Tour de Force

Thursday, March 5th, 2009. Time to team up with some touring musician friends and party our way to old Sydney Town. At 4 pm (3 and a half hours later than originally planned) the three of us jumped into a car packed with clothes, instruments, and a whole lot of party vibes. We drove off into the horizon with intoxication following closely behind and no real plans of where we were going to stay over night.
It's funny how sometimes you build up expectations of something, and as soon as your moment arrives, you notice all these little obstacles being placed strategically in front of you, as if bad luck were a series of events raining down from a sadistic God. This trip was no exception. Within the hour we were battling declined atm cards, broken cameras, lack of a working CD player and shitty radio reception, which would force us into 10 hours of driving conversation over the next two days. But with joints circling freely and a hefty brew supply depleting, it became obvious that NOTHING was going to derail this party train.
As nightfall came we weaved in and out of small civilizations until we found ourselves in one odd little town. I'm sure the haze in our heads was enough to make this town, equipped with little more than a dingy pub and a giant historic submarine, seem pretty creepy. Not nearly as creepy, however, as the folk that infested it. At some point, one of us had decided and the rest had agreed, that visiting this town's local was a top idea. We made our entrance only to see snouts rise in perfect harmony. Wide-open nostrils suck in the air, sniffing for what unfamiliar smell had just invaded their precious space... outsiders. They could spot us from a mile away, and it made us just a little bit uneasy. We found ourselves a quite little table in the corner to share some drinks, keep to ourselves and joke about what reading we might get if we were to use the coin operated breathalyser on the wall behind us. At this point I made the mistake of heading to the bathroom on a route that crossed directly in front of some very liquored up, aged locals. The conversation that ensued was riddled with fear, on my part, that I might say the wrong thing and tick off this one seemingly insane human being. After being told to "be a man" and use the term "going to take a piss" instead of "going to the bathroom", I accidentally (or maybe deliberately... I can't remember) lured Old Man River back to our corner hideout. Here we were picked apart and pigeon holed within minutes by a bubbling, spitting old drunk with a cigarette stained beard, who claimed to be changing our lives with every incoherent one liner. Apparently if something doesn't make sense, and you turn it into nonsense, it will make sense. Eventually we managed to ditch Old Man River and the drunken pub games that seemed to smash more bottles than anything else. I took the breathalyser test and blew something a little over 0.07. Too drunk to drive... young Dean our driver decided to avoid the breatho and so we made our way toward the giant submarine to continue our party in the good company of three.
We didn’t make it much further on the night roads, with all of us unfit to drive; we set up our tent on the side of a busy freeway (an idea that seemed DYNAMITE at the time).

Friday, March 6th, 2009. We awoke to the deafening sound of passing trucks, immediately stupefied by, but somehow stoked on our decision to camp out next to the freeway. I guess part of us felt like we were now truly ready for the dirt lifestyle that seems to come with this sort of tour. I sat in my new spot behind the wheel and we powered on toward Sydney Town. After proving that we were far too solid a unit to be broken down by the obstacle course of issues the day previous, someone had decided to grace us with the presence of physical obstacles on this, our second day of travelling. This came in the form of one giant mother of a fridge placed smack-bang! in the middle of a four lane freeway. The fridge, most likely intended for industrial use, had fallen off the back of a ute manned by the two fellas running down the road in a mad panic at the hands of the potential chaos they had caused. We survived the fridge death. We continued our drive, threw coins at a pretty sensational tollbooth and fumbled around Newtown and Annandale until we found our destination. After cheerful greetings and a much-needed shower, we all shared a joint in the back yard before heading off to the Lansdowne for the first show of the tour. Bear Arms (in replacement of Dead China Doll) played alongside Green Green Green and Yeah Bears. The bands did their thing, we ate food, we drank, I threw up outside the Lansdowne and then went to bed.

Saturday, March 7th, 2009. Today hosts’ early intoxication. A daytime house party in a place I can't entirely remember (I think somewhere near Sydenham?) Question? Green Green Green and Hira Hira all hit the lounge room for perfect party performances. Not before hitting the liquor though, and what hard hitters they were. I think we were all pretty happy after watching Kris knock back half a bottle of Vodka in the short time between arriving at the party, and playing a dizzy looking set with Hira Hira. Thank god he found a wall to lean against while they played. By late afternoon we were all pretty merry, some of us a little more than others. Kris by this point seemed to be moving onto his hangover. He and Dean were all tuckered out. Angus and myself were not and so we marched on toward the Annandale to watch Gay Paris while wiping ourselves completely clear of sobriety. This actually turned out to be a pretty bad thing for poor Dean when we took it upon ourselves to wake him when we arrived home drunk at 1 in the morning. I flicked on the light and watched in amusement as Dean struggled to come to terms with being awake after being in what was probably an awesome, deep sleep. Angus hugged him, he grunted and told us to "fuck off". Then the topic of more weed came up and Dean got up, perfectly on cue, wide eyed, wide smile, ready to roll up, and just like that the party kept moving. I don't really remember the rest of this night.

Sunday, March 8th, 2009. Today there was a consistent feeling that the party was over, things were wrapping up, and that we would soon settle back into a sensible lifestyle. I figured it would be a pretty nice Sunday if our plans to have Lehi escort us around the town came into fruition. They didn't, and instead we slept in. In fact, when we eventually did leave the house, we only got as far as the IGA three or so blocks away. Dr. Pepper was the highlight of this little expedition. None of this stopped us from enjoying ourselves though, we sat on the couch all day watching "Kenny vs. spenny", no complaints here from anyone!
Later that night Green Green Green and Hira Hira were to play at the Hopetoun with Ghoul. I got nicely liquored up, maybe not as much as on previous nights, but I was having a great time and so was everyone else. We soldiered on through more drinks and smokes both at the Hopetoun and back at the house. It wasn't til the next day that we actually realised how messy things got toward the end of the night, especially for Angus who had his best party performance on this night. The next morning we got up several hours later than we had intended (no surprises there), loaded up the car and read the love note left on the bench by Kris claiming that Green Green Green "huff dong for lyfe". We said our goodbyes and piled into the car dreading the ten-hour drive ahead of us. We ventured on into the day enjoying more tollbooth basketball and the last of our party supplies, which may have included warm beer. I think I'm ready to enjoy sobriety for a while now.

*embryo (apocalypse as a tool for creation)

Looking at your self in the mirror after having your constructions crushed is an intense experience. I've spent long enough doing this to understand that I'm spending time in a world that cannot be rebuilt. Nostalgia, in all it's sweet charm can be an incredibly dangerous thing. Fortunately for me, it has always been in my nature to avoid backwards steps as if they were wildfire, so the recreation of a life that has now crumbled will always have this artificial taste to it, and that is not a puzzle piece that fits with my personality. So where to from here? I am about to change almost everything in my life, and it goes against every instinct in my frail little body. But the dust has settled and my eyes have adjusted enough for me to see and understand that I have more control than I initially thought. Those infamous thieving heavens have bigger plans for me yet, and in their wisdom, they have faced me with many options. I carve my own path from here, and I must say that my gut feelings are doing a much better job of serving me than I ever could've hoped for. I have faith now in my ability to decide what is right for me, and in the path ahead, the path that is destined for my trails, there lays only prosperity and happyness. I am terrified beyond comprehension, but I have little left to lose. As someone once told me in reference to their own life; "If I get one more chance to stand and fight, it's now or never", those words have never sung so much truth.