*contains massive spoilers
Well, here we have another long-winded summation – not as long as Lord of the Rings – of the mystery of Qanon and ‘ritual’ sexual abuse of children and its link to ‘self-abuse’ … and sexuality dealt by an everlasting secret and now not so secret family. Yes, I know some churches did it another way so to speak.
The only mystery being after a study of popular culture and also close scrutiny of my own ‘circumcidere’ scar – always wondering why it was so, its shape and the scars themselves which formed the ring around my penis and around my life in terms of people’s seemingly magnetic fascination with myself … It can go back to my youngest sister naming her cats Rosie and Reindeer after checking out my dick while I was asleep in my elastic pj’s…. Just like in David Ireland’s book Woman of the Future where a young girl was investigating her curiosity about the colours and scars of her father’s cut penis….
I was also fascinated by the underside of the ring which formed a v or y shape …. As I’m sure young men and women check out their own baby’s natural/’God’ given bollocks upon healing and as one gay News Limited journalist Mike Coward told me at the footy as a Glenelg supporter aged ten years old: “I changed your nappies” which left me feeling red-faced.
Writer Philip Roth made a Jewish joke about his mother tickling the underside of his Bris in Portnoy’s Complaint to help make him pee, just like I did at night by rubbing in circles the glans of my penis to make me pee at night just before bed at my maternal grandparent’s house so I wouldn’t wet the bed which was a problem brought on by an older boy putting his penis in my mouth… More later. But back to one evening as I worked circles on my knob aged about ten or eleven and semen began to emerge instead of pee/pea and I accepted it as only natural after a slight panic… of what is it? My younger sisters and I were dealt a well-worn comic book called Where Do I Come From? … and then later some explicit thing at the News Limited party shack called Show Me…
Anyway, to go on about the mystery of Lord of the Rings and Qanon is that the style of our knobs or most of the boy’s knobs as they were cut at the Glenelg Community Hospital (it was optional I guess for the few who insisted the isle of Mons or Irish potato look or style popularised and championed in the voyeuristic The Horses video – I prefer One Summer) …At least in 1967 in that hospital it was cut or performed in the longer length of leftover foreskin or the style of the Muslims as opposed to the shorter style of the Semitic tribes or Jews, or so I have ‘researched’. Hence the phrase, I have used cryptically, earlier about The Garden of Allah being a backyard where the boys who were born and dealt the scissor at Glenelg and in other community hospitals ‘revealed their inmost self/selves unto my God’ to quote Planet of the Apes as they urinated in rings as boys or later on after drinking massive amounts of beer – how’s that for a full house at the urinal! You had to be there. The ‘poms’ do the same as they innocently watch the soccer in Europe along with other nations without stigma or shame as a generally ‘non-circumcidere’ nation and continent.
The name of Glenelg being the same whether you turn it back the front as it is a palindrome as the ‘circumcidere’ Dick Turner/dick turner is fascinated by their own scar like myself used to be, otherwise its all the same to the Isle of Mons Dick Turner unless you’ve a long brown Celtic one that’s stretched it to a magnificent length like a guy named Mike in the change-rooms at high school used to proudly show-off. My father God Bless him had one that looked like a potato as we noticed as kids, such is the/his Celtic Brit’s cross to bear in Oz used to be… My lengthy Garden of Allah style scar at fifteen years of age looked exactly the same as the boy swimming naked in the Russ Meyer film Up (1976) and I wish I got it on with Raven De La Croix (1947-) who went on to appear in the cult movie The Lost Empire (1984) alongside the father of Scar Tissue author Anthony Kiedis. This style of ‘cut’’ was used in America too since circumcision is a word I have avoided since there is a stigma or taboo attached to it. I guess the Garden of Allah style prevailed in America before the mission was ‘disbanded’ in 1967, or so the conspiracy or legend goes in terms of circles and rings.
