises - mostly involving strange inctances of
The Past running up, sticking its tongue out and saying: BOO! That evening (after a phone conversation with my suddely-reappeared ex-boyfriend) I trundled off to the joint-21st of his former housemates. Coincidence that Mr Ryan should appear the same night as Ms Liz and Ms Nat's birthday celebration? Well, apparently so actually. But the fun didn't stop there (nor with the many, many vodkas I ingested). At the party, I stumbled upon (not quite literally) a Ms Narelle - who attended the same Uni course as me AND shares my birthday - and a Mr Simon (no, lovers and dreamers, not THAT Simon) who I went to highschool with, part of the infamous History-teacher-nervous-breakdown-causing Class 10G. I don't remember all that much beyond about midnight, but I know that I got home in a taxi at about 3.30. Anyway, hope you both had a great birthday, gals.

The reunion theme continued on Saturday morning, with the long-anticipated welcome home of Mme Moodles' much-loved parental units: Mother Gomes & Mr Mikey. Oh, it was good to see them! After six months teaching English in the Land Of The Rising Sun, they seemed very glad to be back in a city of good strong coffee and proper cooked breakfasts, not to mention being surrounded by us loving young-uns once again. (Incidentally the lady waiting tables at Café Nova on Brunswick St is a darling, but the slag behind the counter is a Grade-A cunt.)

The afternoon was spent schloofing with Ms Snazzles, which included a mosey over to the local school fete avec
Ms Jellyfish, her brother The Boy Wonder, and her young charge (seemingly known on the Net only as The Kid). What an entertaining bunch they are! Then, after a much-needed Nanna-Nap, it was off to the home of the loveable & decadently insane Ms Leah for another birthday celebration. Unfortunately owing to Snaz & I both nursing crippling hangovers, my immediate group of lovely ladies made a reasonably early night of it... all bar Mistress Corrie who - along with Leah - apparently found herself still drinking beer and dancing in her underwear at 5 in the morn. Ah... whether trash-bagging it up, or slumping in a tired mess in the corner, I've said it before and I'll say it again: My friends are HOT and they ROCK.

On Sunday morning I met with Mr Ryan Mac. In a twist of that-thing-that-everyone-calls-irony-but-isn't-really, we met in the same place, walked down the same street and ended up in the same café as we had on our first ever date. Anyway, we had a long-needed chat, were brave and honest with each other, and cleared the air about a lot of things I hope. How can I describe the feeling of this rendezvous? Last time I saw him, I was kissing him good-bye at the airport, madly in love and missing him already, but believing he would be back and all would be fine in three short weeks. Now it is several months later, and more has happened than I can even fit into my head. The details of our catch-up conversation are not the fodder for this forum, but suffice to say I am proud of myself for being true to my felings... and I only cried a little bit! At any rate, it was all good for The Closure.

So here I am. Strill tired and slightly hungover... there was more drinking throughout the weekend, of the Alone variety ("What horse were you thrown from, which riderless goes on?"). But hey, things are cool. Hope everyone out there in computer-land have their Happy Hats on. More news, as it happens, dear readers.


The only way to go now is forward...



25 November, 2005

and the book says we may be through with the past...

...but the past ain't through with us.

It is barely 8am, and this is already a head-fuck of a day. I opened up my email, as I do every day. There was an email from Mr Ryan Mac. He was apologising and saying that he will be coming back to Melbourne soon, and that he was going to work things out with his life. He wants us to catch up and talk. (He has also left a message here on my blog; it is obviously very important to him to get in touch with me.)

Just as I finished reading Ryan's email - and was sitting staring at the screen a little dumbfounded - Mr Jason, with whom patermunkey and I both work, came up and handed me an envelope. "I just found this on the floor of my workshop," he said. It was a small mauve-coloured envelope, stamped and addressed in the unmistakable handwriting of matermunkey. It was a letter of thanks sent to our workmates, after they sent her flowers one of the times she was in hospital. It's difficult to describe what it feels like, staring at this letter (it's still sitting just next to the keyboard, as I type) from beyond the grave. I showed it to patermunkey, and saw the uncontrollable urgency with which he opened and read it when I handed it to him - exactly the same way I had. It is a piece of paper, a collection of words. But it is also a piece of her - my mother, his wife. She is everywhere, of course, in our lives. But there was something about the unexpectedness of this discovery, something about the selfless warmth and genuine gratitude of this small thank-you note. I can't tell you what that something is, but it was written on the face of Mr Jason when he gave the note to me, and it lived and breathed when patermunkey and I held it and read it.

