So…… lot of weather we’ve been having lately, innit?……

All right, let’s talk serious shit. I’ve lost my way since our son Blake completed suicide back in September 2019. Of course it’s understandable — Luscious and I have been swallowed by grief, and anybody who can’t understand how that level of grief can affect you has my permission to stay quiet — but the ultimate end of that process is that my life has turned in upon itself and started eating its own tail. Everything that was supposed to be good about coming to Karratha — gaining fitness, writing more, lowering my stress levels, finding my post-50-year-old-future, etc etc and so forth — was destroyed, and what’s more, I didn’t care.

This can no longer be supported.

Continue reading “WELCOME TO THE BUNGLE. AGAIN.”


All the Gods pass through here. The walls are thick with photos: Odin, back in the two-eyed days; Zoroaster poking two fingers up behind Zarathustra’s head; Kali with her arms around Mister Vitelli. A lot of Gods with Mister Vitelli. He might own the place, but you’ve never met a bigger starfucker in your life. And Mister Vitelli has lived several.

Truth is, nobody knows how long Mister Vitelli’s been around. I tried to map it out, once. Build a chronology using the photos as a guide. But times runs kinky here. Gods are natural phenomena. Black holes with daddy issues. Supernovae with bar tabs. The laws of physics and men get bent for party tricks in this place. All I know is, Mister Vitelli is old. Like, cosmic old. All the Gods call him ‘Mister’. That should tell you all you really need to know.

I saw him, once. From a distance. I was tending bar, trying to keep Circe and Freya from turning the bar top into a live action porn show. Again. He was at a table with a God I didn’t recognise. Someone lean, and modern, all darkness and bad intentions. Even through a halo of Goddess hair and love sweat, I could tell—this was a bad news kind of God, a no-future kind of God. And whatever he was pitching, Mister Vitelli was angry.

I’ve been trying to preserve half an hour a night for writing this year. No expectations, no markets in mind, just half an hour where, even if all I do is stare at a blank screen every night, I’m doing nothing other than writing behaviours. I’ve managed bugger all for a week, but tonight, well…… that. What you just read.

Maybe it’s a start. Maybe it’s nothing. I have no expectations.

But maybe it’s a start.


The first mixed movie quote for the year, and it’s a classic horror movie Lord 16 has been nagging us relentlessly since the age of twelve to watch. The Exorcist isn’t particularly scary anymore — after fifty years of imitations, homages, rip-offs, and downright immersion in the cultural zeitgeist, it’s still brilliant enough to be disquieting, and disturbing, but the sheer terror I underwent when watching it for the first time at age fourteen has gone.

So, because I am a loving and supportive father who wants my son to experience all the wonders and emotional highs I’ve gone through, I’ve set this quote to a movie I know gives him the creeping abdabs…… because that’s what love is.


Okay, a two-week holiday in far-off Perth has been achieved, complete with hoovering up Lego and graphic novels, meeting my new granddaughter, hoovering up books, Christmas, seeing our adult kids, hoovering up as many kebabs as my body could stand, hoovering up as many piece of pop culture shite as I could get my hands on, playing with my grandkids, and generally just slobbing about like Dave Lister if Red Dwarf was Australian and remotely worth watching any more.

All of which means, I’m in a much better place than when I last posted. To whit, let’s talk about the TV, films, books, and graphic novels I couldn’t bring myself to list when I posted my end of year review!

Continue reading “2020 ADDENDUM: THE LISTS”