A Curious Dream

We're on a giant train. It's so very long. Strange fluorescent lighting. I approach a seat which I know has Chris, Jesse and Hector. I try to talk to Chris about sex but he won't listen. He stands up and I realize he is wearing a thobe (male version of a hijab) and hat (which are both tiger-print), and so are Hector and Jesse. They have converted to Islam extremism. I run to the front of the train to avoid them and meet Snaps, who is crying. I ask her what's wrong. She is upset over the conversion of the boys too, points at herself and says, "Hardcore Christian." She then gets changed in front of me, laughing, and I am uncomfortable. She then runs off to be with the hardcore Christian radio group.
The train has stopped and we're in some giant basin with tall buildings and trap doors all around. This is the uni with the dorms. I am going to be stating with Justin and Alex, but now they are bunking with hippies who drop a lot of acid. I try to find somewhere else to stay but can't.
Dad and Alex come into my room to measure a desk and I ask if there's room in Alex's hippie dorm and they say it's full. I pull on a shirt and, upset, I simply say, "Fuck uni, maybe I shouldn't go here anymore" and storm downstairs.
Am awoken by my phone vibrating. I never get to find out how the dream ENDS.

New Terrifying Dream

So, I was sleeping at someone's house last night, and I had a killer of a freaky dream. I actually woke up still feeling the creepy sensations on me, kind of shaking a little.

All it was was me looking in the mirror and on my chest there was something small. I knew it was a radiation burn. When I touched it, it was like fish scales and it peeled back and it hurt - I mean it really burned. You're not supposed to feel pain in dreams. Then it would spread across my chest, looking like scales, and spread over my shoulder and onto my back.

And that's it. That repeated itself like six times and then I woke up, terrified. Just thinking about it now freaks me out and gives me a very uneasy feeling because I can picture it so clearly in my head.

Motorcycle Failure

At eight in the morning, I sit with dad in the car. Today is the day we go for our motorcycle licenses. The test finishes at eleven-thirty,
"It'll be fine," he says, climbing out the driver's side door, "We'll be done before you know it."
"Yeah, I hope so," the sky above me is grey and overcast.
Standing in front of the gates to the motor registry is a youth a bit taller and older than me, shaved head, plugs in his earlobes, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The kind of youth that stereotypes tell you will stab you if you cross them,
"You lot here for the motorcycle course?" a man in a neon yellow sweatshirt walks out of the gated registry area. The bunch of us nod, two more applicants arriving in their own cars, "Right, in ya get."

We make our way past a small, hanger-like building and towards another hanger where the offices and motorcycles are kept, "Help yourselves," says the instructor, motioning to tea and coffee on a small, dirty table at one side of the room.
Sam - the instructor - lines up some chairs for us and offers us a seat, "I'm Sam," he says, pulling out a clipboard, "James?"
"Yeah," said two voices, who look at each other.
"James Fentway and James Warton?"
The voices' owners nod.
Sam splits us up into the groups we're in. I'm with the two James', my dad and a guy named Sam. The six of us are led by Sam into the small office area within the hanger and we each take a seat,
"Now, do you any of you have any experience?" my dad and James - the other one is Jimmy - put their hands up, "Right. Well, this course is designed for people who've never touched a bike before, so the rest o' ya shouldn't worry." I let myself exhale.

After a brief, but necessary, introduction from his instruction manual ("The instructors here are fully licensed to teach motorcycle riding and this program is sponsored by New South Wales Government. You as riders take unto yourselves full responsibility for anything that happens to yourself or your belongings during the course of this course") Sam hands us our helmets and gloves,
"Now, let's go meet your bikes."
We walk out, gloves and helmets hanging from our hands, towards the paved course-track. I feel hot, but comfortable, in my leather jacket - the sun has poked through the cloud layer for a moment, and the breeze is relaxing,
"That one's yours," he said, looking at me, pointing to a small, burgundy bike sitting in the middle of the row of black and burgundy motorcycles, "That's yours," he looked at Jimmy and pointed at the last bike in the row; a beige motor-scooter. Jimmy looked at Sam and back to the scooter, "You said you wanted to do automatic, not manual, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Right." And we all lined up at our bikes.