So Now Then

I think I will meet with Ryan, if indeed he returns to Melbourne. I think it would be good to have the closure of talking to him. I will probably cry. I may well scream. I may realise I am not actually able to be in his presence ever again. But I think I need that process, however difficult it is. And even though I don't owe him anything, I want to give him the chance to explain his journey through the past few months. Maybe I can even forgive him, polish the silver-lining and let all of this go once and for all.

How much can you forgive? Tough part of the job.
Tough part of walking down the street



23 November, 2005

a world of crushing lows and swaggering highs

My tongue hurts. I feel sick. I have just had to lick-seal almost 40 envelopes ~ invitations for the work Christmas party. Why oh why can't stationery companies make decorative christmas envelopes that SELF-SEAL?! Oh that glue is festy stuff.

I forgot to pay my rent. That was very foolish. In all the excitement, I had neglected to notice that we were beyond the 20th of the month. I realised this morning. "FUCK!" I said. I have paid it now. I rang the real-estate lady to explain, and it's all going to be fine. But I still feel like a nork.

I'm sick of being single. No, scratch that. To be much more accurate: I'm sick of being sick of being single. I wish I could get over the urge to find someone to hold. I wish it was possible to override the basic human desire for love and affection. I wish I could be happy to live and die alone, in the company of wonderful friends & family. Damn hormnones. Damn emotions. Damn guys.

But wait... just when you think you may have paper-lacerated your tongue, when you realise you'll never be a financially responsible adult, when you want to to wail to the heavens that it all SUCKS... the inherent good in this wonky wacky universe becomes apparent, when Madame Moodles discovers this:

It's a Flying Spaghetti Monster dildo-cosy. Because everyone wants to store their sex-toys inside a hand-knitted replica of their favourite all-powerful pasta-&-meatballs deity! (by the way, for the sake of Mu's dignity, I must emphatically point out that it is not her dildo, nor her dildo-cosy - she found the picture on the net) Bless.


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22 November, 2005

and they're off!

How nice of you to drop in! If I'd known you were coming, I'd have baked a cake.

My brother Electroboy was the star of a play on Friday night. He participates every year in a theatre-group for intellectually disabled people, always landing himself a prime role. And rightly so: he is a star. He has been in the performance three years in a row now, and every time as I've exited the auditorium, I've overheard strangers remarking on his performance. Ah the pride! It makes me wonder what kind of life he would be persuing, if things had been different for him. Perhaps he and I would be performing together - The Marvellous Munkey Bros. Who knows? Anyway the troupe Electroboy works with is organised by a good soul named Larry. He tends to create epic non-linear explorations of post-modern themes... which munkey doesn't find particularly appropriate to either the performers or the audience, but I shouldn't bitch. It's amazing that he puts so much time and effort into something most people wouldn't even bother with... even if the pretention-level of his ideas is slightly misjudged.

On Sunday, I made the trek via public transport out to Yarra Glen for A Day At The Races. There were about 20 of us, in our group, including my four favourite young ladies in the known universe. Everybody was dolled up to the nines and looking smashing; we had our own little marquee on the lawn, and the sun was shining (for most of the day). Snazzles had her seasoned gambling hat on, but alas fate was not on her side. The biggest win of the day went to Corrie with "It's The Power" - a horse picked totally at random, who delivered the Mistress a "kaching" of $90. It was an event filled with fine food (arranged by the incredibly organised Mr Adam) and much booze. By the end of the day munkey found himself quite pleasantly sozzled - although I think (hope) I managed to hold together a reasonable level of decorum. There was no vomiting on buses trains or taxis, so that must count for something. After the long journey back to the city, the last few of us decided it would be a fine idea to indulge in pizza and further drinking at Bimbo's. It was a bleary-eyed blogger who finally made his way home and fell into bed that evening.

Last night I caught up with my ladies again, along with the oft-reclusive Mr Joshua to eat fish & chips, drink wine and watch the Grand Final of Australian Idol. Yes, lovers and dreamers, I know you would expect better of a bunch of supposedly-classy well-educated arty folk. But hey, trashy as it may be, realtiy TV is fun. Despite Emily's vocal prowess, we were all glad to see a talented genuinely good-natured Aussie dag like Kate take the prize. Besides, Emily looks like a polynesian Gretel Killeen. Nuff sed.

