EXCERPT on UNFILLED POSITIONS & FOOTBALL

THINKING CAPS, UNFILLED POSITIONS AND FOOTBALL

 (Continued from my last post:) 

 

So I flipped the book over and began to write again.

See the thing is now I’ve bought my book but I’ve run out of paper so I’ll have to write it backwards.  That’s how we want to wear our caps.  They will simply say, “I’ve …  ...  ……..  …  ..” and we will wear them backwards. This signifies our admission of past follies, and the need to enter into a period of great, and even accelerated, reversal.  (Writing backwards) is recycling or my version of it.  It’s probably not the best way.  As for me, I’m just thinking out of the box. 

 

“I dream dreams of what might be

if only people try.”

 

I know I already wrote that , but sometimes you just have to keep saying the same things over and over again.  Another reason why the caps are backwards is this:  people from other states of Australia often look down upon or make fun of people from Queensland.  Or at least that’s been my experience anyway.  Here’s a question for all of the good folks South of the border.  You call us banana benders but how straight are your bananas.  I mean, I’ve never really had to bend one myself.  That’s just the way we grow them up in Queensland.

 

I’d like to make a few comments like that, just make someone laugh a little.  I am unafraid to make fun of myself.  I don’t really mind if you make fun of me either.  But at some point, people just have to put aside stupid differences and rally around each other, and offer them more support.  My notebook goes on to detail some plans for T shirts:

 

Ideally, they would be made by people who don’t have a lot of money, who are disadvantaged in some way and are interested in doing something just to make a name for themselves. 

 

            That long and lonely day I had also written a couple of texts to some friends, but as per usual, there were no replies.  Probably my texts were a bit difficult to understand, and my friends might have been confused as to what exactly I wanted.

 

              My texts, if you are interested, read a bit like this: to my co-worker Simon, to my boss Bobby and a guy called Thomas, who I have only met once:

 

              Hey guys, I want you to work things outPS get a paper cup, and wr

 

              Please write Reef Relief on it, This is for me, for you, for everyone

 

              Hope U got last MSG, im Start up A new soCiAL median campaign

 

              Its about the Great Barrier Reef in my state

 

              Im starting a charity in Japan, that goes to Oz, and then goes viral

 

And, this, to an old friend who ran a second hand bookshop

 

             Hey mate, Ive started a book called ......  ..

 

             ......................................................................

 

             I ve started writing it Thru e mails.  Youve never been to place

 

             Do you want to come over, Its for literacy projects and the GBreef

 

             When we moved those books I was taking concrete steps of love

 

I’m not sure what you, dear reader, would have made of any of that yourself..  I don’t even understand my texts (actually, I do).   Last time I talked to my boss he said he still didn't quite get it.  I texted him back, because he's a Christian and a dreamer, that he should

 

           Pray for understandingwhen you see the cup.

 

I think he's still waiting for further instructions : )  So, back to that day, I kept writing in my notebook notes to my inner self like:

 

I’m an advocate for responsible media use, living in Japan, who is interested in meeting other people who believe in demonstrating one’s beliefs through small acts of kindness.

I think I was basically advertising my services for positions that others didn’t even know needed to be filled.  Any jobs going right now for a would be ethical humanist?  If you know of someone in need of such a person, please don’t hesitate to email me at aladdinjapan@gmail.ccom or simply drop me a line.  Here’s my business card.  (I eventually used these old company business cards, with my email address and my phone number scrawled upon them.  I gave them away to the most unlikely of people, like my old shogi teacher at the coffee shop.  Hey, master, give me a phone call any time I want a coffee, or need a game of shogi.  I’m sure he didn’t know what to make of them.)

“Well, what about the Nagoya Redbacks AFL team,” I scribbled, “maybe they’d like to get behind a charity” (or a charity case like myself.)  “ I hope the Redbacks support me.  I only played one game but I did, apparently, pull a couple of votes for 3^rd best-on-ground."