"Right, now take the standard position on the bike. Don't forget, front brake, head turn, side stand." Sam looked at us with hawk eyes to make sure we'd remembered the various steps to take into the Standard Position of motorcycle riding.
I kicked my leg over the back and straddled the large, metal beast. It was much heavier than I had anticipated and my balance was thrown with the necessity to remain upright, whilst pressing down firmly on the foot-brake.
The bike wobbled some, but eventually I got the hand of sitting up straight with it,
"Okay," Sam said, "Now turn your bikes on, and take yourself to fast idle." Fast idle was, in a sense, prepping yourself at speed while remaining in brake; the idea being, that as soon as you release the clutch and the brake, you'd speed off into the distance like an urban cowboy. But for now, we were going at measly speeds to get used to it all.
I prepped the very delicate throttle into position and the engine revved. With soft, slow hands, I lifted the clutch to get it into the Traction Zone and--
Chug-flugga-glunk.
Stalled. I stalled the motorcycle. Considering I never learned to drive a manual car, I guess I can't be too mad at myself, but I was. Restarting the bike, I again lifted the throttle slowly and eased off on the brake. Unsteady, but in the right direction, I drove the bike to a steady stop near the others, "Careful to keep your head up," Sam said, "you wanna look at where you're goin'."
"Oh, sure."
"Alright, turn the bikes around, do it again."
After a few of these, I continued to be wobbly. Stalled. For some reason, I couldn't balance the bike in the right direction and ended up flooding the engine a lot - almost losing control of the acceleration and clutch at one point,
"Don’t worry about it, don't be so hard on yourself," Sam said, walking over, "it's alright. It's your first time."
"Yeah."
"Okay, drive it back to the line."
Stall. Start. Wobble.
"Alright, you guys, can you go line up your bikes over there next to mine?" The others nodded and moved off. I went to move, but Sam stopped me, "I'm sorry, mate, but I can't let you continue the course. Don't worry, it happens to a lot of people. I'll give you a slip at the end for a free remedial lesson. Go hang out in the hanger for the rest of this, or by the fence if you want to watch."
I nodded, my shoulders slumped. I looked over at the others, who felt sheepish in themselves for me.
With helmet and gloves in hand, I took the walk of shame over the grass and paved course to the hanger and took a seat, the anger at myself growing.

Sitting in the chair in the hanger, I watched the others circling the course, practicing turning. So many things to remember - look, clutch, gears, throttle, brakes, balance, weight, sit. Cars I got, cars I understood. Bikes were a different machine, a different beast altogether.
Noticeable also was the lack of that particular feeling of safety one has in a car. Completely open to the air, the elements, the road.
"You got change for a two-dollar coin?" I looked up and saw a dark-skinned man in full leathers holding out the coin. I nodded and dug into my wallet, pulling out two one-dollar coins. He thanked me and bought a coke from the vending machine.
I looked around me at the people getting their licenses. Muscles, height, facial hair - all men except for one woman out on the course getting her provisional license.
This wasn't me - I'm not the motorcycle type. I'd never felt it more than in that one moment, sitting in a dirty, white, plastic chair in the middle of an open hanger, surrounding by motorcyclists and cycles.

Soon enough the others came over, having finished - and passed - the course. We did some wrap up paperwork and, finally, dad and I left,
"You didn't enjoy that, did you?" he leaned over as we got in the car.
"Can't say I did all that much."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault."
"You can do the remedial lesson?"
I grunted something in response.
"We probably should have done you on an automatic, not a manual, shouldn't we?"
"Y'think?"
"Next time."
"Sure." My tone indicated my doubt of a next time.
"I hated those helmets we had to wear. So uncomfortable."
"Yeah, but it's that or die in a crash."
"I guess, but the fun of a motorcycle is the feeling of freedom on the road, the open air."
"That may be so, but I'd rather you felt mildly uncomfortable than get in a crash and feel dead."
"I suppose."
"Also, you totally lack a feeling of safety on those things."
"Yeah, it's great."
"No, not great. You feel free, I feel dead."
Dad smiled and we went to pick up some croissants for breakfast before driving home.