One final shout-out, before I leave you be. Big birthday "Hurrah"s for Mr Joshua and Mr Chris Mac, who both celebrated the anniversary of their popping-into-the-world this weekend. Cheers, dears.

The finest fillies on the course. Clockwise from top right: Dame Snazzlepops; Madame Moodles; Lady Lilikens; Mistress Corrie.



21 November, 2005

when layout editors need to be fired

Thanks to Lady Lilikens for pointing out this example of amazingly bad advertising placement.

For those who might not be aware, Nguyen Tuong Van is an Australian citizen found guilty of smuggling heroin in Singapore, and sentenced to death by hanging on the 2nd of December. So the choice of ad for this page from The Age website today is more than a little wrong:

For munkey's sake, don't these people think ???



16 November, 2005

a million faces can make a difference

Okay... I rarely tackle anything extremely serious here, as I basically feel totally incapable of doing justice to most of the genuinely complex and tragic issues facing our world.

However, I want to urge all my dear readers to join the
MILLION FACES campaign, to help pressure International Leaders into creating a Global Small-Arms Trade Treaty. The worldwide human toll of gun violence is more horrific than most of us can even imagine. It goes far beyond the carnage we are all aware of, far beyond the well-documented crime on the streets of developed countries. Perhaps the most tragic effect of the unregulated trade of small-arms throughout the world, is the widespread implication and involvement of mere children in gun warfare.

(All quotes and statistics below are from
Amnesty International.)

(Child-soldiers in Sudan...)

"The death toll from small arms dwarfs that of all other weapons systems - and in most years greatly exceeds the toll of the atomic bombs that devestated Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In terms of the carnage they cause, small-arms, indeed, could well be described as 'weapons of mass destruction'. Yet there is still no global non-proliferation regime to limit their spread."
Kofi Annan, UN Secretary General

(...in Rwanda...)

~ 300,000 children - boys and girls - are actively serving as armed child-soldiers.

~ Every minute, one man, woman or child is killed by small-arms.

~ 639 million small-arms and weapons are in circulation worldwide.

~ 8 million small-arms are added to this total every year.

~ Enough ammunition is produced each year to kill every human being on Earth, twice over.

(...in Thailand...)

"One day my friends and I were forced by our commanders to kill a family, to cut up their bodies and to eat them. I have nothing to live for. At night, I can no longer sleep. I keep thinking of those horrible things I have seen and done when I was a soldier."
Kalami, 15, was forced to become a soldier at the age of 9

(...and in the Democratic Republic of Congo.)

If you are disturbed by the thought of children being kidnapped or threatened with prison unless they take up a gun; if you are sickened at the idea of a 6-year-old boy being forced to join a band of soldiers after watching them murder his mother; if you find it unacceptable that ordinary lives are destroyed and ended on a daily basis, as a direct result of the international arms trade, please take action...

Join the
MILLION FACES campaign. It only takes a moment, and you can remain anonymous if you wish.

Please also consider making a donation to
Amnesty International - promoting and defending human rights throughout the world.



15 November, 2005

life is such a wonderful slide, you're hangin' around the day...

The dreary working week drew to a close, and your fearless blogger had quite a busy weekend ahead. On Friday evening, I caught up with Mr Chris Mac for the first time in AAAGES. Needless to say there was a lot to catch up on, and much drinking to be done.

After a few glasses of vino at his house, Chris and I wandered down Toorak Rd for a cheap but hearty meal at La Porchetta. Then, as the liquor began to make its effects felt, we embarked upon what became a gay bar crawl. First it was off to the ultimate haunt of queer trashiness: Commercial Road, for a visit to Diva Bar. Diva is quite fun, in a harmless, clichéd stereotype-of-itself kind of way. Yes, this is the kind of gay bar you see in the movies: scantily clad boys dancing on the bar, brazen drag-queen emceeing the proceedings, a crowd of hip young thangs - 50% of whom are 18-25-year-old guys with the same haircut, the same clothes, and no doubt the same ambitions for the evening. Among this crowd of bleached, waxed groovers and shakers, I encountered a familiar, non-stereotyped face ~ another suprise meeting with Mr Marcus, smiling & cheerful as always. Chris's beau Mr Hao also met us there, before taking his cold/hayfever home to bed. Chris and I kicked on to XChange, about twenty minutes before closing. Just enough time for yet another vodka and a drunken traipse around the dance-floor, before we bundled into a taxi and off to the opposite end of town: The Peel. After several more drinks and a bit more dancing (among a very drunken and largely half-naked crowd) mindlessmunkey was high nigh ready for bed. So I dragged myself into another cab and found my tired, drunken way home. It was a great night and simply wonderful to spend time with Mr Chris again. Time spent in the queer scene is always an eye-opener... especially with someone fun and slightly cynical who trancends the gay cliché.