 

Like a lot of my misguided forays into the world of organized support, the game itself was a bit of an embarrassment.  I turned up with a Chinese boy and a Japanese skater to make up numbers.  The Chinese boy, an old home stay student of my parents, disappeared before the game began.  He literally went walking away somewhere into the mountains.  I kept trying to contact him, with no response.  Finally, I found out what happened.  He had fallen into some water somewhere and got his shoes wet.  He turned up again just after half time.  The other guy’s name was Shinya.  He used to hang out down by a small park where I used to walk my dog.  I used to let the skaters play ball with my dog, while I talked shit with these young social miscasts.  At one time, we talked about going into business together, selling defective cars (but not THAT defective, he told me).  The deal fell through for various reasons.  For one thing, I probably didn’t have as much money as Shinya might have hoped.  My confidence in Shinya’s business plan also floundered when his beautiful, brand new looking small sports car suddenly stalled and was unable to be restarted.  Finally, both those guys pissed me off when Sher and Shinya left me standing in the rain for over 40 minutes waiting for them to pick me up.  (Sher had been busy getting his hair styled, it turned out, and there were a few shops to check out along the way.)  

Oh yeah, the score was about 156 to 6.  Our team were the 6, and those were all behinds.  For myself, I ran around like a crazy person, chasing a ball whose next destination I found almost impossible to predict.  I made a couple of valiant attempts at tackles and took a bit of skin off my knees.  And I got my first kick of the game 2 minutes before the final whistle blew- a kick that went about 10 meters forward and 20 meters up.  The banana bender put up a bomb!  Best Queenslander on ground, at least!  But the boys weren’t too disappointed as without me and my two fellow ring ins, the game would have been cancelled.  Happily, the Redbacks took revenge upon the same opposition the following season.  With the proper list they won handily by three or four goals- and they didn’t even need my help.

Then my friend CP rang.

 

  

 

 

 

TODAY'S EXCERPT

1) Why I want to meet Matthew Hayden

So this is my vision.  I want to generate just a little bit of buzz on Youtube or the local press here, or even back in Oz.  I think these projects have a lot of potential.  Then I want to meet my friends and family at the airport in Australia.  I will be wearing my orange hoodie, or perhaps my brown or black one.  I will be wearing my red shoes.  Because those things symbolize something for me.  When you're rich and famous, you can basically wear whatever you want whenever you want.  For the ordinary plebs, we always have to dress according to certain codes that say “Hey, I’m a serious person.”

So, I want someone to take a picture of me at the airport, with my hood on, and my back turned.  The caption will read, “Hey, is that Mark”.  The hoodie and the sneakers are a uniform of sorts- a kind of caustic poke at the rich entrepreneurial IT crowd.  Shit man, get this guy an ambulance he needs some help?  Where’s a doctor when you need one?  Because one thing that I think is true is that on your deathbed, or in the case of a sudden, unexpected accident, the last thing you will want fixed is your computer or your webpage.

 

One of the main problems for generating a little more awareness is the lack of any public figure to rally around.  I started thinking about this during the “Face of Rugby League” debacle.  Everyone was talking about how that particular position is “cursed” or something.  I thought, well, why does it need one anyway?  In theory, I get it.  It can counteract some of the negative press surrounding that code of football as a result of numerous unsavoury incidents.  But still, who really cares, right?  It’s just a game. 

 

So I started thinking about who I would choose.  I thought about all of the wonderful work that Glen McGrath is doing in New South Wales and all over Australia to raise awareness about Breast Cancer.  It seems to me that that particular charity evolved through that man’s sense of sadness and loss when his beloved died.  Yet, in Queensland, something which is loved almost universally is also going through a kind of slow death as well.  But it’s not too late, maybe, if we move quickly enough.  What I would like is to have a “Face of the Reef”- someone respected andsd admired across the country who embodies the Queensland life style. 

 

The ideal person for such a role would be a person like Matthew Hayden.  I would actually like to meet him one day in person and say:

“G’day, Matt.  You don’t know me but I have always been a fan.  I have deep respect and admiration for all of your charity work.  You seem ethical, caring and kind and I know that you must be very busy.  I am not so many of those things.  I like to think that I am ethical, in my own way, and kind when and where I can be.  You are Catholic, but I am not.  I was married in a Catholic church, though, and I have read a fair amount of decent Catholicism.  You were an amazing batsman, while I batted number 10 for my poorly performed Clubites team.  But I always loved that game.  I even used to “borrow” money growing up from my parents to fund my addiction to Cricketer magazine.  You are great and you are from my state.  We love our state and the Great Barrier Reef is one of the main symbols of our state.  How would you like to be the face of a media awareness campaign and a charity?” 

