Thursday, June 30, 2016
As a child, I went with the family to Blackpool, (a seaside resort). I was 6 years old and boys being boys, I decided to go in the Ocean for a swim. Conveniently, I forgot that my idea of swimming was to flop my arms and kick one leg, the other keeping good contact with the bottom of the small swimming pool in Sowerby Bridge in Yorkshire. I was doing quite well until a large wave rolled clean over the top of me and then proceeded to drag me out about 20 feet or so. When I felt for the bottom it was gone! I immediately sunk down about 15 feet and there I found the bottom. Horrendous fear and panic arose as I had swallowed, what I perceived to be, half of the Atlantic Ocean. Somehow I struggled to the surface and before I could catch a breath another wave went over me.
There was a small boat about 10 feet away from me with 6 or 8 tourists, laughing and joking as they waited to go out for a trip. The fear, desperation and uncontrollable panic stopped me from crying out for help. I did my best but nothing came out, except seawater. Down I went for a second
time and hit the bottom again.
This time I met the God of Death. I don't need to tell what that was like. He said to me, "You're going to die today. I'll be waiting for you!" At that stage, I think I pissed myself. Somehow I got to the surface again. Once there I focused on a young man I could see in the boat. I had been taught to pray, so in a nano-second I prayed, pleaded and begged for my life to be saved. My prayer went so, " Please, please, please save me God! I will do anything you tell me to do for the rest of my life if You will please save me!! At that point I went down for the third time. The pain in my head and lungs was now at bursting point. As far as I was concerned my life was over before it had really begun and I knew He was at the bottom waiting for me. As that thought flashed through the mind, a hand grabbed my hair and yanked me to the surface. The next thing I remember was coughing up the Atlantic Ocean in the relative safety of the small boat.
The young man, who I had focused on, just before I went down again, had hauled me out. "Are you alright son?" he asked. "Are you OK?"
"I'm alright." I coughed and blurted out.
"Where's your mother? I'll take you back to her."
"No, please mister. Don't tell mi mum. She'll kill me. I'm not supposed to go in the water!"
Once he saw I was all right, he turned the boat around and put me on the beach. When I got back to where my mother was sitting, she said, "Where the bloody hell have you been, you little bleeder? Have you been in that bloody water when I told you not to?"
"No mum, only paddling."
"Stay here with me and don't go bloody wandering off on your own. And don't go in that bloody water again. People who can't swim have drowned in the water. I'm sure you don’t want to experience that do you?"
"No mum." I said.
From that day to this, I have lived on borrowed time. I have also kept the promise I made. There has been many times over the years that I questioned my plea for help. Regardless of that I am still here, following His orders. The first time I heard that voice again, (after Blackpool) it said to me, "Leave this place and go to Australia."
By the way, tattooing my head was not my bright idea. I'll give you one guess who thought that one up!
Separateness is all pain & misery.
The ego doesn't want to be unified.
Void of content
that's why it's the Void.
Lack of content.
Illusion is such a powerful thing which means
you have no chance of escaping reality.
The man of compassion
sees himself as he is.
He can also see himself
through the eyes of others.
Don't blame the camera
if you are not beautiful.
Falling in love with the reflection &
forgetting the sun is not very intelligent.
Karma is created
by being attached
to the fruits
of ones actions.
People who manifest
There's no thinking
in fight or flight;
it just happens.
Beggars are not stuck with
the false idea of choice.
I beg you,
for your own sake,
stop killing each other
while you still can.
I am not interested
in your praise;
I don't have to
accept your blame.
When it all
hits the fan
don't blame me.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
One evening Peter Smith unexpectedly drove into Burts' yard and stopped in a cloud of dust outside my tin shed.
"G'day ya bastard!" he said with a huge grin on his face.
"G'day Peter, How are ya mate?"
My use of the Aussie accent and lingo was now improving somewhat.
"I'm good sport, and I'm good because I've got some good news for ya Yorky!"
"Ya got me a new job Peter?"
"Sure have mate! It took me awhile but I eventually found one for ya."
"What's it doing and who will I be working with? , I said, as mi heart was now skipping beats like a room skips over a fence.
"Well mate, you'll be starting a new career in contract fencing with a real good bloke called Jim Smith."
"Is he any relation to you Pete?"
"Na mate, no relation at all but he's a beaut bloke."
"Where does Jim Smith live Peter?" I asked as he started the Ute.
"Burgooney, about 3 miles from the station."
"What fucking station? My old tin shed was bigger than that station ticket office and that Joey I had could hop across that room in one hop on one leg!", I said as we drove off down the track, laughing our heads off.
The red dust flew up behind us as we drove along and Peter turned on the radio. We drove in silence as we listened to Slim Dusty singing one of his famous Bush ballads called, 'My Home on the Sunburnt Plain'.
"Grab that gate, Yorky." said Peter as we slowed down.
The gate was opened and closed in a jiffy and the Ute was once more kicking up dust as it rolled over large potholes.
"There's Jims' old Bedford truck, right where he said it would be."
"I can't see Jim anywhere around Peter?"
"Oh he's probably gone off in the Bush chasing a parrot."
"What d'ya mean 'chasing a parrot?"
"Jim's mad about parrots. He's got a small Avery back of his Humpy."
"He must really like parrots."
"Like 'em! If he hears a parrot he's not seen in these parts he'd drop his tools at the drop of a hat and go off chasing to find out where it's nesting."
"There's somebody walking out of the Bush."
"That's him mate. Let's git out and go meet him." Said Peter.
" G'day Jim, ya' been off in the Bush chasing parrots again mate?"
"Not this time mate", said Jim Smith. "I had a few minutes to spare so I went to drop mi guts. So this is mi new pommy fencer is it Pete?"
"Yeah mate. This is Yorky, Jim. Yorky, this is Jim."
"Nice to meet ya Yorky.", said Jim as we shook hands on the track.
"I'm glad ya could give a bit of a hand mate. The weather's starting to heat up now and I always seem to slow down when that happens."
"I haven't fenced before, ya know.", I said to Jim.
"No worries mate. I'll teach ya all I know. It'll only take mi 5 minutes."
This little joke from Jim let me know he was a real good bloke.
"Better put ya gear on Jims' truck Yorky, I gotta git back to my place now. I've got a few things I've got to finish today.", said Peter.
After mi 2 cases and mi trumpet were put on the open back of Jims' old Bedford truck, I walked over to Peter and said to him,
"I wanna thank ya for everything you've done for me mate."
"Bullshit! Enjoy ya new job mate. Ya deserve it. See ya later Jim.", said Peter as he hopped in his Ute.
"Alright mate.", said Jim. Drop in some time when ya passing."
"Don't forget to make him work Jim."
"She'll be right. I'll look after him."
"Alright Yorky, hop in the truck and we'll git ya gear back to the house. We'll start work tomorrow, that'll give ya time to unpack a bit of gear and fix up the room we've got for ya."
"Is it hard work, fencing?"
"Well, it's not easy Yorky, put it that way, but you'll get used to it mate. Just take it easy for a couple of days, then you'll be right. The main thing is ya hands. Once they toughen up to the job, bobs ya aunty mate."
I liked this man. He was easy going and had a big heart.
"Can ya drive mate?" asked Jim.
"No, old Burt wouldn't let me. He gave me a push bike to go up the mali."
"Oh that's no good mate. Ya gotta be able to drive in the Bush. Ya git more work that way. Anyway that's not a problem because you'll be driving as good as me in a few days."
"Ya mean you'll teach me to drive Jim?"
"No mate, you'll teach ya self. I'm gonna provide the truck!"
"Oh, that's really kind of you."
"No, it's a fact of Bush life. I had to learn to drive when I was 13 or I wouldn't have been able to git to work."
"Have you been working since you were 13?"
"Sure have Yorky. The only problem is it's habit-forming. Once you start, it's hard to stop, especially when you've got a wife and 4 young kids like I've got."
"How far to your place now?"
"About another 10 minutes mate."
"Do you always smoke cigars, Jim?"
"Yup, I sure do Yorky. That's another thing I started at 13 and now it's hard to stop, D'ya wanna try one mate?"