Saturday was the celebration of Grandma Ashton's 90th Birthday! Yes, dear readers, both of my grandmothers are still with us, at 91 and 90. What a classy couple of ladies. For Grandma's celebrations, Oli took me to the house of Aunty Sheila, where it was a day of drinking *hair-of-the-dog munkey*, eating and merriment among my beloved relatives. Ms Snazzles came along too for a long-overdue catch-up with the other leaves of my family tree. Especially lovely to see were babies Jett and Maxx, growing up so fast, as all babies seem to do.

A well-earned recovery-day was enjoyed on Sunday, before heading off to Hanover Court. The evening was spent feasting on Lady Lili's stir-fry, guzzling Macbeth's wine and wallowing in the trashiness of Australian Idol. And may I here proclaim a mighty hurrah that talentless pseudo-punk fucknuckle
Lee Harding has hopefully disappeared from the public radar for all time, and will - please God - disappear back into the obscurity of Frankston.

Munkey had a blessed RDO on Monday, and used it to visit Dr DaveGoo and his other half Mr Raymond. Dr Dave took the time to provide me with a copy of The Sims 2. It is so cool! We all know I'm not a big computer-game person. In fact, I'm not even a small computer-game person. But there's something about the anthropological manipulation and social meddling involved in The Sims that gets me right where I live. And The Sims 2 - especially with the University and Nightlife extension packs - is EXPONENTIALLY more complicated. Hours of fun - if not days, weeks, months...!

Right, well I think that's enough wittering away for one entry, lovers and dreamers. Love to y'all.

L to R: The kind of simulated human being you might see in gay clubs; The kind of simulated human being you might see in The Sims 2 .



terrorists 1 - mindlessmunkey 0

~dream diary~

We are at some sort of school camp. There is a huge dorm filled with bunks. It is night. Dame Snazzlepops and I are sleeping on two top-bunks, pushed right up together to make a double-bed. The other beds are occupied by various people - mostly young guys and girls I don't recognise - apart from the one nearest to Snaz and I, where
Mr David Beekeeper is sitting chatting to us. The dorm is filled with rowdy activity, as the young campers talk loudly, run from bed to bed and make-out with their partners.

A teacher comes in to quiet us down. I respect him; he is a good teacher and a nice guy. He begins to walk around the dorm, giving out Bibles. He is disappointed with our rowdy behaviour, so he is giving everyone two thick black leather-bound volumes - The Old and New Testaments - for us to read and learn how to behave. All the kids accept the Bibles, though they clearly have no intention of reading them. The teacher gets to my bed and hands me copies of The Good Book. I don't want to cause trouble with this teacher, but I refuse to sit here and pretend. I push the Bibles from my bed. They fall from the top bunk to the floor with an echoing slap. Silence falls in the dorm.

The next morning, we have a final assembly in the camp hall. No-one else is aware, but Snazzles and I know that there is going to be a terrorist attack as soon as the assembly ends. Mexican Muslims (who else?!) are going to storm the premises, and kids are going to be shot. We this as if we've already seen it on the news; as if it's a movie whose ending we already know. When we are dismissed, and told to go back to our dorms to pack up, Snazzles lingers in the foyer - the place we know the attack will begin - to buy a newspaper from a kiosk. We have to get out of here! The terrorists will be here any second! Snazzles and I run from the foyer area, back towards our dorm, where we can hide. But we get separated. I become lost, wandering the richly-decorated halls of this huge place. Suddenly I realise that the hallway I'm in - decked out with red velvet drapery and dark mahogany furnishings - lies directly adjacent to the assembly hall. Panic seizes me. In trying to find a safe place to hide, I have inadvertantly stumbled into the very path of the gunmen.

