Everything has been tough since Blake died, but for his partner Holly it’s been complicated by Real World ™ difficulties that have made life doubly hellish. Not only did she lose her job for the crime of mourning her partner, but thanks to a ridiculously short vacate notice and housemates who have chosen to cut and run rather than step up and take responsibility, Holly is left holding a financial can she can’t manage, never mind cope with.
The Triffitt and Battersby families have done what they’ve always done, come together to help one of their own. We’ve started a Go Fund Me Page to help Holly get back on her feet.
We can’t bring Blake back, we can’t get Holly into a new home, we can’t give her a job. But we can reach out to you, our friends, and ask that you help Holly in this time of desperate need.
If you’ve got a couple of bucks to help a young woman who shouldn’t have to cope with the emotional load she is carrying dig herself out of a financial hole she shouldn’t have to bear, you would be helping in a way that will have very real consequences.
Click here is you can spare a buck or two to help Holly out.
Jeff Lacy walked to the ring as the hottest prospect in boxing. he’d been compared to a rampant Mike Tyson, to Apollo Creed, to everything young and brash and good-looking about American sports. He’d been anointed the next big thing, and was almost un-backable in the betting room. Joe Calzaghe was older, slower, past it. Eight years as champion had taken their toll. His hands, never tools of one-punch knockout power, were brittle shells, particularly his left, which he’d broken in his last bout and was convinced hadn’t healed properly. You couldn’t find anyone in the American press, and few in the British, who gave him a ghost’s chance against a fighter predicted to dominate the super-middleweight landscape for the next decade or more.
12 rounds later, Calzaghe was elevated to the legendary status he would never relinquish. Lacy was a hollow shell. Hypnotised by the nearly 1000 punches Calzaghe had thrown, concussed by the 350+ that had landed, the victim of one of the rarest feats in boxing– a perfect shut out round, in which he landed exactly zero blows to his opponent– Lacy was forever beaten. Gone. Destroyed. More than his body was broken that night in 2006. His spirit was ruined. He was never the same boxer again, never the same man. The abyss had not only stared back, it had bitten his soul in two. It was one of the greatest beatings in boxing history, and the man who lost it was forever lessened.
What does this have to do with Blake? Continue reading “28 DAYS LATER, or ON COPING, or NOT.”
Cattle die and kinsmen die,
thyself too soon must die,
but one thing never, I ween, will die, —
fair fame of one who has earned.
Havamal 76, from ‘The Poetic Edda’
The kids and I flew back from his funeral yesterday. Luscious is in Perth until Thursday, when she will return to us. Perhaps it’s time to talk about it.
On September 21st, my bonus son Blake lost the battle, and took his own life. He was a week past having turned 25 years of age.
Continue reading “PAREIDOLIA: BLAKE”
I have to take a short break. On Saturday, Luscious and I lost one of our family members, whose battle simply became too much and who took the only way out they felt was left to them. I can’t talk about it at any length right now. Perhaps later.
But while we try to make sense of it, and bring our family around us, and grieve, I’m taking a break from this page.
To future days.
My father died yesterday.
He’d been suffering from dementia for quite some time, the result of a condition called Primary Progressive Aphasia, as well as the degenerative effects of a lifetime spent in dangerous manual labour, with its attendant injuries. The decline was underway for several years. He’d been in steep decline for the last couple of years. Three days ago he slipped into a coma from which he never awoke, and at 9.30am yesterday morning he took his last breath. He was 75 years old.
Continue reading “DADDY GAVE ME A NAME”
So, it’s over. Tropical Cyclone Veronica became Very Strong Wind Veronica, and finally, Was That It? Veronica. Port Hedland was battered to within an inch of improvement, Wickham and Roeburne received a bloody good wash, and Karratha lost a few trees and spread an awful lot of leaves about to be the mulch of the future.
As to us, we evacuated from our house because we were advised that our house was likely to be flooded, and spent three nights camped out on air beds on the floor of our local indoor basketball courts, surrounded by as much food as we could cram into two eskies, a veritable fort of water bottles, and the hacking coughs and sneezes of 60 or so other people who received the same advice… only to return home and find that up the half a dozen of our emergency sandbags had become partially moist.
I make light, of course. This is the blog of a bitter and broken curmudgeon. News sites start to the left.
But, we’re okay, the house survived, we’re all back at work and school and regular service is resumed. So, on that note, I shall resume my position of rough radio silence for at least a few more weeks while I go back to trying to resolve my future as a writer, artist, failure, empty vessel, and hermit-best-treated-as-a-sort-of-roundabout.
Thanks to all who got in touch to make sure we are okay. See you all soon. Ish. Probably. Maybe. Probably.
Breaking silence just to update you on our current state of Real Life ™.
As many of you know, we located to Karratha, in the North of our State, at the beginning of last year. Right now, that puts us in the path of Cyclone Veronica, a category 4 cyclone off the coast that is expected to reach category 5 by the weekend, when it is expected to cross the coast somewhere within 350 kilometres of my side of the bed.
By tea-time Sunday, we are likely to be gifted with winds in excess of 125km/hr, potentially reaching to over 165km/hr. According to the Bureau of Meteorology, we’re also highly likely to receive rainfall in excess of 150mm within a 24 hour period, resulting in major flooding and a very dangerous storm tide.
Continue reading “CYCLONE VERONICA: THIS IS SERIOUS, MUM.”