"If you've got enough, I'll have one."
"Oh, I think I can spare one, but if ya get the taste for 'em you'll have to buy ya own. There's a packet in the glove box. Help ya self mate."
"How d'ya like 'em?", he asked, as I puffed and coughed mi guts out.
"They're a bit strong."
"Yeah, they're beauties aren't they?", he said with a big grin on his face.
"Oh look". I said. "There's Burgooney Station."
"Yeh, that's right. Ya know Burgooney do ya?"
"Not really. It's where I got off when they sent me out here."
"Well, ya know Burgooney as well as anyone can 'cause that's all there is at Burgooney, the Ticket Station and I've never seen it open as long as I've been around here. My old Humpy's down the track a couple more miles. I think it used to belong to the railroad at one time."
"Who owns it now?"
"The cocky down the track further."
"Does it cost ya much in rent?"
"Not a penny, 'cause it's not worth it. The old place is falling down around mi ears, Yorky, but she'll do till I get something better, I suppose."
A few minutes later Jim pulled off the main track and took a small one-way Bush track through the scrub.
"There she is Yorky. That's mi old palace.", he said as we pulled up in a large clearing which was obviously his front yard.
As soon as the old Bedford pulled up outside the old broken-down Humpy, 4 small kids raced up to the drivers door and stared to bang on it with their small fists.
"Alright, alright.", said Jim to the kids. "Let a man git out so he can give ya a hug!"
The kids backed away from the door and Jim jumped down from the cab onto the dirt.
They were now tearing at his trouser legs for his undivided attention. He picked up each on of 'em in turn and gave them a big, noisy kiss on their cheeks. After that , they tried to drag him off into the old house.
"Come on Yorky.", he said. "We'll git ya gear in a while mate."
As soon as I got out of the cab, Jims' kids cried out in surprise and ran off into the house. I just stood there not knowing what to do or say.
"Did I scare them off Jim?"
"No Yorky, You're the first visitor they've seen for 6 months so they're a bit shy around strangers. Come on mate, let's go inside."
It takes guts, courage &
determination to refuse
to allow 7.4 billion people to
convince me that I'm wrong.
That's how they steal your heart
by keeping you in perpetual fear.
I have access to
all the characters.
Some die from speaking the Truth.
Others live a life of lies.
What else could
one have beyond love?
No one can get past
'By their actions
shall ye know them.'
There is only
choice in duality.
What are you committed to?
What will you die for?
It's life that's writing.
It's life itself that lives.
There are no answers.
Good questions are
what you need.
for what you are.
Create a safe,
for yourself &
get in touch with it.
A little bit
at a time.
Rage is an aspect of
I am in touch with
at all times.
have tried to
me their rage.
All I do is
& reflect it
back to them.
living in ones'
You can only manifest the amount of rage that you can control. When it spins out of your control, you are in big trouble.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
What am I not aware of
that I need to be aware of
to improve the
quality of my life, NOW?
As I appear,
of my Inner Self.
If you want to know
how corrupt you are,
test your sense of Justice.
One has to put themselves
in a good position to receive.
What you are
not aware of
Why do you talk to yourself?
To convince yourself
there's someone there?
Only a man who knows
he's truly alone can
appreciate good company.
You have to
to understand patience
& reap its benefit.
not sold out,
therefore, anything I say
will not make you money.
cannot be bought.
You are perfect, with your imperfections. After all, any idiot knows that perfection includes imperfection, otherwise, it wouldn't be perfection.
The great thing about personal experience is,
you don't care if anyone believes you or not.
It's not about
Society accepting me,
it's about me
Sunday, June 26, 2016
When you believe
you are the doer
do your best.
One has to keep
themselves jolly &
a good joke
once in a while.
The future is imaginary.
One can only guess.
Even the best psychics
can still only predict
the imaginary future.
No one has a
ahead of them.
There is no
such thing as
a real future.
The only way to live in the world is with no investment in it. If you have an investment in the world you have to take care of it. If you believe it to be real then you are heavily invested.
in the face
No more band-aid jobs!
Have you ever noticed
that a band-aid is
easy to put on &
when ripped off?
Have you ever noticed
the amount of times
America has declared war?
The war on poverty - lost it.
The war on illiteracy - lost it.
The war on drugs - lost it.
What do you think the chances are
for the war on terror?
You can stick
with your modern ways
& I'll stick
with the primal.
Friday, June 24, 2016
I was about 13 now, so I decided it was time for mi first tattoo. You may wonder where such a strange thought would come from, especially from a 13-year-old. Well, I'd grown up looking at tattoos all mi life see, 'cause mi dad had three on his arms. He'd had them put on when he was a young man, just after he came out of the army. I guess he was so pleased to be alive after going through WWI, that a tattoo was a way of celebrating life. On one arm he had a young woman wrapped only in a Union Jack flag. Her right leg was slightly raised as she balanced on a world globe. On the other arm, he had another nude woman, standing straight-legged, holding two flag poles in front of her so one couldn't see her breasts. Underneath that, on the wrist area, he had a heart with two hands in the "hands across the water"pose.
I'd asked mi dad many a time, "Did those tattoos hurt, Dad?"
"Not much,"he sez.
"How did they put them on, Dad?"
"With sharp bamboo needles,"he sez.
"How long have they been on, Dad?"
"Fifty bloody years!"he sez. "I put 'em on when I was young and bloody stupid."
The following week I met a 16-year-old boy who used to go to Ryburn school. When I saw that he had a new tattoo on his arm I asked him where he got it from. "Rex Stokers in Bradford,"he sez.
"Why's it all covered in scabs?"I sez to him.
"All tattoos do that,"he sez. "But you haven't got to knock the scabs off, 'cause the colour will come out if you do."All I needed to know was where the tattoo parlour was. So, I made sure I had the directions right before we parted company.
By this time, I'd been allowed to get a pair of denim jeans, after much arguing and many fall outs with mi mum. Had it been up to her, I'd have been in short trousers until I was 21. This way she probably thought it would give her control and power over me.
That week I took a day off school. I waited until Iris had gone off to work, then I came home from where I'd been hiding out. I got into my jeans and put on a pair of hobnailed boots, a white T-shirt and mi old donkey jacket. Slicking mi hair back in the Teddy boy fashion, I now looked a couple of years older, or so I thought! That's it, I thought, as I stood in front of the mirror, putting the final touches to mi hair. I made mi way down to Sawerby Bridge train station and bought a cheap half return to Bradford.
It took me quite a while to find the place because: number one, the boy I'd met didn't give me very good instructions, and, number two, Bradford was the biggest city I'd ever seen, up 'til that point. I stopped a working man outside Bradford station and he sez, "The street you're looking for is way up the other end of town."
"How long will it take to walk there?"I sez.
"It'll take about an hour if ya walking, but you'd be better off taking a bus ?cause it's a bit difficult to find from here."I'd saved up mi shillings and mi dad had given me 5 bob which to me was a small fortune. So, it wasn't a case of not having the bus fare, it was more a case of value for money.
After thinking about it for a while, I decided to get the bus halfway and I'd walk the rest of the way. Eventually, after about 1 1/2 hours, I found myself sanding outside the tattoo parlour. The sign read:
REX STOKER TATTOO PARLOUR
In the window there were three large boards with tattoo art all over them. The only problem was that the shop window was so dirty from all the coal dust and smog that I could not see them in any detail. I spat on his window and rubbed it with the sleeve of mi old donkey jacket, but all that did was smear the greazy grime all over the place and make it worse.
I was having a few doubts now, 'cause I'd been pricked by needles before when a couple of mi friends and me tried to put on a home-made job with the school nibs and the Indian ink out of the desk ink pot.
Five or six times I tried to go in the door but, each time I tried, Fear stopped me before I could push the door open. "What are you going to do if it hurts?"said Fear. "And what happens if you get halfway through it and can't stand the pain any longer? And if you can stand it and get it on, what's your mum going to say?"The voice of Fear was in full swing now, trying desperately to control me.