Suddenly, as I attempt to hurry across a walkway, one of the Mexican Muslims appears before me. He is resplendantly dressed in black robes and a crimson head-scarf. He says some words (which I can't remember) and raises a large gun. As always, when facing death in a dream, I meet my end with quiet dignity and a perfectly relaxed mind. The gunman fires. I feel an explosive pain in my upper chest, travelling through to my shoulder-blade. He fires again and again.

I am dead, but I am still wandering; still watching. Though the attack is now over, the camp is in a state of shock and grief, as news spreads of the shootings. In my dorm, Snazzles is numbly weeping as she struggles to pack up my belongings. I want to help her, but I can't.



09 November, 2005


Where is the Lorax when you need him?

Oli drove me into my apartment block this afternoon, like every day. But something was different. It was a beautiful sunny late-Spring afternoon. But something was wrong. It was too sunny. Realising what had happened, I rushed up to my floor and out onto the little balcony that leads off the laundry room. Even though I knew this was coming, my heart sank. The entire fence-line of the adjoining property has always been planted with a thick row of trees. These trees provided shade from the Northern summer sun. They created a lovely leafy vista outside the whole of my huge living-room window. They were home to innumerable birds and several possums. This afternoon, every tree was gone.

The entire lot has been bulldozed. The culprit - a run-down dark orange metal monster, tagged with grubby black grafitti and pock-marked with rust - was still sitting there triumphantly. Around him, the wreckage of his day's work: the tumbled rubble of what was once a large family home, and the strewn corpses of countless trees. The sun now beats upon the unprotected North wall of my building. My living-room window looks down on a sparse and scattered scene of desolation. Beyond, over the rooftops, you can see all the way to the
St Ignatius spire atop Richmond Hill.

That, however, will be short-lived. As soon as the ruins are cleared away, construction will begin on two towering modern townhouses made of slab-concrete. The true villain is not the dirty orange machine who struck the blows, nor indeed the man who operated the Beast. No, lovers and dreamers, save your boos and hisses for a local property-investor, who conveniently lives just round the corner. (Earlier this year, the high pale wall of his residence was spraypainted "YUPPY DOG". Who am I to disagree?) He recently purchased the property next to my building and - despite strong protests from ALL his neighbours - decided to "develop" it, creating soulless mass-produced lego-houses he can rent to plebs like me for his own personal gain.

So... No more birds. No more leafy curtain outside my window. No more possums. Angular concrete and squares of glass. Henceforth, this will be my vista.

All hail, the glorious God of Progress.

I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.


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words of wisdom

Today's Words of Wisdom is not a collection of quotable snippets from any one person. Rather, I've thrown together a few quotes on the same topic: homosexuality. Perhaps I'm in a peculiarly rainbow-flag-waving mood today. Who knows? At any rate here is some food for thought (Incidentally, not all of these words are wise. I thought I'd throw in some to illustrate the stpuidity and offensiveness of homophobia as well. Oh, and apologies to my gay lady friends, but many of these are specifically about male homosexuality. There are just more good quotes about us guys!)...


As everyone knows, a fag is a homosexual gentleman who has just left the room.
Truman Capote

Anyone who thinks that love needs to be cured has not experienced enough of it in their own lives.
Joan Garry

Homosexuality is a crime against humanity ... Causes of homosexuality include: 'sex with animals'
Paul Cameron

Wherever it has been established that it is shameful to be involved with sexual relationships with men, that is due to evil on the part of the rulers, and to cowardice on the part of the governed.

Gays are not oppressed on a whim, but because of the specific need of capitalism for the nuclear family. The nuclear family ... fulfills an important need for capitalism. Alternative sexualities represent a threat to the family model because they provide an alternative role model for people. Gays are going to be in the front line of attack whenever capitalism wants to reinforce family values.
~ Louise Tierney, "Looking to the Future"

Homosexuals are weak, morally sick wretches.
Jesse Helms (Sen. R-NC)

In high school, while your children were doing what kids that age should be doing, mine labored over a suicide note, drafting and redrafting it to be sure his family knew how much he loved them. My sobbing 17-year-old tore the heart out of me as he choked out that he just couldn't bear to continue living any longer, that he didn't want to be gay and that he couldn't face a life without dignity. You have the audacity to talk about protecting families and children from the homosexual menace, while you yourselves tear apart families and drive children to despair. I don't know why my son is gay, but I do know that God didn't put him, and millions like him, on this Earth to give you someone to abuse.
Sharon Underwood

If you remove all the homosexuals and homosexual influences from what is generally regarded as American culture, you are pretty much left with Let's Make a Deal.
Fran Lebowitz