Twitter

I made a twitter to write 140 character or less poems on - trying something new with this USELESS piece of technology. Check it out if you want to, http://twitter.com/quickpoems

After the Original Horatio Story (draft)

The streamtrain pulled to a sluggish stop at the Brokeridge Flats train station. Billows of steam pushed out into the throngs of waiting passengers on the platform as Horatio and Sarah descended the small stepladders down from the train carriage, "Church mentioned something about a temple," Sarah said, eyeing the platform, "do you know what he was talking about?"

Horatio paused momentarily, his fingers caressing his unshaven chin, "I would stake my life he means the Temple of the Unending Life," the two began to walk towards the station's exit, "It's the only likely candidate. The temple was forged from the side wall of a volcano hundreds of years ago by a group of rogue priests searching for eternal life - the Gods' Gift, they called it. I would bet that is where Crook has taken the goblet."

A small shudder wracked the station, knocking a few older passengers off balance, "And it looks like we're running out of time. The early tremors have begun." Horatio's gaze turned icy as he walked towards the information desk, "Excuse me, but how long ago did these tremors start?"
"Oh, prob'ly a day or so ago," said the man at the desk, "Gov'ment says t'ain't nothin' to be frettin' on, just one o' them old volcano's shaken its weight around. Should be headin' back to sleep sometime soon, I reckon."
"Not likely," Horatio said under his breath, "thank you." The began to walk with purpose towards the exit.
"Wait a moment," Sarah said, a confused tone to her voice, "I didn't know there were this many volcano's this side of the continent - didn't you say you went through one in the tunnels of fire and ice, too?"
"Yes," Horatio said, stones in his voice, "it seems unusual, but the government keeps quiet about how many actual active, or post-active, volcanos there are on the continental United States. They don't want to scare anybody away, so they tell everyone they're all dormant. It's nothing but lies."

The Tunnels of Fire and Ice (draft)

As Horatio emerged from the tunnels, he was met with a bright red light. A thick wave of heat slammed against him and he braced himself. Before him was a monstrous passageway, forged from the inner sanctum of the mountain, its walls extending up further than he cared to guess. He looked around. On either side of his walkway lay enormous pools of pulsating lava. He could feel the heat through his clothes, a slow burn getting hotter each moment.

A volcano, he thought, of course it had to be a volcano. He cursed under his breath and wiped his brow. This was not going to be easy. A substantial glob of lava slammed onto the rocky passageway beside him and sizzled. Not easy at all.

He began creeping along the rocky formation which acted as a bridge for him between the two extensive rivers of molten rock. This needed to be done at pace and he knew it. He wouldn't survive in here for long.

As he began to walk, he remembered Sarah's words, "Make light feet and your goal will be easy." Beginning to run, he hoped she was right.

"You aren't getting away that easily!" an echoing voice caused more lava to fall around Horatio on the rocky walkway. He deftly avoided it, one glob singing the back of his coattails, "I still have control of this mountain! Your fate is in my hands!"

"Curse you, Barclay!" Horatio turned and saw Barclay standing by the opening he had used to enter this tunnel of fire, "You can't stop me!"

"Oh, I beg to differ, Captain!" Barclay began reciting a hurried incantation and threw what appeared to be several gems into the lava pits below, "This cavern will be your tomb!"

With a suddenness that caused Horatio to momentarily lose his footing, the walls began to shake and the lava to bubble with a violent fever, "What have you--" Horatio began, but saw the Barclay turn and run as rocks blocked off the entranceway. Now Horatio only had one way to go. He picked up his pace and ran full pelt towards the end of the stone passageway on which he stood.

Crashing and slamming, giant chunks of rock and spheres of lava began pouring down upon the Captain. Whirling and turning, he dodged the falling lava.

Slam!

A large chunk of rock fell against Horatio's arm and he fell prone on the hot stone, "No!" he shouted at himself, "Get up! Get up!" he could feel the tremendous heat against his face, felt his energy being sapped by the demonic mountain. With heroic strength, Horatio forced himself upright and began running once more towards the other end of the cavern.