Then the voice of Freedom sez, "Screw him, of course you can stand the pain. You're a tough nut just like ya dad, and who gives a shit what Iris sez. Once it's on, it's on. How's anybody going to get it off? And how long do you think you could live with yourself if you chicken out now? Just think what it would be like going home on the train with no tattoo. Screw Fear and screw your mother too!!! It's not her arm. So what say does she have in the matter, anyway? Screw 'em all! If you want to get a tattoo, then get one and that's all I have to say about the matter!!!"
That was all I needed to hear. So, I marched up to his dirty, half-glass door and pushed it open. The door opened into a long passageway and the walls were covered with large drawings of tattoos. I didn't take much notice of them so I wouldn't get distracted, which I knew would give rise to hesitation and, in turn, the voice of Fear would try to grab me again. So, I just kept going until I reached the far doorway where I could hear the radio and the low buzzing sound coming from inside.
There was only one door which was in the left-hand corner of the passage. It was wide open, so I puffed out mi chest and walked straight in. "What can I do for you?"sez Rex Stoker looking up from the tattoo he was wiping with a dirty old rag.
"I come for a tattoo!"I sez to him.
"How old are you young 'un?"he sez.
"Just sixteen,"I sez. "Why? How old do I have to be before I can get a tattoo?"
"Sixteen,"he sez. "Are you sure you're sixteen? You don't look sixteen to me!"
"I'm sixteen,"I sez. "I'm working as a driver's mate. I've been left school for twelve months now."
"All right, lad, if you say you're sixteen, then you're sixteen. I'm asking because I don't want your mother coming down to my shop and getting me into trouble, all right?"
"All right,"I sez.
"Have a look around and see what you want on. I'll be done here in about half an hour."
Rex Stoker was a man of about sixty years of age. He was mostly bald and had a fat face with large jowls and a couple of double chins. He wore thick bifocals and a cigarette was always hanging out of the corner of his mouth, with a long bent ash just about to fall on his ink-covered trousers.
The young Teddy boy who was sat in the old barber's chair was having an eagle tattooed on his right arm. As soon as Rex's cigarette was too small to hold between his lips, he spat it out on the floor and with one hand he lit up another. The rag that Rex was wiping away the blue ink and blood with, looked to me like a piece of old pajama leg. There was no such thing as Kleenex tissues or paper towels in those days. Even the toilet paper was rough and hard. So, the old rags served the purpose quite well. The fashionable Teddy boy who sat in the chair kept wincing his face in pain every so often, usually when the needle went into the skin.
"Does it hurt?"I sez.
"No, can't feel a thing,"he sez, his fingers trembling on the arm of the chair.
"It's a good job it doesn't hurt,"I thought, or you'd be hanging off the light bulb by now!
"Have you found something you like?"sez Rex Stoker, as I look up at all the small ink drawings that are hanging on the walls.
"How much is this swallow?"I sez, pointing to a beautiful red and blue swallow.
"I'll do that one for half-a-crown,"sez Rex.
"All right, that sounds good enough for me,"I sez.
When Rex had finishes the Teddy boy's arm, he sez, "All right, lad, sit ya self down and take off yer jacket. Roll ya sleeve up as far as it will go. Don't want to get ink all over ya white T-shirt,"he sez. "Now, whereabouts do you want it?"he sez.
"On mi left arm,"I sez. "You can put it about there somewhere."
Next, Rex got out an old cut-throat razor, then dipped an old worn shaving brush into a pot of cold water. "I'm going to shave off whatever bit of hair ya got growing there!"he sez, as he sloshes the soapy shaving brush around mi arm in small circles. Next, he gave the old cut-throat razor a few slaps up and down the old leather strap. "I've got more hair on mi arse than ya got on ya whole arm!"sez Rex, as he scrapes off a few blond hairs.
Next, he smeared some white Vaseline on mi arm. Then he picked up the tattoo gun and turned on the radio. The louder he turned up the radio, the faster the needle in the gun seemed to go. When the volume was just as he wanted it, he dipped the tattoo machine in the dirty water and swished it around a few times. Then he shook the machine up and down at his side to get the murky water out of it.
"Don't you need a tracing?"I sez.
"I've done more swallows than ya've had fucks!"he sez as he dips the needle into the ink pot. "Now, this might hurt a bit, so hold still if you want a good tattoo!"he sez.
Oh, shit, I thought. Why did mi dad have to have tattoos on his arms? If he didn't have any, I probably wouldn't want one. But it's too late to turn back now!
"Here we go!"sez Rex, as he pushes the needles in mi arm and proceeds to draw a curved blue line. "How's that feel, lad? Ya all right?"
"Aye,"I sez. "It's not half as bad as I thought it would be!"
"Oh, it will be over before ya know it, lad. This is only a small tattoo."
"How do you know where you're drawing? All I can see is a big patch of dark blue ink everywhere,"I sez.
"I've been tattooing for nearly forty years,"he sez. "I could do it in mi sleep."As the tattoo needle bit into mi skin, I could feel a slight burning sensation, but I kept mi arm motionless because I really wanted a good tattoo. "Yer doing much better than that bloody Teddy boy who was just here,"sez Rex. "I thought he was going to climb up the back of mi old barber's chair for a while there."
After a while, he sez, "That's it, lad. That's the outline done. Have a rest for a minute while I light another fag and wash out mi machine. Then we'll put a bit of colour into it."
"Can you spare a fag for me, Rex?"I sez.
"Aye, all right lad, but I don't usually hand out mi fags. If ya'd have asked for mi missus, that would have been no problem, but mi fags are more important. Here ya are then, but don't ask for another one!"
"Thanks, Rex, you're a real pal,"I sez, as I lit the Senior Service.
"All right, hold still again, and we'll put a bit of red on its chest and a bit more red at the end of its wing feathers,"he sez. "And that should just about do it."Rex smeared on a bit more Vaseline and started to add a touch of red to the now swollen tattoo. A few minutes later he sez, "That's it! That's good enough for me."
After he cleaned up mi arm with his dirty old ink rag and then cleaned it all off with soapy water and a dry towel, mi first tattoo looked great! The lines all looked perfect to me, and the touch of red on the swallow's chest made her come alive.
"That'll be half a crown,"sez Rex. "Chuck it in the tin so I can pay mi rent again when it's due."
"Thanks, Rex,"I sez. "It's a real beauty. I like it a lot!"
"Try not to get it dirty and put a bit of cream on it every day for a week and don't pick the scabs off when they come or some of the colour may come out. Have ya got that?"
"Aye,"I sez, as I put mi old donkey jacket back on.
Just as I was about to walk out of his shop, he sez to me, "Hey!"
"I know yer not sixteen, so if your mum hits the bloody roof, don't tell her who did it for ya. I'm an old man now and tattooing is my only source of bread and butter. If they closed me down, I'd be knackered. I put the tattoo on for ya because I like ya and I know how much it meant to you. So, not a bloody word to anyone, eh?"
"Not a bloody word to anyone, Rex,"I sez, walking out of his shop.
Soon as I was back out on the street again, and I'd checked to make sure no one was watching, I jumped up in the air as high as I could, clicked mi hobnailed boots together twice and then landed on both feet again.
Seeing as I had quite a bit of time to spare, I bought five Woodbines and walked all the way back to Bradford Station and still had forty five minutes to wait for mi train home. As I sat on the wooden green bench in the station, I smoked a Willie Woodbine and slipped mi arm out of mi donkey jacket so I could take another look at mi new tattoo. It was such a great tattoo that I decided to call her ?Susie.' I was still staring at her when the guard yelled out, "The Bradford-Halifax train will be leaving in two minutes! All aboard!"
Jumping off the bench, I found the smoking carriage and climbed aboard. I found miself a good window seat and made miself as comfortable as possible. I took mi old donkey jacket off and put it across mi legs so I could stare at mi new swallow tattoo all the way home.
I'd timed the whole trip so I would get back to Sawerby Bridge about 4 p.m. This was the time Ryburn School got out, so it would not look out of place, a schoolboy walking around the street instead of being at school.