 

Now, none of this will probably happen.  The principle, though, is important and it is essential to have big dreams if you want to ameliorate big problems.  Even if Matt’s too busy or, understandably, committed to many other things, he could still support my vision or recommend someone else to fill the role.  It could be Jimmy Maher, or even Andrew Symonds (if he behaves).  It could be a rugby league player, but preferably it would be a cricket player because it is the one code of sport that is equally popular in every state of Australia.

 

2) Dystopian nightmares

As I was writing I began to think back to my conversation with Eli and to wonder how he was going with his dreams in Germany.  I wondered how much funding he was getting through Kickstarter for his and his brother Seth’s movie project.  I really hope that our young visionaries and dreamers like Eli get a chance to live in a world where dreams are still possible.  Not just this dystopic nightmare that seems just around the corner.  How much time will the young men and women on Planet Earth have to dream of better worlds?  How long until all of the colors- the deep blue of the ocean, the sky blue of the sky, the greens and browns of plantlife and botany, the whitest of whites of the clouds in the sky- are removed bit by bit?  How long until we live in a world of shiny buildings, while all the oceans, rivers and lakes become tinged with brown?  How long until we live in a grey world of forever threatening skies with only the blackest black of asphalt everywhere under our feet?  How long until all of the rainbows of this world, all of the promises of hope and brighter days ahead are finally and forever gone.  Once that happens, where will we live?  Will we only live in paper planes flown deep into the deepest of outer space, while Wall E gets to sit here in all his loneliness and clean up after us and some unfathomable, giinormous mess.  And, finally, do we all get to go, or only those with the right amount of money in the bank?  These are serious questions which demand of at least some of us a tremendous act of care and consideration.  That’s just the way I have always felt.  And then I wrote some shout outs to some of my coworkers here in Japan.  I truly benefited from the experience of working with such a diverse and interesting and conscientious group of people.  And then I finished the book.  So I flipped the book over and began to write again.

 

      

 

UNIQ: YESTERDAYS WRITING

Dear Reader,

 

Yesterday, I received my last known pay check.  It’s probably time now to rejoin the world of work.  We all need to eat, right. 

Anyway, Ive been busy.  In the week since I joined Facebook, I have “friended” 14 paople.  Actually, for the most part, I consider almost all of them people I like and would like to trust.  Some of them, I know a little less than others, but I think I know enough to say that none of them are a member of the Bildensburg group (whatever, its called) or the illuminati. 

              They seem normal people, like me.  Well, probably a bit more normal, but I have stuff that normalizes me.  Last night, I went to a saxophone recital by a man called Naoki Ito.  He used to teach my wife the saxophone.

              I was a bit bored, mostly because he was palying classics.  But I drew a couple of really cool sketches of the guy at the mike, and later playing his instrument.  I also drew a picture of a guy following a lion, crawling towards a circus tent, while a director sits in the background, calling out the shots, calling out Action.  It was just an exercise in drawing that I decided to occupy some spare attention with, while I was bored.

              I must say, it really helped me to appreciate the role of music more.  I thought a couple of realy cool things, too.  Way back when, I was 21, back in the day, I used to smoke a little bit.  Not too much. Probably less than most.  But I remember listening to Tricky and his Maxinquaye , which at the time was my album of choice.  My parents were out and so I let the music flood the room, and my very much befuddled brain.  I remember getting up to turn the CD off because I thought that two CDs were playing.

              So, anyway, now I have a small piece of my sanity back, I’ve been thinking about actually doing that.  About playing two CDs at once, to make my own music.  The way to do this, it occurs to me, the only way it would probably work, would be to play one normal piece alongside something very minimalist but beautiful.  I think I will listen to the Divine Liturgy of St John Chrysostum alongside the shakahachi, or the native American flute (Kater and Nakai, would be a good choice.)  After that, I’ll probably end up bathed in red light, calling out crazy stuff like Tom Hanks in the movie Philadelphia.  If that doesn’t happen for me the first time, I will keep experimenting, with music, until it does.  Why?  Because everyone deserves to experience things like that at least once, in their lifetime.

