A friend of mine wrote an email to me the other night after I gave him some positive feedback on a screenplay he's been working on. He's now got a script editor and has got the thing on the right track, which is great for him.

He did however say that he was scared of success, of seeing something through to fruition, and I can relate. I mean really relate.

Sometimes when I write or create an image or whatever, I get the feeling that I am working in a vaccuum. I definately feel like this about 99% of the time, but something will happen like me getting good feedback on my stories over at fanfiction.net, or praise in the comments on my deviantart page, and I feel validated. The work *connected* with someone, even for the fleetest of moments and it was worth it.

My friend has worked hard and has had his work torn to bits and chipped away until it is a very different beast, and I love that he entrusted me to read what he had so far. For some unkown reason he values my opinion, and thats a pretty darn good feeling too.

So now he's so close to having a sucessful career, doing what he has always dreamed of, and he's scared. In his place, I don't know if I would be, but then I am very far from being in his place.

Maybe I'd be apprhensive and doubtful of success. I am usually suspicious of ANYTHING positive that happens to me, and I find a way to unconsciously sabotage it, thus fulfilling my own warped predictions of doom and gloom. Its something I'm working on, and I'm getting better at it. But scared of success? Never.

I was flipping channels tonight when I came across an episode of Crime Investigation Australia, which is a good show, despite being on Channel Nine. Anyway, they had a story about the gay bashings and murders that happened in Bondi and the surrounding suburbs in the late '80's to mid nineties, many unsolved, and many unable to be solved due to police apathy at the time. It was a good program, highlighting not only the weird time it was to be a gay man in the late '80's in Australia but the way any crimes against 'poofters' were dealt with by police. Like many of these true-crime factuals, this episode was made up of witness interviews, old news clips photos of the murdered men, and also reenactments.

It wasn't until they showed the reenactment of a particularly brutal bashing on the eastern beaches that I kinda had a little bit of a brain snap. The scene had the victim lying on his side while his attackers (three of them) laid into him with their fists, blunt instruments and their boots. This scene was so much like an experience I had some years back that I was almost physically ill.

I was on a train coming back from Sydney going to Newcastle when it happened. Me and my bf at the time were set upon by a group of about 5 men, who were all drunk and looking for anyone to intimidate. We looked like likely enough candidates, I guess.

I was knocked to the floor by two of them, while another, bigger guy started kicking my face and my head. I wasn't knocked out but the attack was long and it was loud. No one on the train came to our rescue at first, not wanting to get involved, or just apathetic to it all. It took a guy coming from two carriages over to come and pull them off me. We finally managed to get into the gaurd's cabin and my white shirt was absolutely covered with blood, my right eye was fused shut and my lip was busted open. There was a bruise on my temple that showed the imprint of a boot or sneaker on my skin.

I don't think I have ever really gotten over that incident. It certainly affected me for some time after it happened. The police weren't very interested in bringing charges, although they had very good descriptions and CCTV footage from the station where the gang got off. At least our story got on the news, with one of the witnesses, an elderly woman, telling them what she had seen. (she thought we were brothers, but the gay element came up in the story anyway).

But I thought I was OK with it until I saw that scene on the TV. I remember everything in vivid detail, and I wish after almost a decade I could forget. But I suppose, I can't complain. I got out of it with my life, and those poor souls who were attacked in Bondi all those years ago didn't.

If you wanna read more about the murders, click here

My sister called me the other day to say she was getting married next year. I was told that there was "no room" for me in the actual ceremony (although every other sibling is included, but thats a middling point), but she would like me to take the wedding photos. It was nice to be thought of even if it was an attempt by her to shoehorn me in and make me feel included, but again, thats not really the point.

So I have given some thought to how I'm going to do this because its been some time since I was seriously into photography, so having a legit reason to get back into wasn't unwelcome. I dug out my old photos from high school and tried to remember what I was taught, but couldn't recall a damn thing. Something about f-stops snd white-balance floated through my head but I really coudln't think of anything beyond that. But as I went through my collection of portraits and landscapes, I realised that I didn't follow any of these rules or lessons when I was in school, and my images turned out pretty well. In fact my teacher loved the fact that I just had a natural aptitude for it and shunned the techincal stuff in favour of what worked visually.