As I walked up the street to Boston Hill, I ran into a boy I knew from mi class. "Where you been today, Dick?"he sez to me. "Have you been sick?"
"Don't be daft,"I sez. "I went to Bradford."
"What did ya go to Bradford for?"he sez.
"To get a tattoo, of course! Why else would I go all the way to Bradford?"
"Yeh, sure, Dick,"he sez in disbelief.
"Oh, you don't believe me then?"I sez.
"Course I don't. That's an outright lie. You're not old enough for a tattoo, for a start, and your mother would never let you get one!"
"Oh, you think so, eh? Well, what does this look like to you?"I sez, as I slip mi arm out of mi jacket.
"Oh, shit, bloody hell, that's a real tattoo, Dick!"
"Of course it bloody well is. I don't tell lies. Why should I? I've got no reason to."
"What's your mum gonna say when she sees that?"
"I'm not going to show her,"I sez. "Not until it's all healed up, anyway."
"Did it hurt, Dick?"
"No, didn't hurt a bit. It was a piece of cake,"I sez to him.
"Shit, wait until I tell the boys about this. They'll never believe me!"
With that, he ran off to tell all his mates, and I thought to miself, "That'll teach him. Call me a bloody liar, would he? He won't call me that again in a hurry."
Before mi mum got home, I did mi jobs and put a long-sleeved shirt on and buttoned the cuffs down so there was no chance of her seeing mi arms.
After tea, she sez to me, "You can wash up the dishes tonight. I've got another little job for Sheila to do instead of the dishes."
"But that's her job!"I sez. "I've done all my jobs, so why should I do more work?"
"Do as you're bloody well told!"she sez. "And don't argue with me or you'll get what for!"She walked out of the room with Sheila, so I filled the sink with water and put some liquid soap in it, then proceeded to wash the dishes.
When she came back in the kitchen she sez, "Get that bloody long-sleeved shirt off! How the hell can you wash the dishes with that on?"
"I can do it easy!"I sez, keeping mi eyes down towards the sink.
"Get that bloody thing off, I said, before I rip it off!"
Oh, shit! Now what do I do? She's sure to see mi arm now! Maybe, if I keep mi arm towards the wall, she won't see it. Very carefully I removed mi shirt, then slung it over the back of the chair that was behind me. "Don't just throw your bloody shirt like that! Now go and fold it up proper,"she sez. There was naught to do now but to turn around. Maybe she won't notice it, I thought.
"What the bloody hell is that on your arm?"she sez.
"It's a swallow. I drew it on mi arm at school today."
"Then why's your bloody arm so swollen and red?"she sez. "Give me that bloody arm here. Let me have a damn good look at it!"As she grabbed mi arm, I jerked it away.
"It's a tattoo!"I said.
"That's not a bloody tattoo. Tattoos are not swollen like that. Show me your bloody arm before I belt you one!"She grabbed my left arm again and took a closer look. "Where's mi bloody scrubbing brush?"she sez. "I'll soon see whether it's a bloody tattoo or not!"With that, she grabbed the scrubbing brush, dipped it in the soapy washing-up water and proceeded to scrub the fresh tattoo.
"Owwww!"I sez. "Stop it! You're hurting me."
"I'll bloody well hurt you in a minute if I find out that bloody thing won't come off. I'll make ya say bloody ?Ow,' you rotten little bugger!"She scrubbed at it again and now it started to bleed.
So, I yelled at her, "Stop it! You're hurting my arm and now you've made it bleed again!"
"That's a bloody tattoo!"she sez.
"That's what I've been telling you for the last five minutes!"I sez. "You can't scrub it off, 'cause it won't come off. It was put on with a machine and ink!"I sez. With that bit of knowledge I gave her, she flew into a fuming rage. She grabbed the bamboo cane and started to lay into me, everywhere and anywhere she could.
After she tires herself out, she sez, "Who the hell did that to you?"
"I'll never, ever tell you!"I sez. "So you're wasting your time asking me!"
"Right, lad! I'm going to see your teacher tomorrow and then I'm going to see the police to see what can be done about whoever put that thing on your arm!"
"You can't do a thing to him!"I sez. " 'Cause I told him I was sixteen and I have no intention of telling you or anyone else what his name is, so you can do what you like!"With that, I ran out of the house and stayed out 'til ten o'clock that night.
When I got home, the door was locked, so I had to knock on it to get their attention. Jim Bailey opened the door and let me in. "What time do you call this?"he sez, as I walk past him.
"Call it what you like!"I sez in an angry voice. He slammed the door and came after me, so I bounded up the stairs onto the first landing. Then I bounded up my flight of stairs to mi room. As soon as I got inside, I leaned the back of an old chair under the door knob so he could not get in.
"Open this door, lad!"he sez when he's finally ascended both flights of stairs, huffing and puffing.
"Go away!"I sez. "I'm just about sick to death of you and her. Why don't you go and call the police and when they get here I'll tell them everything about you two. By the time I'm finished, you two will get done for cruelty!"
Then mi mum's voice sez, "Open this door, Richard!"
By this time, I was in tears and really upset, so I sez, "Go away, you're worse than he is. At least he's got an excuse 'cause I'm not his son, but you, you've got no excuse whatsoever. I'm sick to death of both of you two. You're both a right pair, and if you don't go away and leave me alone, then I'll open the skylight window and jump off the roof. You'll have to find another mug to take your bad temper out on then. Now get lost! Both of you, 'cause I mean it."
Not a word came from outside mi door for ages. Then mi mum's voice sez, "Come on, open the door, Richard. I'm not angry with you anymore."
"Go away!"I sez, and with that I laid down on mi bed and cried miself into the darkness. As I lost miself in the darkness, nothing seemed to matter anymore. I forgot all about Iris and Jim. I forgot all about mi new tattoo and the police and the headmaster. In mi inner world nothing and no one existed. It was full of miself. It's always been like that for me. Even as a child I always knew the difference between dreams and reality.
The next day at school I was the talk of the playground. "Swindells has got a tattoo on his arm!"someone sez.
One boy sez, "Can I see your tattoo, Dick?"
Another sez, "You think you're a smart one, don't you, Swindells?"
Another said, "My brother has got a tattoo and it's better than yours!"
Another said, "They're all jealous, Dick. Take no bloody notice of them, 'cause they don't have the balls to do it!"
Even some of the teachers sez to me, "Someone told me you have a tattoo, Swindells. Can I see it?"After I show them, they sez, "You've ruined your life now. Why would you do such a stupid thing like that?"
My answer was, "Mi life was already ruined, so what difference would a tattoo make to me, anyway? It's only stupid in your eyes. In my eyes it's all right!"
That first week at school with the tattoo on mi arm pushed a lot of buttons. Some of the girls who used to speak now made a wide berth. Only the tough ones who refused to bend to the teachers' whims, said, "That's a great tattoo. I'm going to get one soon!"
At the end of the week, four boys came up to me and sez, "Hey, Dick, will you take us to Bradford on Saturday so we can all get a tattoo? We'll pay your train fare and give you a few fags."
This request from the boys really pumped mi heart, so I sez, "Sure I will. You don't even have to give me any fags if you don't want to. You can just pay the train fare. I'd love to go with you anyway."
That Saturday, we all went to Bradford on the train. The boys were all talking excitedly about what design tattoo they were going to have put on. When the train arrived, we all walked out of the station and waited for the red double-decker bus which would take us to the other side of town to where Rex's Tattoo Parlour was. When we arrived at Rex's shop, before we all piled inside, I reminded the boys that they were all sixteen-years-of-age now, so not to act childish while we waited for everyone to get a tattoo.
I led the boys back down the long old passageway and, after a sharp left at the end, into Rex's Tattoo Parlour. Rex was sat in his usual position, fag in mouth, machine in hand and busily doing the coloring-in of a small arm tattoo. As soon as we all entered his small room he looked up from his work. "What are ya doing back here so soon? Did yer mother boot ya out of the house?"he sez.
"No, Rex,"I sez. "She wasn't thrilled, but it's not her arm, so there wasn't much she could do about it."
"Where'd ya find this motley crew?"he sez to me.