Not today, he thought, I'm not falling today.

Crack.

Horatio risked a glance upwards and saw a tremendous portion of the cavern wall break loose and fall towards him, "Light feet, light feet!" he said to himself as he ran, making a great leap forward with all the strength his calves could carry.

Crash!

The chunk of stone slammed onto the catwalk, cracking it and breaking off significant parts of its structure. Rock fell in waves down into the pits of molten lava, but Horatio was still running. His great leap had moved him just far enough out of the stone's reach to allow him to keep running. Any slower and he'd be history, "Not today." He said, a stony solidity to his voice.

Just as a large wave of lava and rock slammed into the stone where Horatio had just stood, the brave Captain had once more leapt and landed in the safety of a small crawlspace. The heat followed him down the burrow and sweat poured profusely from his brow.

Out of the frying pan, he thought as he emerged into another of the volcano's caverns, into a brightly lit chamber. The light blinded him for a moment and he shielded his eyes. When he opened them, he held before him a splendid vision of a cavernous construction made entirely from glaciers of the deepest blue. The cavern seemed to go on for miles upwards and across, Fantastic, he thought, out of the frying pan and into the freezer.

Horatio looked around and saw he stood on a thin, bridge-like form of slick ice and rock.

I'll have to watch my step, he thought, a small crack of a smile creeping up his cheek.

The heat from before had faded from his body, being replace with an at first soothing, then biting chill. Horatio's breath misted in the frozen air. He examined the far the room in which he stood. The bridge extended to the other side of the hall, but there didn't seem to be any kind of door there. No escape. Simply sheer walls of glacial ice, "Well this is a fine how-do-you-do."

Horatio walked from one end of the bridge to the other and inspected the walls. There were no secret doors, no hidden passages, nothing. His only way out, was up.

Pulling on his gloves, he looked upwards. There was definitely an opening in the ceiling of the cavern, but no telling how high it was. This is going to be harder than the lava room, he thought. He never thought he'd ever catch himself missing a self-destructing room full of lava.

He gripped firmly onto the glacial walls and began to climb. Looking at his belt, he wished he had his small axe or something of the sort. All he had left was his six-shooter, and he didn't feel a pistol was conducive to helping him scale a wall of ice.

Horatio climbed for what seemed like hours. His muscles burned, pain through his body like lightning bolts.

Click.

An explosion rocked the cave wall. Debris showered on Horatio as he fell, grasping empty hands at the wall. When he managed to catch a protruding piece of the wall, he stopped for a moment. His heart raced, his ears rang, his breath was quick.

Clever, Barclay, he eyed the walls and could now see the thin wires placed at periodic intervals along the wall, setting explosives along the cave wall. Very clever, indeed.

The Captain began once more to climb, his muscles screaming under the stress. It took him time to reach where he had once been. A crater in the ice lay where he had once stood. He pressed his face against the wall, spying for trip wires. They crosshatched the wall like a spider's web, shining in the light of the chamber, I'm not going to be your fly, Barclay.

With a cheetah's agility and the grace of a lion on the prowl, Horatio climbed the walls.

Hours passed as Horatio climbed, his body aching but his will strong. The exit was finally within sight. He could feel the fresh air blowing in, I'm coming, Sarah, he thought, putting hand over hand, his gloves soaked through, I'm coming.

As he reached the top, Horatio realised the cavern walls sloped inwards. It would be impossible to sustain himself upside down on these walls, not while his body was so tired. He would have to jump.

Prepping his feet, he coiled himself, ready to make the final leap towards the opening. Breathing deeply, he leapt.

Click.

Flying through the air Horatio had seen it. The trip wire's thin sheen had escaped him in his tired state. He had seen it too late. In his final leap he had crashed through a trip wire lain deliberately near the mouth of the cavern.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Explosions set off all across the cave. Chunks of ice flew through the air as Horatio did, pieces passing him, some striking him. Ice rained down to the bottom of the cavern, sending up rippling echoes.