Note that my community crossed over between living in the southern beaches of Adelaide and my father’s work ‘colleagues’ at Rupert Murdoch’s The News where he worked when I was born. Thank God for my grandfather as he naturally or/and deliberately initiated me into the Cornish legend of Treasure Island and Long John Silver long before Disney dangled Bobby Driscoll in front of me as a boy of equal prettiness that I myself once was … Driscoll hooked a generation of live action male Disney viewers/voyeurs who couldn’t let go of Driscoll and become Long John Silver in reality… All I know is that the Freemasons and doctors with their ‘scissors/clamps’ in their hands and heart did it all for a reason since girls come out already ‘done’ no clipping of the clitoris necessary. As for the natural Bobby Driscoll obsession or delusion for some, all I know is that in the small city where Bobby Driscoll was born in Cedar Rapids, Iowa – State Fair (1945) has a song named Iowa in counterpoint to Oklahoma – where the masons were highly active and a large temple and library exists. Another clue in mythology may have been given in Clint Eastwood’s Changeling (2008) in reference to Cedar Rapids.
So-called voyeurs and narcissists find comfort as many a cut/cute boy like Bobby Driscoll (1937-68 drug overdose/heart failure) and myself were in reality dealt their overdose since ‘pretty doesn’t last forever’ as one News Limited mother of best friend and fellow Glenelg born cut boy Flynn reassured her son about his handsomeness or lack thereof. Yes, they all died pretty and all that and Driscoll died a lost boy in an empty tenement in New York, quite like where his movie The Window (1949) was set, and which earned him a mini/Minnie Oscar. The unidentified body of the boy who voiced Peter Pan (1953) was then taken to Potter’s Field and buried amongst the unidentified and he remained missing and even his father died of cancer before finally fingerprints and other records and a search by the FBI finally told the full story. Such is the tragedy of Bobby Driscoll. So, Potter’s Field that island in New York where Matt Dillon’s character in The Saint of Fort Washington (1993) and many other poverty-stricken blacks and whites and unwanted men and women both ‘circumcidere’ and ‘non-circumcidere’ both physically and in their minds turn to skeletons before they are ploughed into the ground to make more room. They were often black and/or mentally ill men who have been buried there over the years especially with the occurrence of Covid. Unwanted children who were once ‘somebody’s child’ to use the sentiment and quote from Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation (1974) … Not Wanted/Unwed Mother (1949) being the AC/DC title of the Ida Lupino directed movie about children who weren’t aborted and the stigmatised women without birth control.
As a conversation starter I want to say I wish the Republicans in America could see they are soul sick and hypocritical rich people who do not have the spirit of Benjamin Franklin in their hearts, he has been forgotten as they scramble amongst the deck chairs of their very own Titanic – the tide is turning I hope in terms of Paganism and the spies within your local church. Let it go and let everyone cast their vote black, white and poor … Everyone sees through your crooked Republicanism today and your Fraternity is broken along with your vision of a big bank account to service your swathes of real estate and imagined voters…
“Can I have more,” asked Oliver (1968) politely because he was hungry, unlike the criminal Johnny Rocco in Key Largo who said: “More? …Of course, I want more!” Such is the divide between the innocent who must suffer under the greedy Republicans as opposed to those ritual abusers known as the ‘communist’ Democrats and who were led by Hilary Clinton. May they all get dealt Freddy Krueger in their dreams as they meet Big Brother within their own minds as the test pattern of the Ministry of Love prevails. Poor Rudy Giuliani was looking a bit harassed on tv the other day… as he tried to explain the current/present day state of American Republicanism.
As for Australia and the Qanon scandal and the conservatives have been dealt their dates and names as if a higher order exists somewhere in the ballot box or the backrooms as the conservative politicians meet their own transparent and naked doppelgangers of hypocrisy and stupidity in the comic strips and at the urinal as they also lived in a state of denial. Scott Morrison is possibly an innocent who has laid low and what’s in a name as Scott was my best non-circumdicere friend at high school who was orphaned at age 23 when I got ‘sick’ with schizophrenia at the same age and Morrison relates to the/The Doors of perception and Sir Lachlan in The Wicker Tree. Great Scott/Scot! Firestarter (1984) indeed as Scotty/Scomo has brought their ring down upon their heads and helped in unison with the Pentagon and others to guide me towards the culmination within this article/essay on my blog.