"They're all mates of mine, Rex. They all want to get a tattoo after seeing the good one ya put on mi arm. So, I brought 'em all here."
"I suppose they're all sixteen as well, are they?"
"Every one of them, Rex,"I sez.
"That little fucker doesn't look like his balls have dropped yet, have they?"This little display of Rex's sense of humor made all the boys laugh a bit. It was just as well because a couple of them I could see were now starting to look a little bit worried as they watched Rex fill in the colour of his customer's tattoo.
Rex's arms were completely covered with the old style tattoos. They looked very much the same as mi dad's tattoos, faded and blurred with age. After Rex finishes colouring in the customer's tattoo, he cleans it up and then sez to me, "Which one of these fuckers is first?"
One of the boys called Johnny Brown, who was considered at school to be a bit of a "toughie,"sez, "I'll go first 'cause I know what I want on."
"All right, sit down,"sez Rex. "Ya got any hair on yer balls yet, lad?"This made the boys laugh out loud again. Then Rex sez to him, "I know none of ya fuckers is sixteen, but if ya tell me ya are when I ask ya, then it's none of mi business from then on. Do ya understand me, lad?"
"Aye,"sez Johnny Brown.
"So, how old are ya, lad?"
"What tattoo do ya want on?"sez Rex.
"Same as Dick got, but put it on mi right arm, in about the same area,"he sez.
Soon as Rex had shaved his arm and lit another fag, he sez to Johnny, "Hold still and don't move yer arm around if ya want a good tattoo."
"Don't worry about me, Rex,"sez Johnny. "Just make sure ya draw it on good."
Johnny could be a bit of a clever one sometimes, because he was used to pushing kids his own age around, but old Rex just ignored him and started to slide the machine across Brownie's arm.
"Bloody hell, that hurts a bit!"sez Brownie.
"Shut ya fucking winging, lad. I've only just started. That mate of yers who brought ya here never moved a fucking muscle from beginning to end. I haven't got going on ya and yer already fucking crying."This embarrassed Brownie a bit, 'cause Rex never knew of his fighting reputation and Rex didn't give a hoot either. He was a real good old gentleman was Rex. I grew quite fond of him in the relatively short time I knew him.
As Rex was drawing a line for the swallow tail, Brownie yelled out, "Ow! That bloody hurts,"and jerked his arm back a bit.
"Now look what ya've fucking gone and done,"sez Rex, as he wiped away the dark blue ink with his old dirty rag. The swallow's tail had a down bent line instead of a slight upward straight line. The other three boys jumped up to see what had happened to Brownie's tattoo. "Do ya want this fucking tattoo on or not?"sez Rex.
"Course I do,"sez Brownie.
"Then sit fucking still!"sez Rex. "Yer arm has been moving up and down more in the last two minutes than mi dick has moved up and down in the last two years!"This little joke made me and the other three boys laugh out loud again. But Brownie could not see the joke in it, because now he had a swallow with a bent tail feather. By the time Rex had finished Brownie's tattoo, he was not too cocky. He put his money in Rex's tin and sat down quietly on one of the wooden benches, asking one of the other boys if his tattoo still looked all right with a bent tail feather.
"Who's next?"sez Rex.
Tony Steal, who was probably the youngest and definitely the smallest, sez, "I'll go next. Put a swallow on mi arm. Right there will do, please."
"What fucking arm?"sez Rex. "Mi old lady's dog has got a dick fatter than yer arm! How the fucking hell do ya expect me to tattoo bone?"
"Come on, Rex, it's not mi fault I've got skinny arms ya know!"
"The fucking things I do for people,"sez Rex, as he spread some Vaseline on Stealie's arm.
"Aren't you gonna shave it first, Rex?"sez Tony.
"Shave fucking what?"sez Rex. "If I shave a layer of skin off yer arm, there'll be nothing fucking left to put the tattoo on."This made Tony laugh. He was a good kid with a great sense of humor. From the beginning to the end of the tattoo, Tony never hardly flinched. "That's good,"sez Rex.
One of the boys chickened out and decided not to put one on, so the remaining boy, whose name was Selwyn Cheetham, sez, "All right, I'll have one put on."
"What do you want on?"sez Rex.
"How much is that sword up there?"sez Selwyn.
"That's gonna cost ya fifteen bob, 'cause there's a lot more work in that than a small swallow."
"All right, put that on mi left arm,"sez Selwyn. Selwyn only had one sister and his mother and father were not poor, so he always had quite a bit of money in his pocket.
"Put ya fifteen bob in the tin, lad,"sez Rex. "And sit down. It'll take me a few minutes to draw out a transfer, 'cause there's a good bit of detail in that tattoo."
When the transfer was finished, Rex wet Selwyn's arm a bit and pressed the new transfer into place. After about thirty seconds, he peeled the transfer off and it left behind a blue print of the curved sword that Selwyn had picked out. Rex rubs a light film of Vaseline over the transfer and sez to Selwyn, "Are ya ready?"
Rex started to tattoo the ornate head of the sword on Selwyn's arm. Selwyn just sat there, not moving his arm a bit, so I thought, good for you, Selwyn, you're gonna get a great tattoo that way.
After about five minutes, Selwyn started to go white in the face. He was quite a rosy complexioned boy, so I knew something was about to happen. About a minute later, he sez to Rex, "Can you stop for a minute, 'cause I don't feel too well."
Rex looked up from the tattoo and when he saw Selwyn's white face, he sez, "Are ya all right, lad, or do ya always look like that?"
"No,"sez Selwyn, "I think I'm going to be sick!"
"Fucking hell!"sez Rex. "If yer going to be sick, then?"
"BURRRRRRRRP!"Before Rex could get the words out, Selwyn chucked his guts all over Rex's dirty floor!
"Fuck me dead!"sez Rex. "I'm a fucking tattooist not a fucking nursemaid! Take the fat little fucker outside for some fresh air!"he sez to me. Then he points to the other three boys and sez, "One of ya little fuckers had better clean up that fucking mess. There's a mop and bucket over there in that back fucking corner. Now fucking hurry up, 'cause I'm quickly running out of fucking patience!"
Outside, sitting on Rex's window ledge, I sez to Selwyn, "Are you all right, Selly?"
"OHHHHH!"he sez. "I'm not feeling real good. Mi stomach is a bit upset."
It was really difficult for me to stop laughing, so, between laughs, I sez to Selwyn, "Come on, Selly, you've got to pull yourself together or you'll have wasted your money and you'll only have the handle of the sword on your arm and no blade to go with it."
"Maybe Rex can make the blade look like it's disappeared under the skin?"he sez.
"No, it's too late now,"I sez. "Look at it, there's not really a great deal left to do. Come on. Let's go back inside."
When we got back inside, Rex was sat in his chair smoking a new Senior Service. The puke had been mopped up and there was a strong smell of Detol on the floor. It was obvious where Selwyn had spewed-up because there was a large clean spot on the floor. The rest of it was dirty. When Selwyn sits back down in the chair, Rex sez to him, "Can we carry on now, or would ya like a fucking bucket at the side of the chair?"This little joke made me almost pee miself with laughter!
Selwyn sez, "I should be all right but I'll let you know if I'm not."
"That's really fucking kind of ya,"sez Rex. "If everybody else that came into mi shop was as kind as ya are, mi whole fucking floor would be clean. I'd never have to fucking mop it again! Bring that mop bucket over here! I don't fucking trust this fat little fucker."
Once the bucket was in place next to the chair, Rex started the machine and carried on with Selwyn's tattoo. There were a couple of close calls throughout the process but somehow Selwyn got himself through it all right. Before we left Rex's Tattoo Parlour, I thanked him very much and apologized for Selwyn on his behalf. All Rex could say was, "I appreciate ya bringing me some business in but don't bring anymore fuckers like that. Those fuckers shouldn't have been let off their mothers' apron strings. Not for at least another five years!"
Going home on the train from Bradford, we all had a great laugh at the rerun of the afternoon's fun. The four boys teased each other mercilessly for the whole of the train journey.