Then Horatio's heart fell. A large chunk of ice, one containing the edge of the cavern's opening he was aiming for, broke loose. The opening was no bigger, but Horatio was aimed directly at nothing.

Oh, perfect!

With quick footwork, he worked himself to make a second leap off the falling chunk of ice. The extra jump boosted his trajectory just enough to send him towards another edge of the opening.

Winding him, he slammed into the ice. His hands struggled to scratch at a place to hold as his lungs struggled for air. Slipping mostly down into the void, he managed to catch himself. Horatio hung from the ceiling of the cavern, sucking in deep breaths, his eyes watering, his lungs burning.

Finally, he caught his breath. His arms shook. He couldn't hold on. With every last ounce of strength he had, he crawled like a man from hell out of the cavern, and lay on the dirt above.

Then all went black.

Horatio awoke with a jump, slamming himself into the wall behind him. He cringed and held his head. With quick movements, he examined the room he was in. A woman entered, "Oh, you're awake." She said, coming towards him with a wet towel.

"I am," Horatio eyed her, then himself, pleased to see he was still dressed but for his coat, "where am I? How long have I been asleep?"

"You've been out for nigh on a two days, sir," said the woman, pressing the towel onto Horatio's brow, "we all been worried you'd never wake."

Two days! The words echoed in Horatio's mind like earthquakes, "Good heavens!" he shouted, throwing himself from the bed, "Where am I?!" Horatio drew his six-shooter.

The woman shrieked and dropped her water bowl, "Heavens, sir," she whimpered, "You're in Silverwater Dale! A small home outside-a town!"

Silverwater Dale. The train station, "Where's the train station?"

"Some ways down the road," the woman gathered up her bowl and towel, "you'll need a horse. A man saunterin' into town without a horse'll surely cause some starin'."

"A horse. Yes." Horatio sheathed his pistol, "Pardon for the excitement, I hadn't expected such a…delay. Can I be so rude as to ask for one of your horses?"

"Surely. Seems you got the eyes to be fixin' to somethin' big. I ain't gonna be standin' in your way."

Horatio nodded.

Within moments, Horatio was saddled up, hat on his head and coat on his back, "Thanks once more for the care you took of me," Horatio said, fixing himself into the stirrups, "I don't know how I can possibly repay you."

"Don't be fixin' to bother. We're happy to help, is all."

And off he went.

Soon Horatio arrived at the town proper of Silverwater Dale. A small berg with nothing to offer, but filled with kind, honest folk.

"Train station's that way, sir." Said the boy. Horatio flicked him a coin and nodded, "Thank you, mister!"

As Horatio arrived at the station, the train was pulling out, Of course, he thought dryly, "Hee-ah!" the horse whinnied and began galloping at speed. Horatio was quickly alongside the caboose of the steamtrain. Reaching out, he caught on to the safety bars and hoisted himself onto the viewing platform, "Go home!" he shouted after the horse and it turned on its heels and ran.

The Captain opened the door to the caboose with a thud. The door opened, smacking a man on the other side, knocking him, and the serving trolley he was standing next to, over. Raising his eyes from the man on the floor to the rest of the carriage, Horatio saw the unshaven faces of a collection of Tobias Crook's goons, led by the slovenly Dwight Church, "Well, well, well, if it ain't Captain Horatio Silverthorn."

A Czar is Born

That time of year has come again and a new show is being put up at the Seymour Centre, one which y'all will surely enjoy!
A Czar is Born - written by band member of super FLORENCE jam, Laurence Rosier Staines - is a comedic pseudo-musical wrapped in dancing, witticisms and superfluous romance!
After a practically sell out run at Sydney University's Cellar Theatre, the show has made a return as an official selection for the Sydney Fringe Festival, which features some of the best theatre, music and art on offer from locals in Australia.
The show goes up on Saturday September 11th at the Seymour Centre in Sydney, and tickets are available now for purchase from either the Seymour Centre or from the Sydney Fringe Festival website.
The best part? It features yours truly in the play's Greek Chorus, so come along and enjoy!