              Sio here’s some more stuff on my to do before I die list.  Learn to draw.  Learn to play the blues harmonica.  Howl at the moon.   Learn at least two really good magic tricks.  I will leave “riding a unicycle” to someone else, although that would be cool as well.

              I probably should have gone straight home, but instead I sat down and drank a couple of Chuhais and listened to some Aimee Mann.  When I went to go home, I started talking to a young man, 21 years old, about what it means to be small and powerless.  I had drawn two real life sketches.  One of a woman, standing upright, and carrying a bag.  She symbolized for me, at the time, the gift of giving.  And another of a man, hunched over a bicycle, riding as fast as the wind, God knows where, in a bit of a blur.  He symbolizes for me the act of running away, pointlessly, from life and all its problems.  I also had written a message, which goes like this: “Please God, Help me, Because I don’t know where I am going and I don’t know whay.”  Granted, this might be just projection- seeing other people the way one is (I am) afraid to see oneself (me).  Yet, I have always thought that stuff was pretty universal.  Anyway, I think I made an activist, by the very act of being unafraid, by demonstrating that.  That single conversation was probably one of the weirdest one’s that young guy has ever had.  For that reason, in his own way, he will incorporate it in some positive way into his life.  After that, I stopped by one of my old hauns, one of my old haunting places, one of my haunted houses, just because I am not brave enough to let go of everything all at once.  I have to retrace my life step by step, bit by bit, back to where it was just a little more normal and a little more fun.  I can’t do everything at once,.  I have to erase my mistakes one by one.  But here’S the kicker.  I actually met some pretty cool people.  The bar tender is trying to become a writer.  Another guy took a whole bunch of my scribbled bar room philosophy notes, and understood something about the problems of this world, most specifically, nationalism.  My key note went like this.  “Most Japanese people think Japan is the most important.”  He wanted to erase that “most” and write “some” or even “many”.  But the truth is, as I pointed out, if I wrote “most Chinese” or “most Koreans” or, even “most Americans” or “most Australians”, he would probably agree.  Yet, he feels the need to defend “his” country and “his” people.  I made a friend.  He likes Secreatriat and Man o  War.  I like Sea Biscuit, most of all, and also “Phar Lap.”  So big up to big red 346.

AFTER THAT

March 20, 2013/03/20

 

After last night’s misadventures, I woke up at about 11, and wrote about my experiences

My wife is very tired, and exhausted.  She wanted to talk to me after she woke up.  We talked ffor a short time.  I checked my Facebook account and my emails.  I posted my diary entry on my Facebook page.  I checked up on some old school friends. At first, I couldn’t post my diary entry.  I wrote an email to the team at Facebook, and then tried again.  I took Sera for a walk.  I saw a whole bunch of empty cans in a bush near the conbini.  I thought I’ll take them down to the park and find the one person who wants these.  Right at the corner of the park, I saw an old guy pushing a trolley loaded up with hundreds and hundreds of cans.  He was pushing it up the main road.  He was an old guy with a long white beard and matted salt and peeper hair.   I gave him my cans.  I played ball with my dog, and called 2 people from work- Simon and Jason.  Then, I thought I should call someone else.  So I called Diego, my Italian representative.  I explained to people my ideas for SkypeMe English.  Pre reading tasks, phone call.  Blank monitor.  Feedback.  I read two pieces aloud to my brother in law, Ben.  Ben loved my stuff.   A guy I group up with has confirmed me as a friend.

Things to write about.  Yenev.  My dream before I came to Japan.  Share housing.  Self intros.  Kris.  The two Ls.  Daniel.  Jan n Park.  Kevin.  Brian.  Sharon.  Stephen.  Libraries.  Mrs King.  Cricketer.  Cat, Tiger.  Batman.  Kim. 

I'd really love to get a small cassette player to record my voice.      