No one else ever put shit on me at school over mi tattoos from that day forward because the four boys told the other kids just how painful it was for them. But by the time I left Ryburn School, at least twenty boys had a lifelong memory of Rex Stoker's Tattoo Parlour in Bradford City.
If you are
not going to
ask me who I am,
then I will.
The more one is
the less they are
talking about it.
World saviors don't talk.
They're too busy doing.
The divorce rate would
go down tremendously
were people to get
married to themselves
rather than to each other.
I promise to
love, honor &
Only the destructible
lives in fear of survival.
If you were
when you're old.
If you born pretty
there will be a lot
of adjustments to be made.
than the basics,
then you are in trouble.
You don't exist
when I close my eyes.
You exist when
I open my eyes.
The kind of power that
I'm talking about takes
incredible courage to manifest.
There is not a man alive
who it does not reside in.
The Question is;
Do you have
what it takes?
you have to
What are you
Are you interested in
What are you not willing to give up?
One has to
maintain their integrity
wherever they live.
I don't change,
While people are still
talking about it
nothing will change.
Empires come & go.
And what about the
New World Order,
what happened to
Everything I suffered,
everything I gave up,
everything I attained,
I offered for free,
no one wanted it.
Therefore, I will give
you what you want -
Ask and you shall receive it.
The only way to get the fox
out of the trap was to kill it.
There are many traps in life,
hence death is necessary.
If you want this
you have to give up that.
I gave up this life
Happiness or sadness
has no sway over me.
You can put your childish toys away
and move on, or the times will take
them away from you, regardless.
It's very simple,
Where else will you find it?
I look in awe.
I am unable to
describe what I see.
It stuns me.
My mind maintains
silence in its presence.
It is intelligent enough to know that.
When the laws of the land
are in tune & in keeping,
with the laws of Nature,
societies grow & flourish
in a peaceful way.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
As well as learning how to shear, I had a slight handicap to work with. The wool-classer was a mongrel-bred bastard who tried to make it as hard for me as possible by saying to Freeman that my learning to shear was interfering with my board-boys job. The only reason I could see why he was acting like this was, he fancied himself a shearer. He, himself, could shear a sheep in about 10 minutes, and by now, as long as it was a good-combing sheep, I was down to 8 minutes. Freeman was very supportive. He offered to do my job while I was learning, plus the fact that he was aware that the wool-classer had bet against me, the Victorian bastard!
Each Friday night we would all drive back to Lake Cargelligo for the weekend. The first, and only stop, was at Giltraps Hotel. I was now, very slowly, starting to be able to hold a fair amount of grog. (It goes with the territory!)
The whole team, except for the wool-classer, would party on at Giltraps. After the bar closed down we would all move into the Sow Pen where we'd play the jukebox and generally have a good time.
Jimmy Kelly, who was one of the shearers, was also an Aborigine. He lived at the Mission, about 10 miles out of town. Johnny was a pretty decent bloke, (when he was sober) but like most Aborigines that drink, he would get a bit argumentative when he was full.
Most Abos, around the Lake, did not like to work very much which meant they were always short of money for grog. Every Friday night, all of Johnnys' relations would be trying to bum his hard-earned money from him for a flagon of cheap plonk. I used to sit and watch Johnny quite a bit. It must have been very difficult for him, 'cause he had one foot in the white fellas' world and the other in the black fellas' world. By then end of the evening Johnny would have given away, probably, a third of his weeks' money. This money would only be returned months later, probably when he was out of work. Saturday morning, I used to see Johnny in town in his fairly new Ute. He and his wife and children were always clean and well-dressed. Although in my eyes he was a really good bloke, most white fellas' still saw him as a 'Bung'.
Since I'd been working in the sheds, I had decided to live at Giltraps Hotel, not because I didn't like Twitcheys, but Giltraps was cheaper and a lot of the shearers used it as their watering hole. Giltraps wife was a very small lady. She was about 5'2" and weighed about 115 pounds. She had blondish-gray hair, a very pleasant face and a good, kind nature. Besides running the domestic side of the Hotel, she also worked in the bar whenever necessary. If that wasn't enough to keep her occupied, she had a swag of kids of various ages. Cath Giltrap was always polite and cordial with me. Whenever possible,
she would not put anyone else in the room with me. She understood and respected the fact that I was a 'loner'.
Even though I spent a good deal of my time in the bar, sometimes, when I was short of money, I would say to her, "I've had a slack week Cath, d'ya mind if I pay you for the room next week?"
"That's alright Yorky. I trust ya' but don't let it get too far behind."
As soon as money came in, Cath Giltrap was the first on the list to pay.
One week, the Hotel was unusually full, so she said to me, "I've gotta put someone in ya' room Yorky, in that spare bed. We're all full up this week."
"No worries Cath. I know you always fill up the other rooms first."
The new bloke who lived with me for the week was a half-Abbo from Uabalong. His name was Kennedy. He was a pretty quiet, clean and polite bloke until he was on the grog. At those times, he was hopeless!
On Saturday afternoon, I came back to Giltraps. I'd been doing a bit of shopping that afternoon down the main street. The window in my room looked out onto the main street of the Lake. As I passed it, I got a funny sort of feeling. Instead of going straight to the bar for a game of pool, something pulled me to the left, down the corridor to Number 9. When I pushed open the door, the room was full of smoke! As I looked around the back of the door, where the spare bed was, Kennedy was fast asleep and snoring! Six-inch flames were dancing around the edge of the mattress and a burned-out fag was stuck to his fingers.
"Wake up ya fucking bastard!", I roared as I shook the shit out of him. He was still as drunk as a monkey. I ran to the shower room which was at the far-end of the corridor and filled up a large bucket of cold water. When I got back to the room, he was trying to get out of bed, still in a drunken state. I heaved the bucket of cold water over him and the bed. Kennedy coughed and spluttered as he became conscious. Once he realized he was not dreaming, he jumped out of bed. It took a couple more large buckets of water to put out the fire. When Cath Gilbert found out that the bed had been charred, she was not too pleased let me tell you! Kennedy, got his marching orders and I was left, once more, in peace.
Once all of Giltraps locals found out what happened, the jokes were on me.
"G'day Yorky. I heard ya tried to barbeque a 'bung' this afternoon!"
"Very funny,", I said as they cracked up in laughter.
you have to put yourself
in a vulnerable position.
Pain & suffering will never let you down. It is the great mover. The motivator for the ignorant; but how many are moved out of love.
The only thing a good person & a bad person have in common is death. Death is guaranteed. How you die is not.
has nothing to do
with surviving as
a name, shape & a form.
America, is the same
as all other societies
in a pain/pleasure society.
It chases pleasure &
runs away from pain.
Liking pleasure & not liking pain.
There is an addiction to pleasure.
for what you
need to take
but you have
your own agenda.
Don't expect me
to sit down.
Live & let live,
Do no harm.
Lack of morality means
you have not risen above
don't try to
It may manifest at an
You can't have a world without Creation, Sustenance & Destruction. The destroyer destroys & the Creator Creates out of the Destroyers destruction. The Sustainer gives sustenance to the game.
People only want to know about the things they can control. Let's be honest; what can you control?
All of life
one moment &
no one can stop
burden of anger
all through life.
I know what's
important in life.
I know what
I won't do.
is not easy.
live in heaven
If you want
to give up
There is no drama
It costs one
If you haven't
as guinea pigs
when you try
to help them.
The higher you go,
the lower you will sink.
In order to dream
you have to
go to sleep &
you like dreaming.
The world of sleep
is not much different
to the waking state.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
"Hey Yorky mate, are we playing anywhere on Thursday night?"
"Yea Bob, I've got a Jazz gig at a bar on the North Shore, nine till twelve."
"Well good on ya, mate. That's on my side of Sydney. What time are you gonna pick me up?
"Probably about 8:15. The gigs not far from your place so there's not much use in getting there too early."
"Have you got any gigs for over Xmas yet?"
"No mate, I was thinking of having a few nights off."
"That would suit me fine. Mi mate, who plays in a three-piece, needs a piano player. The regular bloke is off to Tassie for the week with his old lady. She's been whinging about going down there for months."
