the kiss starts cold, tasting soft grey. muddy, hesitant, nothing is clear- a what are we doing? then moving closer, interrogating further a question what is this, the taste deepens to midnight blue– darker, more intense, concentrated. it’s a mess of emotions edged with silver curiosity; a glint of something in the dark, a there’s something here, do you want to dig deeper? the taste of darkness, in the midnight blue, is alluring tempting, you shouldn’t want this but you can’t help it. then a trip, movement not in synch, sudden teeth and– the taste is a sharp burst of fire-red; eyes snapping open, hands gripping tighter, a gasp of air and then eyes shut. teeth, a closer desperation. a solid, yes. they are in the back alley, pressing against a cold concrete blanketed in darkness. the kiss was a surprise, glint of silver; a sparked curiosity, an oh turning to muddy grey- a stop, hesitance, eyes half-open, a is this real? then tastes of dark blue, eyes closing, temptation and oh yes to a sharp-burning red, a sudden realization-. then, a wrenching clash of blazing fire– yes, yes god yes. a collision of emotions with a staggering force of a supernova, drowning in an eruption of colors,

pink-red-red-orange-yellow-white

then—

b l a c k

Daddy doesn't dare dance.

Daily deciding dancing definitely doesn't do.

Deliberate decisions

Deter Daddy.

Daddy does dishes

Daddy digs dancing;

Daddy daren't dance!

Denied during demanding daughter's

Demonic drama

"Daddy! Don't dare dance! Disgusting!"

Damn!

Daddy's delight denied!

It's hard being lonely.

Being the only one that exists.

Knowing that, no matter how much you try, nothing will go back to the way it was.

Nothing is ever the same after the end.

All of us, the gods, were expecting the end would come from an attack, a war, that we would go out in a blaze of glory. We were expecting to go out with a bang, not a whimper.

All of us represented many different things. My brother was the god of life. My sister, the goddess of death. They always had an... interesting dynamic. Always fighting over trivial stuff. My wife was the goddess of knowledge. She loved to catalogue all the time that I could remember, just for posterity. That’s the only reason I’m still writing this all down, just for posterity. With hope that something comes after the end.

Our son was the god of languages. At least that was all we knew at the time, he was still a growing child. He was always interested in other mythologies the mortals cherished so much. He would come up to me and say 'Mother! Look! The Romans got you wrong. They split you into two people'. Sometimes I wish they did, then I would have somebody to talk to.

Being Time (creative name, I know), the goddess of time, I can never fade. I am always there, I always exist. If only there was a deity for space. Then I wouldn't be alone.

I gave up on crying a long time ago. I lost everyone, everything. But time marches on, and I must march it onwards. Marching on to the end, either through death, or renewal.

My son asked me if fate existed. Mortals were so interested in the concept, so he had to ask. I wish there was fate, so I could see into the future.

About seeing into the future, I can't do it willingly, it just happens. And it is always just a quick view, never enough to fully understand it. Now, I haven’t had one of these flashes in years, so I have no clue how it ends, how the future will pan out. But it shouldn’t matter anymore.

Everyday I walk through a desolate, dismal universe, filled with dead planets and dying stars, the last things lighting up all of existence. I suppose when those go out I will, too. I hope so. The total freezing of the universe will be a nice way to end it.

My strolls through the universe are the only reason I know that all of it is dying. It just shows me that the desolation left in one place isn’t local, it’s throughout all of space. Just showing me that the end, the only future, is near.

-Ending 1-

All but one of the stars have gone out. But this one is very close to its death. I step close to the star, the heat heavy on my skin, but not hurting me. This is the last bit of life in the universe. The last bit pushing time further, pushing me further. I lay back as best as I can in this zero-gravity environment and watch this star burn and burn.

Until it stops.

All of the heat is gone. All I can feel is a crippling cold as the temperature ticks down to absolute zero. It doesn’t hurt, I can’t feel anything anymore except for the relief in my heart and the sorrow for the real end of the universe.

Not a cosmic rip, not a cosmic crunch, but a freeze, a slowdown, the temperature a ticking timer moving towards the end.

I would cry if I had any moisture left to cry. Cry of happiness that comes with the release of death. Cry of sadness knowing that this is the way it all ends.

But all I can say is one thing.

It’s about time.

-Ending 2-

I wander through the graveyard that is the universe. The vestiges of a time long past. A time that hurts to remember. A flourishing universe.

Now, none of that is left, just the ruins of civilizations and the twinkling of dying stars.

I keep walking to help me pretend there is still a purpose to my existence, a reason that I am still here. It’s so hard not being able to die.

I stumble across a black hole. I haven’t seen one of those in thousands of years. I glance around to the universe surrounding me, nothing is left for me here. I would rather try my luck at the black hole then waiting for time to end out here in this cemetery of memories and regrets.

I walk closer to the black hole, allowing myself to get sucked in. The pressure doesn’t hurt, nothing physical hurts anymore.