UNIQ: EXCERPT FROM ANOTHER CHAPTER

“I JUST FINISHED ANOTHER BOOK”

 

This piece was written for my closest friend Michael on the 6^th of March.  I wrote this at my old dirt park in Fukiage.  The first time I ever went to this park, I absolutely hated it.  Everything seemed so decrepit.  Nothing in the park seemed planned with any rhyme or reason.  As you enter the park, the most noticeable thing is a square of gravel about 5m in width and length.  This gravel is surrounded by about 6 green park benches.  Circling further through the park, one sees randomly spaced trees, old jungle gyms, something that looks like a skateboard bowl, a gravel play ground, unmown grass, more gravel, lots of gravel, ropes keeping people from trespassing into the weeds, more benches placed according to the strangest geometrical patterns, and a centerpiece being an exorbitant fountain that doesn’t really work.  It’s the park I would have designed if I was really drunk and feeling fairly misanthropic.  I wouldn’t know how else to explain it.  But here’s the thing, my dog loves it, and so now so do I.

 

So anyway, I wrote something quite like this in the dark in an old unused diary called Rumi 2012 Date Book. So this writing is for my beloved sister, Stacey, who bought me the book.  She came to Japan to visit me. We have some photos somewhere around the house.  I love her.    

 

Dear Michael, I have my plan, other people have plans, too.  I want to commit my life to something more than paper.  I want to live a life I am proud of, and to do things within this world.  For a start I need to make a symbolic gesture by beginning SMART recovery for myself, before SMART recovery can begin for my world.  I am willing to commit my life to four things: I am committed to God, I am committed to life, I am committed to the human spirit, I am committed to the human race.  All I ask is that my simple plea be heard by people above me, the people in positions of power and authority.  For reasons unknown and inexplicable, they seem hell bent on escalating the human species race to the bottom, it’s free fall towards mass extinction.   Can we please stop this madness or at least slow down our processes before we destroy all of the things that matter? Do we really have to destroy the planet we are living on, the only planet we have ever lived on?  Do we really have to destroy all of the other species that try to co-exist?  Do we really have to rid our ecosystem of every crawling creature, everything that soars in the air and everything that swims in the sea?  Before finally putting our own race to bed.  Please, if there is anybody out there, please hear my plea.  Save and don’t Delete.......

 

 

LATER PARAGRAPH

 

Everything I write is subject to further revision, because that is a BIG PART OF MY VISION, just ask my friend (NAME) because we are locked in.  We are friends forever now, I believe, because I talked to him from my heart.  BTW, I don’t believe THAT much in concrete, so don’t get the wrong idea.  But I want to write my promises in it.  But I could write them in the sand because that happens sometimes, too.   That’s okay.  We don’t have to feel bad about that.  We have to learn to forgive ourselves.  You made your commitment, just as I have made mine, just on the date.  That’s the initial thing you have to do.  Respect yourself for that.  That, in itself, is a very good thing… to take your first step… and then to… I don’t know… take another?

 

Someone I quite like, basically Jesus, said if someone asks you to walk one mile with them, walk two.  But that’s pretty difficult.  Just take one staep, and then the next.  So do you know what I did, my favorite Michael in the world, I did that and I would ask you to do the same.  Just like my friend, CP, did in Japan.  He made his first pledge.

 

 I gave him 3000 yen he didn’t give it back to me.  Initially we worked together at a small school.  My friend didn’t like him, so I cost that man a job because I thought he wouldn’t do a good job, and TBH, I didn’t even know him.  We interviewed him at Maruzen, before that got moved.  But do you know what, mate, some things are irremoveable, like the equator or, in my opinion, the Great Barrier Reef.  Yet people, they can change.  We change every day, and people deserve a second chance and more than that, people deserve infinite chances.  At least I think so.  Not everyone, but most of us.  That’s what I have tried to believe in my life.  I had to.  I had to believe in myself and that was a very concrete act of love.  A gift to myself from me, and who knows if I deserved it.  I won’t give up until my breath gives out, until I give up my ghost.  Or at least I’d like to think so.  Even though, I have felt ashamed about some things, some things deservedly so and some things not, this was my message to myself.  Never give up, just keep trying and knock on some doors, just like I did today.