"No worries Bob, I'm off up to Coffs Harbour for three or four days."
"Jesus mate, they grow some off the best Ganja this side off the black stump. How about bringing some of it back down to Sydney with ya?"
"I'm not a real connoisseur of Ganja Bob. I've only smoked it a few times, and I've never bought it before."
'It's real easy Yorky mate, you just hand over the bucks and they hand over the stuff, ya can't go wrong pal."
"How much does it sell for in Sydney?"
"Twice as much as you can get it up there for. You could make yourself a couple of easy bucks. It would pay for ya holiday."
"I don't know anyone down here who would buy it."
"Jesus mate, my mate Bernie will buy as much off it as you can get. He's stoned 24\7. He even smokes it in his sleep; besides it's in short supply down here, no one has any.Ya' can't go wrong sport."
"Well, you contact him and see what you can do. If it's as you say, I'll think about it."
"I'll give him a ring after the next break. How's that sound?"
"Sounds good to me Bob."
After the next set, Bob came back from the bar and handed me a beer and said
"Here ya go, Yorky mate, get this into ya, I called mi mate and he said whatever the Ganja costs you he'll double ya money as long as it's good stuff."
"OK mate I'll see what I can do."
A week later I found myself heading out of Sydney in a Northeasterly direction towards Coffs Harbor. Once I got out of the northern suburbs, it was a very pleasant drive as the road, more or less, followed the coastline all the way up to Coffs. My old orange 78 Holden Station Wagon was purring along, and the sun was reflecting off of the ocean. If you've ever wanted a great, memorable experience, drive all the way up to Queensland on this road; ya can't go wrong.
After about seven or eight hours of driving I hit the outskirts of Coffs. Coffs Harbor used to be a small coastal town. That was before the developers got their greedy, bloody claws into it. Now, from what I could see, they had ruined the place. I saw malls where small shops used to be, and big new houses where once stood good old Aussie Bush, (the Bastards).
Oh, there's a familiar site; an old, large, colorful Windmill that some Old Dutch bloke had shipped out from Holland in pieces. The local people said he was homesick and that’s why he had it moved, thousands of miles, on a boat, to Coffs. Thinking about it, it might have been easier to go back to Holland for a bloody holiday. Once it was reconstructed, he turned the bottom section of it into a high-class restaurant, which I must admit looked quite unique. I drove straight out of town, past, the Plantation Hotel and onwards to my mate Ken's place. On the right hand side of me was the beautiful Pacific Ocean and on the left was acres and acres of Banana Plantations. In Coffs, bananas grew all over the hillside. This scene was much more enjoyable to me than the over developed township. After fifteen minutes more driving I was knocking on Kens' front door.
"Yorky Mate!" he said, as he opened the front door. "Good to see ya mate. Ya made it all right. How was the drive up?"
"Not bad mate." I said, as we shook hands. "I'm bloody glad to be out of Sydney for a while. Your old lady doesn't mind me hanging out with you for a few days does she?"
"No mate, she'll be glad to talk to another Pommy Bastard. She gets sick of talking to me every day; that’s when I'm not out wind surfing, which is most of the time."
"Jesus Ken, you've got a great place here, right on the beach. You couldn’t get any closer if you tried mate."
"Only place for a life-long surfer to live Yorky. Mi daughter loves it too. She's like me. We can't keep her out of the water. Anyway, come in Yorky mate. It's too bloody warm standing on the doorstep."
A few hours later after our socializing was done, Ken and I took off for a couple of cold middies at his local Hotel. Once we got situated in some comfortable chairs I introduced the subject of Ganja.
"Hey Ken, do you know anyone around hear who and sells Ganja?"
"Jesus mate there are more marijuana growers around hear than there are Banana Plantations. I don't know any of my surfing mates who don't smoke."
"Do you still smoke mate?"
"Nah Yorky mate, my old lady really cops the shits when I smoke these days. She thinks it’s a bad influence on mi daughter. Can you fucking believe that? It's her bastard pommy upbringing that does it."
"Don't you have a puff before you go Wind Surfing?"
"Some times. The problem is; if I smoke too much, I stay out in the surf all fucking day. That really sends her over the top."
"She gets cranky eh?"
"You could say that. Put it this way; no pussy for a month lets me know she's not real fucking happy."
"Jesus Ken are you shitting me?"
"No mate, I'm Fair Dinkum."
"Let me ask you another dumb question. What's the use of being married if you're not getting any?"
"Good fucking question, Yorky mate. I've asked miself that more times than once and every time I come up with the same answer. Mi daughter mate. It would really put the kibosh on her life if I pulled the pin on her mother. Not to mention the fact that sometimes she's just bloody like her. Drink up Yorky mate it's my shout. Anyway, what are you so interested in ganja for? I thought you didn't smoke."
"I don't, well not very much anyway. Let me explain the deal to you."
Kenny listened while I went through the saga of the ganja and at the end he said,
"Sounds like a good plan to me Yorky, I'm sure I can line you up with a score before you go back to the Big Smoke, I'll call this bloke I know when we get home. Him and his mate are big time dealers around here. They're sure to have as much as you need. "
Later that evening, at Kens place, the doorbell rang. Kens old lady answered it.
"Its for you Kenneth." she said, as she walked back in the room. I don't want that Yobbo in my house. Take him down stairs to the den. I heard on the grapevine that he's a big-time drug dealer!"
"Jesus love, he sells a bit of Ganja now and again. That’s not drug dealing, that’s a hobby."
"I don't care what you call it Ken. You know my views on drugs!"
"Ok sweetheart, I'll take him in the basement. We can have a game of pool. Lets go Yorky mate. This is mi mate Bruce, Yorky. Ya' got any weed for sale?"
"Does a Roo shit in the bush mate? In all the time you've known me have you ever not seen me without weed for sale?"
Bruce was a sleazy looking Bastard if I ever saw one. His shifty eyes were all over the place except where they should be, in his head.
"Yorky's looking to buy a bit of Ganja to take back down to Sydney with him."
"We'll mate, you're talking to the right bloke." He said, as his shifty eyes quickly scanned my way, averting my eyes in the process.
"How much are you looking for, a couple of Pounds?"
"No mate." I said. "More like a quarter."
"Ounces or Pounds?"
"Jesus Christ mate, I could smoke that in a fucking night on mi own."
"Yeah well, maybe you could Bruce, but I'm not a big time smoker."
"How much is it anyway?"
"For you mate, $200 an ounce and that’s cheap. You won't find it anywhere else cheaper than that. Me and my mate have the best prices on the east coast, and the best Ganja, I might add!"
"You got any with ya now?"
"Don't be silly mate. Ya think I drive around with it in mi old Ute. The cops have been watching me for months now. They're only waiting for one little excuse to pick me up. I've been busted before. One more time and I'll be vacationing in Grafton for a few months."
"Well you won't have far to go Bruce." said Ken, laughing. "Grafton's only an hours drive from here. Your mate could visit you on the week ends with a joint."
"Very fucking funny Kenny! You should be in the clubs mate. You're a laugh a fuckin' minute."
"I'm only joking with ya Bruce, for fucks sake. So when ya gonna bring us a bud around to try out?"
"Don’t you fucking trust me mate?"
"Sure I do Bruce but Yorky doesn't."
"Ya don't trust me mate?"
"Well, it's not that I don’t trust ya Bruce, but I would like a sample before I buy."
"Jesus Christ, what am I dealing with here, a bunch of fuckin' novices? Alright then, when ya going back down to Sydney?"
"I'll be back tomorrow with a small sample. I'm not a fucking charity ya know. People around here trust me. I've got my good name to consider!"
"Don't get the shits Bruce." said Kenny. "Yorky's right. He doesn't know you from a bar of soap. You could be a real gouging Bastard for all he knows."
"I've never gouged any bastard in mi life; 'Honest Bruce' is who I'm known as!"
"We're not accusing you of anything mate. Just like to be on the safe side, ya know." "Ok, I'll see see ya tomorrow evening, about the same time."