Or I’m just plain insane. And ‘firestarter’ in terms of the crooked electricians of the past who dealt faulty wiring and a skeleton key to start a fire in the homes of the ‘unwanted’. Shame on the electricians in my home last week who broke two Sliding Doors (1998) while I didn’t watch, so I’d have to call their union mate, the carpenter and dealt me a rubber mat to lie on. All outrageously overpaid in ports, home building and other trades/rackets as I tipped a Dominoes worker five bucks for working next to nothing… I burnt myself out on low wages twice.
This leads me to the fake crucifix or the bridge in a name of the former deputy prime minister and I use lower case because they are small men in this day and age of Parliament… Michael McCormack is his name in this new era of Maccas coming to Australia and peddling their unhealthy but addictive wares with the song The Horses as a hook. The first name is the name of my father while you add the Maccas and then the surname is the same as the father of one of my ‘once upon a time’ backyard cricket pals. That father maybe rich today but he was also dealt his tragedy.
That’s just some more on the divinity of the ring and the ‘façade of conservatism’ within Parliament and the Qanon conspiracy and it relates to me being dealt the Garden of Allah in terms of two young Glenelg hospital cut boys, one a few years older (me) than the other being dealt by their British-Scottish born conspiring ‘forefathers’ a back yard tent as the climax of their friendship and see what would ‘come out’ in the wash and what could possibly determine their sexuality. Anyway, playing strip snap as I had been introduced to by the child predator ‘babysitter’ I had been dealt aged about ten by the brother and best friend of my father, the same guy who worked at Rupert Murdoch’s The News said behind my back at age twelve or so upon being caught beating off in the shower: “You’ll go blind”.
God and karma dealt that man his Greek tragedy. His ex-wife is a beautiful woman who now lives with the man who delivered her son. For ‘ritual’ interference then add to this the older boy and son of another ‘The News’ work colleague I got dealt who put his cut penis my mouth when I was six or seven years old when he woke me and I said ‘okay’ just so he’d leave me alone and I could go back to sleep… I understand that ‘Simon’ had an unhappy life for many, many years when his father ‘caught up’ with his father recently over coffee and told him that his family ostracized him. Simon’s father by the way had his brakes fail coming down a hill and was severely crippled in terms of his own physical tragedy. Call me ‘gullible’ or bwana, as my best friend and QEH born cut boy and what stoners would call an Egg Boy, Greg, who has now lost nearly all his hair, and is high up in the Aussie Air Force, called me superiorly and essentially ended our friendship in high school! We passed each other estranged in the urinal in our final year of high school. I gave Greg his first electronic set for his eleventh birthday. Hello there!
Back to the copycat behaviour initiated by the Judas Priests and it can and did lead innocent boys into a life of perversion and/or mental scarring in later life. So, these two boys in a tent ended up with their cut knobs out and naked with priapism, thus is the nature of a cat named reindeer and the underside of each other’s Allah dealt and styled dicks… Or one did, just like Portnoy’s mother tickled the underside of his bris in the novel of Portnoy’s Complaint. Our mothers were possibly left in the dark about the ritual but such is the puppetry of the penis among boys and their fathers while my so-called other cut best friends at school meanwhile got dealt the local girls in their backyard tent who specialised in losing the local lad’s their virginity. I saw a mug-shot of one recently. Such is ‘ritual’ sexual abuse in terms of The Family/the family… in southern Adelaide when I was a child.
Yes, there’s nothing wrong with ‘a stiffy’ at an early age as they sometimes strike like lightning and my young nephew who suffered the horrific pain of phimosis as a young boy when he had an erection – something his mother/my sister had to standby helpless as he almost cried with the pain of every erection. She was unprepared and my nephew was then taught or learned to stretch his foreskin in the shower and when he and his sister watched George Lucas’ Howard the Duck (1988) as I babysat, he innocently said aged seven or eight: “I’m getting a stiffy” and suffered no pain at all. “Don’t be silly,” I said to him at the time: “You’ll get over it!” And he is a popular young man and not one of those toxic types, just like I was before ‘they’ got me as Alice Cooper sang and I spiralled into AC/DC hell.