I get taken through the black hole and appear on the ‘other side’. I glance around at my new surroundings, it reminds me of when the universe was younger, but this one is different, feels different. The black hole must have somehow brought me here. How? I don’t know, but at this point I don’t care. I meander through this new environment, marvelling at the new stars being formed, the planets that aren’t desolate and dead. Life continued on.

I rush around to the planets, desperately searching for signs of life, signs that my life will have purpose.

I finally land on the tallest mountain on a planet with red oceans and purple forests. I land on the pale blue snow that covers the tip of the mountain. It feels cold, but it’s a welcome feeling. I feel the subtle heat of both of this planet’s suns on my face, smiling knowing that not all planets are dead. I glance over the landscape around me: the oceans lapping up on the rocky quartz shores, the forests that have leaves of not just purple, but all of the colors of the rainbow, those colors rippling their way through the trees.

Next to me is a small flower. I kneel down next to it, carefully cupping the delicate petals in my hand. This flower is different than any I have ever seen, with each of its petals like a prism, refracting the light in many different ways in my hand. This flower is different, just like this baby universe. Nothing is going to be the way it was, but that’s okay. Time will march on, and so will I. I miss everyone I knew, everything I had, but I must keep going for those who are now, those who deserve time to be, to exist.

No matter how sad and horrible things may seem, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Always something better waiting for you at the end.

All the pain and nothingness I felt, all the worthlessness and self-pity, is washed away in the joy I feel in this moment. All that suffering was worth it to get to this moment.

I drop my journal in the snow and cry. I need to leave the past behind me and look towards the future, towards the bright, new universe in front of me. I don’t have to forget what happened, what I’ve been through, but I can’t let that dictate my life, my future.

The only thing I can say through the tears pouring like rain down my face is.

It’s about time.

In his eyes lies the wind

The breeze of my emotions

In his heart lies the love

The seed of my devotion

And when he speaks

With arms outstretched

Bound forward ever near

He says nothing but

That sweet “hello”

My ears stand still to hear

And when we lie, side by side,

In dewy nights that send

That passion found within the soul

And secrets without end

I will only dream of times awake

Without him by my side

And only wish for sunny days

Where time go slowly by

Yes, in his eyes lies the wind

The dream in which I live

And in his soul lies the key

Of my heart, to whom I give

(Originally written in June, 1991)

You know you love us... we mad folk from the land down under. And I fair dinkum reckon we have the best slang in the world. So whether you’re throwing some snags on the barbie or taking a dump on the dunnie or grabbing some grog from the bottle-o, here’s some Aussie slang you can use in your everyday convos. Enjoy!

Servo - service station. “Just got to stop at the servo to fill up.”

Piker - someone who leaves parties early. “Fuckin‘ Mitch, ay. What a piker.”

Sanger - sandwich. “What’s for lunch, mate?” “Vegemite sanger, mate.”

Bogan - Aussie version of redneck. “Hahahaha yeh he’s a fuckin bogan ay. Sick cunt.”

Ocker - unsophisticated individual. “You bloody ocker. Dontcha know anything?”

Grundies - underwear. “Yeh nah I’m decent. I’m just in my grundies ay.“

Bush hanky- when you clear your nose by holding one nostril closed and blowing the mucus out onto the ground from the other nostril. “You got a tissue?” “For fucks sake, mate. Just bush hanky it!”

Cactus - dead. “Yeh nah she’s cactus, mate.”

Chunder - vomit. “Did ya see Shaza chunder last night?”

Fair dinkum - genuine. “Yeh nah I’m fair dinkum, mate!”

You and I, a lone island in an ocean of throbbing. My wallowing edges meeting your rough, yearning dunes. Me, the lush fronds decaying in your drought-ridden heat. My soft, lacy edges, crisp and scabbed. With ocean waves constantly teasing. Saltwater-sickness, pressing against us in tempting tides of false relief. Our palates and bellies, unfamiliar with the reprieve granted by a sated second. Constant discontent. Constantly aching, constant. You and I, weathering the oceanic destruction and the withering heat to rebuild and rebuild and rebuild again.

I weep for wind

and flight,

swooping on wings.

I lift my soul

circling the sun

in blink of an eye,

wrapping my feet in

hollow feathers.

Let me float over stars

and under the moon,

a fantasy of spinning,

hovering above

filmy clouds of light,

dancing in tangos

of silky breezes.

All life can be seen

when looking behind,

born to fly high

above tomorrow.

I remember our skin pressed together hot at seventeen. I remember long nights in your basement room. Lazy days in my bed behind a locked door. I remember the sun bringing your freckles out to play and toasting my skin to your favorite shade of me. I remember your fingers creeping inside of me playful on train rides to the city. Your mouth sleepy on my own and your arms pulling me into the cradle of dreams. And I remember waking from the dream in a desperate fever. Dead phone lines. Unanswered letters. Lonely sheets. And bruised love thrown to its knees. The floor its only brace. The snow drifting in as summer disappeared.