But this is someone's wedding, not a school project. I know my sister is trusting me to get it right, but dare I just coast into this without perhaps doing some research on event photography or something? I let myself coast through my lessons and didn't really pay attention to those important rules that professional wedding photographers have (presumably) studied formally. Sure, the equipment will be rented and top-of-the-range, so the chances of fucking up completely aren't all that high, but I wonder whether I accpepted this too readily....

I've been wondering these past few weeks whether my entire outlook on life has changed since starting this new job (I say new but it has been well over 6 months now), and whether simply by the very fact I'm employed with a good company with a great boss, I've become less of a stress-head.

When I worked for Salesforce, I hated it. Absolutely loathed every second, and I never tire of telling people the horror stories. From the management down, I despised almost everyone. I became so bitter and twisted during that time that I would not have been surprised if I snapped one day and beat some brightly-coloured buffoon to within in inch of his life. I came *this* close so many times its not even funny....

But the stresss of being in a job I hate and feeling indifferent about my life was only the beginning. When I joined the other company, I had a job I enjoyed but which my boss and his simpering second-in-command thought I sucked at. I really tried with that position, and my efforts were for nought: I was made redundant within the 6 months I was there. The stress of loving a job and not succeeding at it was more acute, and more humilating, if I am honest.

So I realised the other day that during this tumultous period, I became so morose, so down-in-the dumps, that I became a drag to be around. I've never been very good at being social but I took it to another level during that time. Tommy was there, Kanga Twink was there, and they supported me during that horrible time. I got myself back into a good head-space again, and it took a long time.

Now I look around and I realise something. I had pushed away, abused or treated badly every other friend I accumulated during my time in Sydney. Tommy has been the constant, but as for honest-to-gosh gay friends? I have none. The few I had have either tired of my moods or just simply lost contact with me, and at the time I didn't really care.

But since I've gotten myself back into this good headspace, I want to be around people again. I want to be social again, but it struck me that I have lost the necessary skills to even interact with others in the gay community; I've pretty much ceased going out, haven't been to Oxford street in a long time, and have no desire to return. I don't drink like I used to. My priorities have shifted. And I'm over online hookups.

I've burned through my twenties pretty successfully (in that I survived them), and now I want very badly to change a lot of stuff with my life. If that means getting myself out there and being a more social and happy guy, then I have a goal.

But for someone who has lived a fairly solitary existence for the past few years, how is that possible?

Well, I'm 30.

I had a great time at the Bavarian Bier Cafe, although I'm afraid to say I got a little too drunk on half-litre glasses of beer and had to quit early.

I don't feel any different now that I am 30. I don't feel grown up. Maybe thats a bad thing, that I haven't progressed past a certain level of maturity or whatever.

Anyhoo, thanks all for coming.

I was thinking the other day about how our personal tastes influence others in the weirdest ways.

Example: Tommy and I went to see a performance by the beautiful and talented Jay Brannan (from Shortbus - The guy who got the Star Spangled Banner sung into his ass), and Tommy was there under protest because he was a 'gay singer', which apparently is a bad thing. But the crowd was non-attitude and relaxed, and he eventually ended up having a good time. And it was on this night that he saw Gin Wigmore as one of the support acts. Tommy loved her voice and loved her songs and pretty much wanted to see a lot more of her.

Just last week, we saw her perform at Notes Live in Newtown, which was my borthday present to Tommy. It was there that we saw an up and comer named Andy Bull, and we both became fans of his almost immediately.

Now, we're going to see him perform at the Hopetoun in Surry Hills on Friday. Funny how we came to it.

Move-in day!

I move into my new apartment tomorrow, and I'm equal parts excited and anxious. Moving is never fun, but I suppose I should be happy that I'm getting my own place and Tommy gets his space back too. I haven't lived on my own in a very long time, and during the years I have lived in some truly odd households with some freaky, worrying and fucked-up people. My experiences in share houses could easily eclipse anything in "He Died with a Felafel in his hand", so actually living by myself will be a welcome break. All I have to do is keep myself company, so I may yet be my own worst flatmate.

The apartment is, as I previously mentioned on Twitter, kick-ass. Its easily the nicest place I've ever lived in. The rent is a little more than I want to be paying but I geuss you pay through the nose to have a nice living area in Sydney. Sometimes I yearn for the low rents in Newcastle, but then I come to my senses. Moving back there would be like stepping back in time.

Hopefully things will continue looking up this year *Crosses fingers*