While families threw out the ‘photos’ they took of their young children posed naked or unabashedly naked in pre-pubertal innocence… a few survive in family photo albums and are shown with pride but not on the internet with other ‘lovers’… and I share one today as it is quite innocuous. I never was and never will be a molester of children whether they’re related to me or not although I did terrify those young kids by showing them The Birds (1963) at a young age and when my sister told her girlfriends they were shocked and horrified in this great gaslight union of a so-called friendly Catholic neighbourhood! It’s all a worry on the net now as ‘who is the photographer?’ in terms of Big Brother and other hackers. As women now know the true horror of ‘who’s your daddy’?
I guess you could call the men in southern Adelaide and who worked at The News at the time in the late 1960s and 1970s pagan but they weren’t honourable ones who truly worshipped nature I was about eight when my father put up a poster of a nude Barry McKenzie cracking a beer in front of his genitals. I always wondered what lurked behind the beer and skittles and now I know. These men of a bi/bygone era.
So, there’s the name Michael McCormack in terms of the pillars of wisdom of what’s in a name rather than what’s in a head. I hope this is turning out to be a page turner or a bit of a page scroller as opposed to the imagined horror of a Dick/dick Turner/turner against the gaslight of a schizophrenic fitter/turner being dealt a shit sandwich at work… I dreamt innocently that Laurance Harvey turned by toadstool of a dick as I sat cross-legged on the floor together… And I remember when the Glenelg cut school bully felt my stiffy one school sleepover and after he let me feel his as we had sleeping bags beside one another. He then gaslighted me and said: “You haven’t got an Aussie ‘dick’, you’ve got a Pommy dick” or something like that as I knew the meaning of keeping your enemy close. I guess this is all called The Everlasting Secret Family which is an Aussie book and movie by author Frank Moorhouse which featured John Meillon (1934-89 cirrhosis) as the judge and who I met as a child. What a prodigious drinker.
I love how the Liberal party got spooked in terms of divinity and the dealing of the once possible conservative Parliamentary Dream Team of Tony Abbott and whatever Costello. It was a satirists dream too good to be true and Abbott and Costello disbanded rather than face humiliation in the media every day.
So, crumbles the façade in terms of united christian conservatism as Barnaby Joyce may unknowingly be a part of the ring of the ‘ritual’ gaslight union as his birthdate is the day previous to mine. He is one day older than I…. He is not a real farmer or coal face miner but he’s still making a mint. The conservatives are just going through the motions like evil would be socialist doppelgangers as they give/gave all that money to small business and already rich bosses got richer as a result… I hope they get stung by the tax office in some new form of Robo-debt if they cheated… Just like that great pillar of conservatism Tony Abbott possibly helped cook up to fleece some of the innocent poor. The Sting (1973) being another movie, perhaps the first my grandfather showed me, as he played the Scott Joplin ragtime soundtrack often on his stereo. Scott was black (like me) while 27 club member Janis Joplin was dealt an overdose. With the money spent on jobs, ALP dreams of giving universal dental care for the poor at the last election seems to have evaporated as a ‘socialist dream’ too expensive to achieve in the future. Oral and heart health are linked but it probably would have only made more dentists rich. Perhaps the states will have to agree to raise the GST. Hmph.
It is up to you to decide whether ritual sexual abuse goes on in the wider community … I still have a nightmarish image I can’t quite place of myself in the local doctor’s surgery being held down by my father and a local Glenelg Community Hospital ‘bris’ merchant as I remember screaming as blood poured from my chest …. I was only six or so. I guess they wanted to butch me up and/or put the fear of God into me for being too girly. Look at pictures of me aged three or so and my elderly Italian lover said I looked like a masculine child. That photo erased.
