February 22nd, 2005


Ten Things I Have Done That You Haven't.


Joined the Russian Space Program at twenty to become a cosmonaut. It wasn't such a bad idea, but I did have to spend six months in space with a crazy Russian who was searching for God's backbone from space. "It's the spine of the world," he would mutter in Russian. "God has curled into a fetal position and I wish to see that bastard's face."

He was an angry, angry man. I spent most of my time floating in the dark, listening to music, and wondering why I couldn't see the Great Wall of China.


Set an entire field on fire just to alleviate my boredom.


Was accused of plagiarism at the age of 14 under the reasoning that, "You're not smart enough to have written this." They never did end up believing me, either.

You never see my story made into a movie of the week.


Told a documentary crew covering the 2000 New Years Eve that I was here because I wanted the World to End. Anything else, I said, would be an anti-climax.


When returning to Earth from six months in space, I told the Russians that I'd had enough. They wanted to send me back up, but I told them it was a one trip deal. "I found the Monkey," I said, sitting in their tiny, white washed, spartan office. "I won't have anything to do with that shit. Seriously. We're done." They didn't take it well and I ended up having to leave Russia in not very legal ways, which meant I spent six weeks being the roadie for an anarchist punk band under the name Gregor.

The fact that I couldn't play any instruments didn't bother them at all.


On a writing panel, I told a room full of people that editors who reject your work are to be referred to as "Crack Addicts" just to keep everything in perspective.


Walked down the streets of Sydney with Jesus.


Been told, repeatedly, that I'm a no bullshit, brutally honest kind of guy.


Admitted to lying on this list. Though, perhaps, not as much as you would think. Or maybe more. The Monkey is jabbering at me in Russian, again, and complaining about the intelligent animals they've sent into space to replace the empty meat sacks of men that orbit there.

You've seen those men around.


Was married, briefly, in Iceland to a anarchist punk princess. I suppose we still are married, but Gregor is long dead, and there's no way to prove that he didn't die in the tragic boating accident.

Parramatta Moment.

I was in Parramatta tonight, round eight, eight thirty in the evening. Most of everything was closed up, but that doesn't mean there were no people.

One guy caught my attention, however. He was a tall Asian guy, somewhere in his mid thirties. What caught my attention was that his mouth and the lower half of his face was covered in thick black oil as if he had been eating fruit, and let it run down his chin like juice. It was over his red shirt and arms and when he spoke, his teeth were cracked and had big spaces between them. On the back of his shirt was written BE BOLD.

Perhaps there's a limit to that advice.
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