AIDS is the wrath of a just God against homosexuals. To oppose it would be like an Israelite jumping in the Red Sea to save one of Pharoah's charioteers.
Jerry Falwell

Concerning the Pope's claim that homosexuality is 'unnatural'. Perhaps the Pope is suggesting that it lies beyond the scope of 'normal' human behavior. If so, this has uncomfortable implications for an association of old men who wear dresses, hear voices and practice ritual cannibalism. Self-enforced celibacy is all but unknown among other animal species. If any sexual behavior is out of tune with the natural world, it is surely that of the priesthood.
George Monbiot, The Guardian, July 13, 2000

They are preserving the sanctity of marriage, so that two gay men who've been together for twenty-five years can't get married, but a guy can still get drunk in Vegas and marry a hooker at the Elvis chapel! The sanctity of marriage is saved!
Lea DeLaria

AIDS is a racial disease of Jews and Niggers, and fortunately it is wiping out the queers. I guess God hates queers for several reasons. There is one big reason to be against queers and that is because every time some white boy is seduced by a queer into becoming a queer, means his white bloodline has run out .
J. B. Stoner

Wouldn't it be great if you could only get AIDS by giving money to television preachers?
Elayne Boosler

Hear the word of the LORD, America, fag-enablers are worse than the fags themselves, and will be punished in the everlasting lake of fire! ... You telling these miserable, Hell-bound, bath house-wallowing, anal-copulating fags that God loves them!? You have bats in the belfry! ... Not only is homosexuality a sin, but anyone who supports fags is just as guilty as they are. You are both worthy of death.
Fred Phelps (Westboro Baptist Church)

Homosexuality is assuredly no advantage, but it is nothing to be ashamed of, no vice, no degradation, it cannot be classified as an illness.
Sigmund Freud, letter to an American mother's plea to cure her son's homosexuality, 1935

Love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?
James Baldwin



07 November, 2005

when the levee breaks

Today, Mr Ryan Mac and I should have done a 12,000 foot skydive over the glorious scenery of Lake Wanaka, South Island, New Zealand.

It is after 11pm right now. I have been crying uncontrollably for most of the evening. It's hard to pinpoint exactly what has been the catalyst for this long-overdue catharsis. I think the would-be date of our planned "taking-the-plunge" is purely coincidental. Perhaps it's because my boss (a family friend) drew me aside this morning and asked if I had been having problems lately, and if there was anything he could do to help. It's not the kind of thing you can tell your boss, even if he is a family friend. But maybe it was a jolt that showed me once and for all that I'm not functioning at full capacity recently.

At any rate, what it boils down to is: I miss Ryan. He may have lied to me and taken from me and he may now have been sent to The Big House (quite possibly with good reason)... but dammit I'm not ashamed to say it. I miss him. I miss the person he was when I saw him at his best. I miss the months of happiness and love that we shared. I miss the way he would reach over and play with the back of my hair while I was driving, and the way he would stretch his neck out, his lips in a mischievous puckered smile, when he wanted me to kiss him. I miss the way he prompted me to do crazy, spontaneous things, and the new perspective on people I got from spending time with him and his friends. I miss the inevitable smile on my face whenever I was with him. I miss the totally-indefinable, seemingly-insignificant moments of affection that made our relationship incredibly special. I miss his thick strong arms, his crooked shining smile, his twinkling eyes in their lush forest of lashes. I miss him.

But the reality is that he destroyed the life that we were building together. He allowed himself to get swept away in an ocean of stupidity and dishonesty, leaving me lying on the sandy shore in the sun, thinking that the warmth would never end. By the time I realised he was lost in the outgoing tide, it was too late to do anything. I could never even ask what happened. There was no shouting, crying, fighting. It was just over, and he was no longer the person I had thought he was... perhaps he never truly had been.

As my beloved Ms Snazzles so wisely noted - i'm sure this lack of any feeling of resolution to the relationship is the reason it has taken me so long for this catharsis to hit. But here it is. And I will not attempt to stifle the flow. If I must cry a pool of tears and tread-water until the sun comes out again, that is what I'll do. I need this.

In time, Rye, you will fade back into the darkness, and my life will go on. I am standing in the place where I am. I am facing forward.




Okay, I think it's time for another side-show of freakish treats from sources far and wide.