The next evening Bruce dropped off a reasonable-sized bud, which Ken and I tried, with no hesitation. Ken was much more of a toker than I was and he reckoned that the Ganja was well worth $200 an ounce.
Driving back down to Sydney with mi 4oz of Ganja tucked under the front seat; I was smiling to myself, thinking about all the money I was going to make when I got home.
'I can sell it for $400 an ounce. That would be double mi money and still a fair price for Bobs mate to pay. This little caper is too easy; if every thing goes well, I may decide to do this more often!'
The first thing I did when I arrived back was to call Bob. He said he'd send his mate around to pick up the stuff.
"Tell him to bring the cash with him. I don't do credit." That was the last thing I said to him as I put the phone down. An hour later Bobs mate, Bernie, was ringing my doorbell. "How are ya mate?" he said as I let him in.
"I'm Bernie, Bobs mate."
"Yea I know mate, Bob said you were on your way over."
"Ya got the weed?"
"Yea, sit down at the table Bernie I'll go get it. Here ya go mate." I said, as I handed him the bag,
"Ya got the money?"
"Yea. Ya don't mind if I check it out first do ya?"
"No mate, go ahead."
With that, he tipped the bag of Ganja out on the table and immediately pulled a weird face.
"What the fuck is this shit!" he said as he moved the Ganja around on the table.
"What d'ya mean? What's wrong with it?" I asked.
"This stuff is fuckin' shit man! Is this some sort of a fucking joke? I just drove all the way over the harbor bridge to see this crap!"
"I don't know what your talking about mate." I said, as his face changed radically before my eyes.
"Are you fuckin' kidding me sport, you had me drive all the way out here to look at a bunch of fucking shake?"
"What are you talking about mate? What the fuck is shake anyway?"
"You're fuckin' serious aren't you? You have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"
"Look mate." I said. as I looked him square in the eyes. "Bob asked me to bring some Ganja back from Coffs. He said Sydney was all dried up so while I was up there I met this bloke who I bought this from, that's all I know."
"Did you try it out before you bought it?
"Sure I did. Ya think I'm fucking stupid! He brought a bud around for me and mi mate to try, then dropped this stuff of just before I left to come back down here."
"Did you get ripped on it?" Course I did! Mind you I haven't smoked much, I've only tried it a couple of times. What the hell is shake anyway?"
"Jesus Christ mate, you really did come down in the last shower! Ya not shit'n me are ya.?"
"No mate, I'm not a bullshit artist. I did it as a favour for Bob and I thought I might make a few bucks in the process."
"Well mate, all I can tell you from 30 years of dealing is, you've been well and truly shafted!"
"So what your saying is the weed is no good."
"No good mate? That’s this years' understatement. This shit wouldn't make a good cup of tea!"
"Oh for fucks sake." I said. What do you suggest I do with it?"
"You can shove it up ya fuckin arse for all I care!" He said as he got up from the chair. "That was a waste of my valuable time."
"Look mate, don’t get cranky about it." I said. From what you're saying I've been ripped off. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stand here and let you fucking well make matters worse by insulting me!"
Now I really had the shits, the pulse in my navel was starting to beat strongly and I was entertaining the idea of smacking this rude bastard in the mouth.
"Ok, Ok mate." said Bernie. "Settle down. I didn't mean any harm. You got ripped off, and you've got a right to get cranky."
"Do you have any decent suggestions for me?" I asked.
"Yea, I do mate. Never buy drugs from some one you don't know, especially when you have no idea what you're looking at. How much did you pay for this crap?"
"Eight hundred bucks!"
"Jesus Christ! Well mate, chalk it up to experience and consider your self lucky. They could have gotten you for a lot more!"
After Bernie left, I sat at the table looking at four ounces of shake. Eight hundred dollars it cost me to learn a new word, SHAKE, a bunch of stalks and leaves. Now! Let me tell you, I have been conned a few times in my life and not once has it ever felt good and this time was no exception. After ten minutes of silent contemplation with a genuine bowl of St Bruno Flake I decided that action was required. I would simply call Ken, get Bruces' number and call him up and politely explain the situation to him, and a genuine misunderstanding will be put right."
"Bruce, how are ya mate, its Yorky."
"What do ya want mate?"
"It's about the Ganja."
"What about it?"
"I tried to sell it to a mate of mine and he said it was no good."
"What do ya mean no good?"
" Mi mate said it was a bunch of shake."
"So why are you calling me?"
"I would appreciate a refund as I can't sell it."
"Look mate you tried it before you bought it you had no complaints then."
"Yea, but this stuff you put in the bag is not the same as I tried."
"Listen mate, I gave you a great deal, I put more than 4oz in the bag. You should think your self lucky mate."
"All the same Bruce I would like a refund please."
"What do you think I am mate, a fucking shop?" You get no fucking refunds from me. You bought it and your stuck with it! Don't fucking call here again ya bastard!"
With that he put the phone down as I heard a loud click in mi ear. The only course of action now was another bowl of Bruno. My second bowl of Bruno now in ashes, I decided it was time to give Bruce one more opportunity to manifest some integrity. After dialing his number I waited quite calmly as I listened to the dial tone.
"G'day." said Bruces' voice on the other end of the line.
"Bruce, this is Yorky mate."
"What do you fucking want? I thought I told you not to fuckin' call here again."
"Yea, ya did Bruce, but I forgot to tell you something."
"Listen to me you fucking scumbag, cock sucking, mongrel-bred, mother-fucking drug addict, if my $800 is not returned within the next twenty-four hours you know what I'm gonna do 'fuck face'? I'm going to take this bag of useless shit you gouged me on and I'm going to wrap it up like a Xmas present and I'm going to post it off to the Coffs Harbor Police Station to 'Care of the Desk Seargeant' with your full-fucking-name and address on it, arsehole. Do you fucking well understand me, anus breath? You ripped off the wrong one this time, you mongrel bred cunt!"
With that I slammed down the phone and caught mi finger under the cradle. 'Fuck me dead!' I said out loud. 'What else can go wrong today!'
Within ten minutes my phone started ringing. I picked it up and a voice on the other end said, "Yorky, it's Bruce."
"What do you want? ya Bastard?"
"You're not going to do something you might regret are you.?"
"No mate, I'm gonna do something that you will regret. You'll regret the fucking day you ripped old Yorky off mate. I've dealt with much bigger mongrel-bred Bastards than you Bruce. Don't fucking call here again mate.!"
"Now hold on Yorky, hold on a minute. Let me talk to my partner about it and I'll call you back within the hour."
"I'll be here mate. I'm not going anywhere. I'm broke!"
An hour later the phone rang and Bruce very politely explained to me how a mistake had been made with the Baggies. He asked for my address and informed me that an over night bank cheque would be sent to me as soon as he got off the phone. He then asked me quite politely if that would be a satisfactory arrangement and would that put the matter to rest.
"No worries Bruce." was my reply.
The next day a Special Delivery letter arrived with a bank cheque made out in my name to the tune of $800! There was only one more thing bothering me now; I had mi $800 back and 4 oz of fine Coffs Harbor shake. I didn't want to rip off Bruce so I packed his 4 oz of shake in a small cardboard box and sent it back to him FIRST CLASS MAIL. I didn't want it to get lost, seeing as the scales were now well balanced.
You are either awake or asleep;
there are no half-measures.
The Mantra is
a vibration of
ones' Natural State.
"How can you be the Guru,
you don't fit the mold?"
Awareness of the situation creates options.
Ignorance of the situation creates choices.
The Guru is
your very Self.
the Guru is the
Power of God.
The Light of God.
The Guru is the
Power that drives it.
The puppet can only do what the string puller tells him. It is not the puppets fault that he becomes boring, it is the puppeteers limitation.
When money becomes God,
Faith will be tested.
A man in the Outback once asked me,
"Do you believe in God?"
"Yes", I said.
"How much money do you have?"
"About $500." says I
"Just in case.", I said.
At that moment a decision was made.
When the search is concluded
and the results are the same ~
There is only one.
When it happens,
I guarantee you,
it will not
be on the internet.