But that’s about as nasty as it got. I wasn’t sodomised by a priest or an older boy as I probably would say: No! Perhaps voodoo and hypnotism were used to make me do things I didn’t want to. So, there’s the picture of me sitting innocently in the bathtub not self-conscious as later photos were destroyed by my father and mother in panic that they might go to jail. In that photo I didn’t know about my vital statistic as Dr. Spock recommended it to young mothers in his bestseller while us kids were brought up on Dr. Suess and Sesame Street. Talk about Allah peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Once upon a time we were happy.
I was dealt the Garden of Allah and after AC/DC sexual experimentation like David Bowie chose heterosexuality and ended physical AC/DC contact like Mick Jagger quickly did also as a conscious choice. Mick Jagger and Charlie Sheen, who apparently sodomised Canadian cut boy Corey Haim (1971-2010 gaslit into overdose and side effects) when he was at the tender initiation age of fourteen. Both tried to make up and forget their sins by f*cking everything female in sight. “It” all comes down to, at least for men, to see and decide where their future happiness lies in terms of sexuality and I chose masturbation as a label for the meantime… Perhaps I will find amazing grace as I occasionally toss of as nature intended over nothing in particular rather than profane the sacredness of The Garden of Allah.
“Oh look,” said the gaslight dealer pointing and not truly hailing Zotz to a web in the corner of your room called the computer: “There’s Rock Hudson in a web in the corner of the room!” It’s scary, the world of phobias. And the horror of cut off sausages beside boys at the urinal. All the more reason for a unisex cubicle instead of a Melbourne school urinal where a six-year-old Jewish boy would rather wet his pants than go to the toilet. But that’s another story.
I hope this article helps those incurables with Bobby Driscoll obsessions, please Stop and if you can trust a psychiatrist or look into your past you can see the exact moment where the abuse or initiation into abuse began… There is an answer despite what people say. Some have not insight and cannot be cured or their past. I know in terms of Bobby Driscoll obsessions the US cartoonist Robert Crumb (1943-) revealed in a documentary that his brother had one as he went around dressed as Long John Silver. Sadly, in the addendum of the Crumb (1994) documentary we learn this man committed suicide due to it all being a neurosis in his head. There’s was a multi-millionaire down the street who lives in a house out of Grey Gardens (1975) who also suffered from it so… I cleaned his home up twice which was over two feet deep in rubbish but I had to let him go as the neurosis was incurable.
Twenty years ago, my father came out of the backdoor of their home when I arrived almost in tears about me being sent to atone ‘for the Judas Priests’ as I was supposedly been made aware of their and his activities as a chosen one of some sort. He is a man who can’t remember his childhood as it is blocked in his mind for some reason… and is forever in the showers with his non-circumcidere Italian mates of his youth. That was his own Garden of Eden in the catholic sense and perhaps his own neurosis cannot be cured or bridged. Sadly, shortly after this I went off medication and as I could no longer string a sentence together as Rasputia Latimore’s catholic neighbourhood plot seemed to pay off.
Then I was sent to the purpose-built mental facility …. Opened lovingly by Premier Peter Beattie under socialist treatment and early reform of mental illness. Look through the window below and there were remnants of the giant urinal left over for the treatment of AIDS patients… My poor father was never so open with me again as today he is obsessed with the old hat concept of AC/DC and being a conservative in terms of politics (I mean the man once worshiped Tony Abbott until that wunderkind dealt Prince Philip a knighthood. Wanker!) Poor dad thinks that world revolves around the doors and lights inside ‘ere tis in terms of himself being hung in the toilet and not me. The Brits were always kind of full of toilet humour back in his ‘Carry on’ movie day hangover. He has suffered PTSD along with my mum over my illness and my psychosis dealt by a queer Danish woman and her overly macho husband from across the road who was obsessed with her queer son’s success as a dentist as she bragged about his latest home reno. F*ck y* as I sometimes see their doppelganger mentally ill son wandering the streets of The Gap… a possibly unwanted illegitimate child and dead ringer of the days when Queensland bombed nightclubs and abducted young virgins off the street in cars for the purpose of rape in the bush. There’s a history from the female perspective which remains untold. So many of us who weren’t aborted by their parents and who wander unloved for their failure to conform and earn a dollar. Transparent children are a worry. Anyway, they were all dealt their tragedy…
A word for my father who spoke of the redemption of the Judas Priests if he hasn’t drunk that brain cell away and that is I’m sorry you have to hold onto memories of your masculine glory days and I forgive you for the ‘rituals’ performed upon me in the past. If I am the pagan sacrifice sent to atone for the Judas Priests and help those understand what it was all about so they can heal: Let it be… May the children born today be ones of true love and not told by other toxic family members they were an accident. That family in-law has a father named Lou who called Ben Chifley ‘fair dinkum’ when I asked and he saw something in me that said I was ‘straight as a die’ … Now that poor ‘model of 1927’ now sits alone in a nursing home… I hope he still has a cask. Certainly, his poser of a cut son doesn’t supply it but his brother the reader may provide this small mercy of a man who gloriously won a premiership in Canberra back in 1955 and was dealt an Irish girl addicted to cigarettes. His words: “Kick it long” are immortalised in a book somewhere. Three cheers for Italian-Australians!
