I guzzle the Red Bull
Being here is like a white room
On acid.
The slow purr of the computer
The silent suggestion
Of the open pages
Dirty hankies
Piles of dusty books
Dried vomit in the corner,
You know I think a crust may be forming.
I squint over,
and it’s true.
“Eurgh”, I recoil.
I’m a stretched, shivering, pimply, pent-up, dried out
Crack-whore
Trying to pen a novel.
Why can’t I be like Kate Holden?
She whored for years
Lathered it in glory
Then got a very comfortable book deal
Probably fucked the publisher, too
The boils on my arm
Aren’t even itchy,
turns out Ice isn’t as bad,
as they make it out in those teen novels.
Morality
A word people use
When they have money
You see, morality needs funds -
it doesn’t exist,
in my class.
How to prioritise morals,
With one mouth to feed
With one body to clothe
One baby,
to conceive
And not a cent to the name.
I swing the green bag over my shoulder
It swings
A walk down to Woolies
Past the bus stop
The Aboriginals, they stare
Yes!
I’m wearing stilettos!
And fishnets
Like a proper slut
I don’t do these things in half measure, you see.
I buy some tomato paste,
lollies, Epsom salts and ginger ale.
And steal a DVD
To fund my crack habit.
I’m a prostitute, did you know?
I steal some paper from the newsagent.
For my novel.
I’m a novel prostitute.
I haven’t had sex yet, though.
(Laughs) No actually, that’s a lie.
I’ve had sex about three times.
First was with Barry, he was thirty-three
Disgusting bloke to look at,
but nice,
and he had speed.
It was free, though.
The sex, not the speed.
And I had sex with Charlie.
He stunk, like, bad.
Really salty, like prawns
That are just starting to go off,
but not yet at the rotten egg stage?
Not a commercial transaction, that exchange.
He gave me a can of Coke for my troubles, though.
Third time was with this other guy...
... Warwick?
Can’t remember what he looked like.
Hairy, but.
It was at a family barbecue.
The shed,
was romantic.
Beside Uncle Don’s dope plants.
Never smoked that crap.
So yeah, I’m a prostitute.
But hypothetical, like.
A hypothetical slut.
He he.
I’m high, in the shopping centre.
Not on weed though,
never smoked that crap.
Just on life!
... and a bit of charlie
From my mate Emma
She’s at the ATM now,
pretending she doesn’t know me and all.
I’m sick of that.
So I yell,
“EMMA!”
I scream it, from across the plaza.
Spontaneity,
has always been my thing.
Then I laugh.
And compulsively pull my leather jacket in,
around my waist.
There’s not much of it there, though.
The waist, that is.
A policeman’s taking me outside
Reckons I was smoking in the Centre
I vigorously deny such manifestly fabricated allegations
Then I look down,
and sight the durry in my hand.
Bloody cops.
I sneer, and snigger.
I tell them I know a QC.
They’ll all be farkin sacked (slight pause).
What happened to the lawyer who jumped out of a plane with no parachute at 35 000ft?
... who cares?
Now I’m back in front of my MacBook
A gift from my QC friend.
The novel isn’t off to a great start, as you can see.
The sentences are very short.
I’ve probably mentioned drugs a bit too much.
I’m like bloody Huxley.
Yes, I’ve read The Doors of Perception.
I think that makes me a Hoor of Perception.
I’ve probably got Writer’s block.
All the great writers have had it.
Like God, when he wrote the Bible.
Took him years.
Somehow the bit about the burning bush,
made it into the final cut.
You know he set out to write a romance novel?
That only works though,
when you’re sexually frustrated and all.
So, it ended up as a fantasy.
I think Warwick might’ve been my Uncle.
How-giggle inducing,
I croon,
staring at my mate,
the patch of chuck.
I curl up on the mattress,
with my grotty doona.
Do you reckon I can go to sleep,
with the coke buzzing,
like the nothing else.
Bzzzzzzz
Bzzzzzzz
BZZZZZZ
It’s like surround sound.
I can feel my pulse really, really loudly
When it’s quiet.
So, humble responders, how should this narrator end her novel?
A vile but discreet curtain of death,
to fall over her life?
Whilst she drool and blither away,
In the corner of my crummy room?
The overpowering taste of vomit in her humble mouth?
Oh, no, wait, no, oh that’s now.
In real life.
Oh, oh goodness.
I just chucked.
Ha!
I giggle uncontrollably
I should eat a bit healthier.