But the first door you have to knock on is the door inside your heart.  A lot of people can’t do that so you have to help them.  As I write this, I wonder where I learnt that from and then I remember. One of the things that helped me was some books by a man called Ajahn Brahm who lives in WA, who is trying to do good.  The first book he wrote was a book of stories.  The second one taught me something I didn’t know about mindfulness, and something I didn’t know about love.  Here’s the thing, Michael, even if I am not quite linked in yet, you will do that for me.  You will link me in, because you did that for me a long, long time ago.

Of all of the people in my life, you have been my truest friend.  Sure, I’ve had other friends, but you’re the main one, man.  The one who would never leave my side.  You were my first true, true, true friend.  I don’t know how many “true”s to write.  Should I write 3, 5, 7 or 9.  Or should I write 13, 17, 19, 23 or 29.  Or should I write 37, 41, 43, 47, 53 or 57.  I don’t know.  As there are infinite primes, you were the primary one.  You took me away from one and turned me towards the many.  For that, you will have my eternal gratitude, forever and a day.  You’re my number one.

Do you know who I believe in?  I believe in Mike.  Because for me, that person has cared for me more concretely, with more sincerity, than anyone else on this planet, with the exception of, perhaps, my wife.

UNIQ: EXCERPT FROM THE PLEDGE

THE PLEDGE

 

In early March, I went looking for a friend.  Funnily enough his name is (NAME)  He calls himself a post modern chef, and hails from the great land of New Zealand.  He sports a kind of pony tail and looks to have some Maori in him.  I met him when my wife and I went looking for a new restaurant.  My wife found out about   his restaurant on the Internet, and she chose it specifically because he is from New Zealand and I am always complaining about my lack of friends and my feelings of isolation and loneliness here in Japan.  “Japan is the most lonely country in the world,” is probably my most familiar lament- one I am sure my wife is well and truly sick of hearing. 

That night, my wife and I were the only two customers in the restaurant, so we received excellent service.  I remember Amigo asking me what I’d like to drink.  “I’ll just have a beer, thanks, mate.”  I said.  It turned out there was no beer.  Why?  I guess my (NAME) is just not running that kind of shop.  His main clientele is probably from the more up market side of the street. Regardless, it turned out myself and this quietly spoken, outwardly reserved, but friendly and cheerful person had a lot of other things in common.  For a start, he spent several years living in   Brisbane, Australia.  With his future as a chef more or less secure (he was actually a kind of New Zealand version of Masterchef), Amigo decided to do a course on Philosophy.  Specifically, he is part way through completing a Ph D in Logic.  Needless to say, our friendship began with very sound foundations, and we exchanged phone numbers, business cards and email addresses. 

“Are you on Facebook”, he asked, “because I am trying to get together with some of the kiwis in Nagoya for a few drinks.”  

“Sorry, mate,” I would have replied, “Facebook’s just not something I’ve ever really been interested in.” 

As is often the case, we failed to keep our promises to keep in touch.  People are busy with their own lives, running businesses, teaching classes and looking after their children, and so that naturally happens quite a lot.  Still, I never called, until the day I got back from the park after having drawn up some blueprints for my vision of starting a charity.  This was in the very, very formative stages of my idea to write a book.  So I just called him up

I’ve never had much of a sense of direction.  I’ve always been too busy thinking to pay much attention to important stuff like what color car my friend drives, or what the house I’m living in looks like, or even where it is.  At different times, I have actually forgotten those things.  Sometimes I feel like one of the world’s smartest, youngest  sufferers of dementia (without meaning to cause any offence to the sufferers and their families of that terrible affliction.)  Of course, I had a map on my friend's business card, but I just couldn’t follow it.  So I called him again from a street somewhere near his restaurant.

“Hey, man, where is your restaurant?  I can’t find it.”

“Where are you now?  I’ll come and get you.”

“I’m near the Yellow Hat.”

“Oh,I see you.  Are you wearing an orange sweater?  Just turn around.”

