Psychedelic Roadkill

 

For Halloween I bought garden wire for $2. I made a stag mask for myself, and a coyote mask for Romy. 
To the top-forty bros on George street and at The Ranch’s “undead” party, I introduced myself as “Toohey’s Undead” (Toohey’s is a “cheap” AU beer that features a stag on the label). To the more indie crowd Jack and I became: “Psychedelic Road kill.”
A Stag prepares for dinner
Inter-Species Love

After seeing Metropolis at the Opera House I greeted Romy: “Destroy the machines!” We painted our faces in a building’s reflective surface, and ambled across the city. I had done some research and found a party in King’s Cross. If it weren’t for our address knowledge, we wouldn’t have found “Tatler’s,” there we were greeted by harsh bouncers, who shoved us inside and ID’d us. Apparently we made the cut, and found ourselves in s tiny club (converted apartment). Later we found out that “Tatler’s” has the strictest door policy in Sydney, and has housed VIP parties for the like of Biggie Smallz. There was Astroturf on the walls and black lights that made our  masks glow.

I aimed to get some serious dancing done, but we ended up making friends on the Smoker’s porch till the wee hours. A woman in her last year of law school, and her fiancé, a professional horse-race better, both in thick-rimmed wayfarers  bought us Gin and Tonics. Their friend, a former member of the band Sneaky Sound System was telling me about how he had gone to the states to research this one kind of hummingbird and to go to Burning Man. The more I spoke with him the more apparent it became that he loved birds. I then noticed that he had a tattoo that said: “I love birds.” He told me about some of the birds that he loves.  The Bowerbird loves blue, and makes really tall nests out of anything blue. They’ll steal anything that’s blue to make their nests: “Shells, pigs, straws, plastic, ANYTHING!” Blue Wrens don’t love blue like Bower Birds, but they always have multiple dates. “If you see a Blue Wren, it’ll be cruising around with 3 or 2 dates!” As for the Butcher Bird It’ll hypnotize its prey. “It’s killer.”
DJ Cosmonaut
What with our late start and new friends, Romy and I started our walk to the night bus stop around 3:00 am. In King’s Cross there were prostitutes standing like sculpture. On George Street a bro came up to me, looking like he was bowing. Then he began doing push ups. I accepted the challenge, handed Romy my bag, and did push ups back. Finally the bro staggered, not being able to do another, and I stood up the victor of our impromptu competition. This time his bow was a real bow. Romy and I played push hands as we waited for the bus, found out we were waiting for the wrong bus, and waited for the right one for an hour and a half. There kept being N10 busses and I said: “Why do they get all the busses? I’m going to kill their mayor.” So when Jack and I were skipping back across campus at 6:00 am, we shot fake guns and sang about killing “Princess Mayor.”
The couple that bought us drinks
Describing a bird
Heeding my cold or getting some sleep would have barred more fun times, so the next day I went to Aneshka’s party (Aneshka is Adhit’s sister who lives in a nice apartment that comes with its own time-warping ability). Aneshka and all her friends were giggletronic. Before preparing for another big night of Halloween in the city we enjoyed sangria and the night water of the pool Adhit grew up in. We were perfectly dressed for the Jungle Voodoo themed party that we were so excited to go to, but it ended up being the opposite of the cool description. Because we got a late start and had to walk a good distance to get home, and because we had to satisfy our animalistic cravings (nothing like sex and falafel at an hour when no one should be awake) we didn’t get to sleep until 4:00 am.
“I Love Birds”
The next day I think I did more damage to my homework than good for how tired I was. I was reduced to plain roadkill. The incessant sunlight filtered through the layers of discomfort that made up my very being, telling me: “I am a beautiful day you motherfucker. I will illuminate your electric-static aura of confused sadness.” I was a stinky stray dog as I walked to the train, across a Sunday morning of friendly pretty people at charming corner cafes, having the best cups of coffee they’d ever had, with their best friends who would always love them. I couldn’t hold a single thought for long but most of them were along the lines of: “I must be a terrible person.” Then I had a nap.
The late afternoon sunlight changed its tune to: “Everything is great and everyone loves you,” as I collected the headphones and face paint I had left at Aneshka’s and savored cake, olive oil drenched bread, and double-hugs from beautiful people who smell like hints of incense. 
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