I have faith and love in a once happy family who were lost in the Australian Dream and were for a moment in the Garden of Eden/Allah in a naked bathroom snapshot of memory – no they didn’t ‘do it’ in front of us in the shower cubicle even if I thought it a bit rude. Such was the socialist dream in the mid-1970s … and then the conservative clothes of Menzies returned to shame us again for daring to dream. And Lindy Chamberlain was demonised by the press for being too kosher in terms of her religion. How that woman suffered.
I wish the Judas Priests their promised hope for the future and I wish they wouldn’t steal units and things and then rub it all in your face as if there’s no tomorrow/heaven. The Catholic Church remains a dirty joke as the Monty Python song says they’ll take from you while you’re still warm… dead and still warm. Such is their conspiracy revealed by Ron Howard and Tom Hanks in the movies. Hillsong got too many grants as a sweetener from Scott Morrison recently but it rhymes with the nature of bird song which is far more important. And I think the free thinkers within Christianity will understand and cast their vote with their conscience.
Is Scott Morrison to be a martyr for the Liberals and this country for helping unwittingly to uncover this ‘ritual’ of abuse and conspiracy which apparently exists within our society? He is a good Christian and as for a good Nazi the only good one is a dead one… as there exists a spark of hope within ourselves and without… He/we/us can call it God if he/we/us wants as he has already struck a statesman like pose at his desk in preparation to emerge after Phase IV (1974) begins to take effect. Will the miracle of the sequel to A Space Oddity happen? Morrison will go down in history as a good collaborator and not a Nazi one in terms of the possibility of open of minds and doors and living without fear within a revolution in terms of technology and true and not necessarily hard-boiled feminism!
Can you sling me a Pavarotti, or a tenor/tenner for singing that one? The mob have it right with their sharing and cadging … Pay it Forward (2000) as they say. Viola and farewell to Qanon and the Lord of the Rings and the Bible … My pagan penis is just so fascinating. My Pagan Penis … could be a song or a book title related to the occult. Let’s all celebrate and watch the innocent dance round a maypole… Foreskins optional.
How’s that for a happy ending to a conspiracy a bit like Sam Neill in the final film in The Omen trilogy called The Final Conflict who as Damien Thorn, upon the prophecy of the Bible, existed in legend to inflict and bring the end of the world upon us all and was left almost speechless when Christ suddenly turned up and ruined the party like the local member of the gaslight union Thorn cried in vain: “You’ve won nothing!” And that for your average struggling working Christian, it’s even better than winning the lottery!!
Finally, as I sign off all Looney Tunes, I tell you that this series of esoteric articles and growing awareness of my female left-handedness in terms of perception and its accompanying curse, which has led to this final revelation, was all caused by the fact I lost my f*cking scissors. I thought ‘they’d’ been back and taken my bloody scissors. I thought I’m sick of this and investigated the possibilities … and only last week found the scissors months later as they had fallen off the desk amid a pile of useless old books and smelly old Sneakers (1992). Lost scissors and the lost empire once known as planet Earth!