And I did.  And there he was.  A little bit of magic still exists in this world after all.  Or at least I like to think so.  The rest of that story, about me giving my vision, can be found in my emails.  But this time, when I sat down to talk, he had a beer.  I haven’t asked him but he probably stocked beer just because of that first time I went to his restaurant.  He is just that kind of guy. 

EMAIL CHAPTER EXCERPT

FW: Grants new email address

(I)

I  HAVE  DREAMS  FOR  ALL  OF  US

 

> >> Date: Wed, 13 Feb 2013 12:51:01 +0900
> >> Subject: Grants new email address
> >> From: grant.Teaching@unnamedserver.com
> >> To: michaelb@unnamedserver.com
> >>
> >> Hey Mike, I was really happy to hear the good news about your wife's pregnancy.
> >> Sorry I always seem so distracted by my own stuff. Anyway, congrats.
> >> This is my new email address, because frankly my other account was BECOMING TOO DIFFICULT TO USE,

> >>I provided them with my phone number. But still couldn’t reconnect.  But to be honest, my brain feels a little tired these days, so it’s probably my own fault. 

> >>Anyway it was hard to get proper internet support.  I wanted to call the phone number but I couldn’t find one and I got tired of the process. 

> >>So I just gave up.  In a way, I feel better now.  I feel like if I have a smaller server, maybe everything will be okay.  Anyway, I’m all for the little man.

> >>So now… I feel free. Anyway, hope you're doing alright. Keep your chin up and your head held high.
> >> PS a poem I wrote. Some backstory. I had a dream where I am at school
> >> and I have to remember the lines of a five line poem for assessment.
> >> Each correct sentence gets 1 pt. We are given the first line "Falling halfway through the sky."
> >> I start to write them down as I remember
> >> them, but then I think, "What the fuck's the point of THIS? I want to
> >> write my own." So:
                           Falling halfway through the sky
                      Into the rustic attic
              Inside my inner I
              I dream dreams of what might be
              if only people try.
> >> This is what I'm going to hand in. No points for it. But it's mine.
> >> I'll be me, thank you very much. I am looking for MY voice, not
> >> mouthing
> >> others' words. I hope you are doing good. Big smile, much love, G
> >>

UNIQ: MY CHILDHOOD EXCERPT

I was born on the 8^th of September at the Mater Hospital in Brisbane, Queensland, the second child and first born son of Mervyn Cecil Higham and Gail Dorothy Higham nee Streeter.  Some people claim to have memories dating as far back as their first breath.  Others go further still and claim to remember what it was like to be in the womb.  Others go even further and claim to remember their own past lives.  I can claim none of those things for myself.  What I will say though is that I remember what it was like to become an older brother.

One of my very first memories is sitting outside the Princess Alexander Hospital with my father, and learning that I was to become a middle child.  My mother had just given birth to a beautiful, blue-eyed baby boy, my younger brother Luke Timothy.  Rather than sharing in what must have been my parents joy and happiness, I felt only a dim foreboding.  This strange and puzzling piece of news induced in me a sense of fear and trepidation, a feeling that my life would change forever and not in a better way.  Why I felt the way I did, I shall never know, but I must have been a very insecure child from a very early age.

For most of my early life, those feelings were to be a core part of my self-identity.  Who was I?  Well, for a start, I was not-Luke.  My brother has always been somewhat of a charmer, gifted with a sense of mischieviousness and a ready smile.  People always seemed to gravitate towards him, and the spotlight of attention found him easily.  Me, I was more likely to be found crouched somewhere in the corner, always watching other people’s lives.  Consider this, I am brown eyed, brown haired, lank, of medium height, and an introvert by nature at a guess.  My brother stands at about 188 cm and weighs about 40 kilos more than me. 

              My father, God bless his soul, somehow conjured up the most charming yet strangely fitting epithets for his offspring, especially for “the boys”.  Luke was Luke the Wrecker and I was, well, I was Grant the Ant.  But that’s just the way my father was and still is to some degree.  I mean, I know that he loved us dearly, and still does, always will.  Every night before we went to bed, my father would ask us for a kiss.  He almost never failed to state uncategorically that he loved us, with the rare exception of the times when I almost completely burnt his trust.  As a father, this and many other things, makes him better than many.