Christmas In A Sex Shop

"As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being."
Carl Yung

His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.
Mae West

AMONG the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I
am;
Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.

Ah, lover and perfect equal!
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.
Walt Whitman


The article he wrote, On Working In A Sex Shop, barely touched on the calamity which had had overtaken him at that time. A succession of journalists, all on their own usually alcohol fuelled downward spirals, had worked at that sex shop on Oxford Street, just near Taylor's Square. Prior to working in the sex shop, in an age before porn saturated the net and was everywhere in the culture, a click away, he had barely seen any. This was the mark of how far downhill he had gone, these tawdry environs reflecting how far his own dreams had decayed; how desperate he had become. Another journalist on the skids passed it on to him. That man, in by now a familiar pattern, had seen the light and was heading off to the country; to detox, to begin again, to find a love untainted by the corruption that coated every Sydney street. The traffic drove through his deepening despair. He sat above the cabinet full of dildos, a photograph existed somewhere still, pounding away at his portable typewriter, writing and writing as he always did. Even here, even now, he wrote his incomprehensible science fiction novellas and prayed to some filtered God of the derelict and the desolate. God is found more in extremity than in comfort, went the priest's line; even here, amongst the dildos.

He'd been awake for several days when the incident happened; scattered utterly to the four winds; hiding in dripping canyons of naked men, fat mountains lying in cubicles with white towels draped across their vast bellies; showers in the distance, the dripping of water that could be heard infinite miles away. Not just scattered to the four winds. Completely blind. Completely tortured. The dart like images snaking through his head; the grunt of ecstasy as men coupled in the gloom; he had known these places were there, even in childhood; the utter indifference of the coupling, the walls coated in slime. He'd hate to see this place in the daytime. And finally, even for them, the stop outs wired on the best speed in the country, it became time to go home. Well, if not home the sauna was shutting; the strays struggling out into the pre-dawn light. He said goodbye to whoever it was, and walked through his hallucinations. Not enough time to make his way down to Withering Heights and his favourite spot on the roof; instead he made his way through the Darlinghurst Streets, waiting for a cafe to open; his sweat drenched clothes hanging off him; the sadness snaking in between the washes of colour; oh if only it could end before things got even worse.

There had been so much hope, so much ambition; he had truly wanted to succeed. But now even that seemed a long time ago. Soon enough it was time to open up; and he made his way to Oxford Street sex shop; his only formal employ these days. Almost blind, he was hallucinating so badly, he struggled with the locks on the front door; and once through, bounded up the steps to turn off the alarm before it started, bringing unwanted attention to his shambolic state. He made it, turned the alarm off, and then turned to fix up the lights; and immediately there was someone behind. Startled, he jumped, and the man's smooth tones tried to calm him down. Just another punter. I have to fly back to New Guinea at lunchtime and I wanted to take something with me, he said.

He could never sell the blow up dolls, which were the most expensive item, or anything else really. His sale figures were always better than anybody elses for the simple reason that he ignored the customers completely. No one wanted an assistant disturbing their train of thought when they were making that difficult decision between Young Hung and Hunky and Barnyard Sex. The man wanted a dildo. Which do you recommend? He didn't recommend any of them; there was always plenty of the real thing.

He kept wishing he hadn't got himself into such a state; wondering if he could ever come back, wishing he had gone home for a shower at least. Finally, after considerable fuss, the punter picked out an enormous black dildo which would have to have satisfied the biggest slut on the planet. The man paid by credit card; and he struggled with the click clack machine; he could barely see; the colours swamping him, the cheap old magazines bearing down from the walls; merging into the cheap red carpet. Everything was so sordid. He couldn't believe he had ended up here. Finally the man, who after all had a plane to catch, took over for him, working the machine with far greater finesse than he could accomplish. Still, he could not see straight; everything kept shuddering down on him. And then the punter left, swinging the giant dildo over his shoulder, smiling happily as he went down the steep stairs: "I'll think of you when I use it," he shouted back up the stairwell.

And then the colours really did go into riot; and he tried to laugh at the insanity of it all, as he pottered around amongst the dusty crotches and insane gestures; the bestiality of what men found erotic destroying any mystical allure. The calamity of that job was over soon enough; and he wrote On Working In A Sex Shop to make light of the disaster that had overtaken him. But although he was to rally for a while, that shop was only one of the sign posts on a road to dereliction; and he could never have predicted the disasters that were to come. The abandonment of all hope.

THE BIGGER STORY:

http://www.theage.com.au/news/world/bush-refuses-to-call-a-slowdown/2008/01/29/1201369134566.html

The Age:


PRESIDENT George Bush has asked Congress to pass quickly his $US150 billion ($A170 billion) economic stimulus package and to make his controversial tax cuts — due to expire in three years — permanent, as he delivered his last State of the Union address.

The speech concentrated on the economy, Iraq and Mr Bush's efforts to forge a peace deal in the Middle East — the issues that will shape his legacy.

But it also signalled that even with less than 12 months to go Mr Bush is not giving up on his domestic agenda.

He still wants Congress to: extend his "no child left behind" schools program; deal with unfunded liabilities in the social security system; act on climate change and energy security; and come up with a humane approach to millions of illegal immigrants.

Mr Bush's approval rating is in the low 30s, the lowest in his seven years in office. Only Richard Nixon's rating was worse at this point in the presidential term.


http://www.smh.com.au/news/world/troops-out-by-midyear-but-more-aid-smith/2008/01/29/1201369135155.html


THE Government has agreed to increase the number of civilian aid workers and other professionals to help with reconstruction in Iraq and Afghanistan, a move Australia hopes will demonstrate its commitment to the coalition effort as it withdraws its combat troops.

The Minister for Foreign Affairs, Stephen Smith, made the commitment on Monday as he stood alongside the US Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice, during his first official visit to Washington.

Mr Smith also met the Secretary of Defence, Robert Gates, and the Vice-President, Dick Cheney, and yesterday was due to meet the Democrat majority leader of Congress, Steny Hoyer, and the chairman of the Senate foreign relations committee, Joseph Biden. Mr Smith attended the joint sessions of Congress to hear President George Bush's State of the Union address.