A final word for the Holocaust and Garden of Allah deniers and those queer foreskin reconstruction types and that is Garden of Allah Style leaves enough precious foreskin left over to be able to w*nk without even touching your knob. I call it a foreskin wank or a slow boat to China. “Be gentle” my father told me as a six-year-old when he knew I was sexually active and the foreskin wank the gentlest of the lot. Juicy!
Hello to the yellow fever loving Commando and fellow Adelaide catholic hospital cut boy Nick who was in town recently… Who dares wins I say as I remember you remarked: “It’s pink” as us kids gathered in the dark of a tent changing clothes before your sister Cassandra’s torch fell on my exposed ‘member’ – It was probably pink and rosy because I kept it polished! The Garden of Allah design is, as The Manic Street Preachers sang as they helped form a dream alliance in the recent movie Dream Horse A Design for Life is a gift that keeps on giving … If you watch The Virgin Soldiers (1969) which was based on the novel of the same name and you will see the British army used to deal them freely during the Malayan Emergency due to possible jungle/jock rot and the ‘malingerers’ used to accept the procedure in the hope of time off. They were bitterly disappointed to find it was only day surgery.
Meanwhile desert warriors found that sand could not irritate them at any undue moment and so the US army doled them out freely to black and white virgin soldiers and army brats born on US West German army bases, so Bruce Willis – who showed off his gold member in Colour of Night (1994) – and possibly even black comedian Martin Lawrence who played Cee in Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989) are members of The Garden of Allah style club. Enough. I am a raving thing in this Diary of a Madman.
Let me add that at fourteen I would walk naked through the sandhills of Port Hughes and plunge my cut knob of a hard on into the sand and masturbate like I heard they did in the Middle East to desensitize the glans and prolong lovemaking in later life. Sadly, I didn’t get to practise this rite enough as a young man. That was my real initiation in terms of Walkabout! I guess I could go on writing reams of faux poetry about it but I’m no poet and I know it as I ask you to forgive the lost boys and help others recover from mental illness in your family. It remains a scourge.
And what about the time I was lying in bed alone in my bedroom playing Spiderman at fourteen and a wad hit the high old style ceiling of my bedroom (must’ve been well over six or maybe eight feet) and it hit the unintended target of a Jaws 2 poster blu-tacked to my solidly decorated ceiling. Champion! Don’t get hung up on The Champ (1979) self! Give me a gold medal!! I wonder if it had anything to do with James Franciscus making the long-suppressed by Seven Spielberg Italian movie The Last Jaws/Great White/L’Ultimo Squalo (1981) that year in Florida? Anyway, at least I didn’t nearly shoot myself in the eye. Oh, the shame of it all! I love Italian horror movies and that Italian part of myself, he said/she said. But I’m sounding bipolar about an on the spectrum movie…
And finally, finally – yes, Australia is the land of Milk and Honey. My air force friend Greg said he read some book where the kid in it rolled around in the grass naked in Year 7 in the countryside… So, early the next morning I got up as the sun was rising and the dew had formed on the long grass in our backyard and got out my bedroom window and went and rolled in it alone like some footballer who just won a soccer match… The sensuality of feeling the cold early morning dew drops on my skin and the physicality attached to this sensation of rolling around in the cold grass let me to pull off in our Garden of Allah as a climax, spilling my seed like a hanged man on the ground as nature intended. Such was the beauty of having a big unkempt backyard on Old MacDonald’s/Ma and Pa Kettle’s Farm…. and growing up naturally and freely. You get that at 12-years-old. It was a new sensation. Been there and done that. I don’t think Greg ever did but you never know since he was brought up in the country.
“I’m a pagan” said Bryan Brown to fellow actor Edward Woodward in Breaker Morant as we try not to forget this is a film review of The Wicker Man and The Wicker Tree.
If I am the virgin sacrifice of the freethinking pagans and the son of argo… thanks to those who loved me from the beginning and know what true love is… Go Laddy go!
Thanks also to my Uncle Geoff for believing in me and that guy from the Underwater Recovery Squad for tipping me off about where the bodies were buried. J