Pictures still creating chaos on this blog. All I can see when I pull it up to edit is a string of gibberish. I just don't get it. The only thing I can think of is that the computer said the other day that the cache was full, whatever that is; I have no idea how to fix it.
The story continues, the deep, winding, almost primordial dark of that road that snaked around the side of that remote hill, the houses, the people, so far away in time and space, and yet these powerful visual images linger on; those budgerigar feathers, floating down from the giant gums after one of our favourite birds had escaped, it's excited moment of liberty lasting bare minutes as a kookaburra swooped; leaving nothing but those feathers drifting down on the cool forest air, the sunlight catching them as we, just kids, cried at the loss of one of our much loved budgies.
The story:
"Then, one of his regular sweeps through Adelaide, where he went, probably twice a year to hang around with old friends and where, to his great amusement, he accessed a different class of art queens, it finally happened. He met someone fresh, new to the scene, ripe for love. They lasted together nine years. Other people always remembered them arguing. But there were good times as well, sticky intimacy, fun, exploration. With his continuing lack of professional success, he thought of the relationship with Martin, his love, their togetherness, their coupledom, as one of his greatest achievements.
"He wanted it to be ideal, to go on forever, to rise above the physical, the material. With a certain megalomania, for these were still very much unchartered waters, there being no rules for gay relationships at a time when everything was up for discussion, theirs was to be one of the great, historic loves. Though what he went through seemed utterly singular, it followed a pattern, the seven stages of gay relationships: attraction, sexual fascination, intimacy, familiarity, habituation, disillusionment, break-up."
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