Walking to Newtown station to meet Creamboy I ran into Mr X. He asked me where I was going. I told him to get some sorbet, he said just come to the pub and kerplunk. That was the final straw being pulled out and my marbles rolling around on Enmore Rd right outside the Starr-Bowkett Co-op. This weekend I have been inundated with invitations and offers of kindness and company, secret imaginings have been popping up real as the caterpillars on my lemon tree. Real as Mr X standing in front of me and smoking one of my cigarettes. I reluctantly left Mr X and headed for the station, I cranked the volume on my mp3 player and found a moment of rhythm inside The Who as I crossed the road. Creamboy was there and waiting. He wasn't wearing any music, he was wearing a tie.
We walked and it was not awkward, in his presence I felt firmly my own sense of self and didn't waver or wait for direction. He pauses at the edge of crowds, he waits while people go through doors, he keeps his hands still and his knees together but his mind is looping mine every second heartbeat. This is a man with a head full of everything.
There was no fig sorbet so I settled for blueberry, Creamboy offered a taste of his lychee and for the first time I liked it. He asks questions this Creamboy, people don't usually ask me questions. People usually lie back in wait for the all dancing Dale entertainment conversation that costs them nothing. They walk away laughing and satisfied while I slip down in my chair and wonder at their lack of sense and purpose. Creamboy was all curiousity and direct questions. He is a sit forward and pay attention conversationalist, he is the opposite of vacuous, he navigates thought like a reef pilot.
All evening there was a pervasive lightness. There being no need to simplify, justify or seduce freedom opened in unexpected places and I sat on a low round stool squashed into the corner of Madam Fling Flong's drinking a martini and merrily playing Connect 4. There were crowds and I fell into them childlike and happy in the bustle. We ate burritos in Guzman Y Gomez at the long communal table sharing a can of vile pineapple drink, we wandered down King St and perused the wares in a sex shop. We continued down King St talking of movies and nothing and everything. I stopped on the corner of King St and Brown to show him a poem inspired by that corner. He read it aloud without a hint of self consciousness. He showed me the book he is reading and I showed him mine. He described himself as charmless but I found him utterly charming. He has a clumsy grace and freewheeling confidence. He twirled twice in the Hopetoun saying 'I like The Jackson Five' while Spencer's band were bumping in.
Thank you Creamboy for travelling all the way in from The Riff to The Town. Thank you for your conversation and willingness to walk the streets of Newtown as I do. Thank you for your questions and answers, thank you for being both silly and earnest and letting me have a go at your stethoscope.
I think I might like to have another go at talking to Creamboy, I think its my turn to ask questions but of course Creamboy might have an entirely different opinion.
We walked and it was not awkward, in his presence I felt firmly my own sense of self and didn't waver or wait for direction. He pauses at the edge of crowds, he waits while people go through doors, he keeps his hands still and his knees together but his mind is looping mine every second heartbeat. This is a man with a head full of everything.
There was no fig sorbet so I settled for blueberry, Creamboy offered a taste of his lychee and for the first time I liked it. He asks questions this Creamboy, people don't usually ask me questions. People usually lie back in wait for the all dancing Dale entertainment conversation that costs them nothing. They walk away laughing and satisfied while I slip down in my chair and wonder at their lack of sense and purpose. Creamboy was all curiousity and direct questions. He is a sit forward and pay attention conversationalist, he is the opposite of vacuous, he navigates thought like a reef pilot.
All evening there was a pervasive lightness. There being no need to simplify, justify or seduce freedom opened in unexpected places and I sat on a low round stool squashed into the corner of Madam Fling Flong's drinking a martini and merrily playing Connect 4. There were crowds and I fell into them childlike and happy in the bustle. We ate burritos in Guzman Y Gomez at the long communal table sharing a can of vile pineapple drink, we wandered down King St and perused the wares in a sex shop. We continued down King St talking of movies and nothing and everything. I stopped on the corner of King St and Brown to show him a poem inspired by that corner. He read it aloud without a hint of self consciousness. He showed me the book he is reading and I showed him mine. He described himself as charmless but I found him utterly charming. He has a clumsy grace and freewheeling confidence. He twirled twice in the Hopetoun saying 'I like The Jackson Five' while Spencer's band were bumping in.
Thank you Creamboy for travelling all the way in from The Riff to The Town. Thank you for your conversation and willingness to walk the streets of Newtown as I do. Thank you for your questions and answers, thank you for being both silly and earnest and letting me have a go at your stethoscope.
I think I might like to have another go at talking to Creamboy, I think its my turn to ask questions but of course Creamboy might have an entirely different opinion.
Comments
...And I'm listening to a remix of I Want You Back right now, skillfully manipulated by Pizzicato Five, a Japanese alternative group.
"Tryin' to live without your love
Is one long sleepless night
Let me show you girl
That I know wrong from right"
Woo hoo!
C'boy: I like Pizzicato Five they are kind of rad. I like to put my clean clothes away whilst listening to them, they make folding easy but then again so does The Stones.
Dale, you made me feel like I wasn't a social spaz. Most people just shake their head and say: "Oh Cam..."
I can think of no higher compliment.