Official Political Advisor to mindlessmunkey, Madame Mu, sent me this news snippet during the week:

Leaders of the Free World

(Opening paragraph in an op-ed piece in the New York Times Oct 19)
"A delegation of Iraqi judges and journalists abruptly left the U.S. today, cutting short its visit to study the workings of American democracy. A delegation spokesman said the Iraqis were ''bewildered'' by some of the behavior of the Bush administration and felt it was best to limit their exposure to the U.S. system at this time, when Iraq is taking its first baby steps toward democracy."

As Moodles said, truly a glowing recommendation of the world's only remaining superpower! If the the way they run things is considered a detrimental example to a fledgeling democracy, what hope do they really have of bringing "Freedom" to the Middle East?


In related, but far more nonsensical delights, here is a fun little website:


Very simple, but actually quite hypnotic... watch as George falls, collides and contorts his way down a never-ending field of bumpy blue balls. If he gets stuck, simply click, drag and chuck his puny little body around! Fun fun fun!


This next item comes to the desk of Mr Munkey by the grace of Mister Timothy. In my web travels, I have encountered many slices of utterly bizarre genius, but this particular Blog is perhaps the most bewilderingly impressive:


This blogger "Eggagog"... is he a genius or is he retarded? Is he making a sublimely ironic statement about the self-publishing phenomenon, or is he... retarded? Any way you look at it his blog is strangely addictive and laugh-out-loud funny. Funny strange AND funny haha. The quite disturbing thing is -if you take the time to read the posts from the beginning, in chronological order - it actually starts to make sense. Hrmm.


Last up, in the category of wacky/bizarre photos you will never see anywhere but on the net:

Yes, lovers and dreamers, an xray of someone getting a blowjob. Just when you thought they'd already discovered every possible genre of porn, some genius has come up with MRI PORN! What's next? ECGs of hot college twinks? A CATscan taken at the moment of female ejaculation? This could be the next big thing in adult entertainment!

Electron microscope cumshot! How hot is that?!



02 November, 2005

i feel shitty, oh so shitty

Well, I went and did it. After all my bitching and moaning when others did it to me... after vowing I would never fall into the trap of needlessly hurting someone, here I am. *manthrax munkey* All men are bastards; add me to the list.

For those of you who didn't know, I had recently been seeing a lovely young man, who we'll call Mr Daz. We only met a week or so ago, but we both felt a strong connection there and wanted to see more of each other. All the sensible voices rang in munkey's head saying: don't rush into anything, you're still smarting from the

But Mr Daz is so lovely! There is not a bad bone in his body. He wouldn't hurt a fly. He wouldn't swat a mosquito that gave malaria to his first-born child. He's the kind of boy who, on lunchbreaks, buys markdown bread from Coles and feeds it to ducks and swans in the park. Munkey would be a goshdarned fool to pass-up the opportunity to be with a guy like this, right?

So we meet. We spend time. We like each other. A lot. Mr Daz likes me. A WHOLE lot. Suddenly I find myself on a pedestal. Suddenly I find myself in a relationship. Suddenly I find myself smiling encouragement as Mr Daz dives into the deep end. But I am still wallowing at the shallow-end, struggling to inflate my floaties.

By the time I realise that this is all wrong for me - that everyone was right: it is too soon and i do need to be single - it is too late. Someone else's heart is too deeply involved. I have to face the harsh reality: I need to end this before Mr Daz gets in even deeper; the longer I wait, the worse it will be for him.

*Skip to the end...*

I am single again. Mr Daz is confused and devastated. I feel like an A-Grade Cunt, which I probably am.

So, lovers and dreamers, I guess the point of this entry is simply to offer my unmitigated apologies. I want to apologise to the guys I got bitter at in the past, when they cut short a budding romance with me. (Yes, I'm talking about one person in particular - he reads my blog and he knows who he is.) I understand now what it's like to have the shoe on the other foot, and it's not as easy as it looks.

And above all, of course, I want to apologise to Mr Daz. You didn't do anything but follow your heart, and I stomped on it. I know it doesn't mean much now, but I am deeply sorry.

p.s. It's probably karma (pre-emptive karma, i think, because it started on Monday) but I feel like ratshit right now. I think I have a throat infection. My glands are like two rockmelons sitting in my neck. It hurts to even swallow water. Woe is me.

Come forth with your flaming torches and pitchforks. Hunt me down and chase me to the old mill. I am indeed a monster.