Well not so much the world but a small, select group of individuals. Well not even a small group, my Mum read it and thought it was pretty cool, but then again my mother is a signature away from being committed to an insane asylum so I’m not sure her idea of cool is in sync with Main Street society.
Joined by the articulate, socialist, Stephanie Rice loving Henington we embarked on a journey through the cyber world of communication.
Of course we have not achieved any greatness or any modicum of success. Most of the time we don’t even know what we should be writing about or if we should be writing in the 1st, 2nd or 3rd person, it’s all still a work in progress.
A lot has changed since we began with our first piece on 27 August 2009.
To be honest the main reason I began the Faux was to try and distract myself from the upcoming departure to London of Princess, the woman I had been chasing for far too long.
I thought by ranting about the world’s problems and the appalling standards of the Australian media I would clear my mind of the overwhelming sadness I was feeling.
At times it did the job; occasionally my mind would be immersed in the topics of the day, but it was never too long before the despair and dread would return and my mind. I would drowned in a sea of thoughts about the woman I loved leaving to do the things that Australians do when they go to London and travel the world…
It was mid September when Princess left; Henington and I had begun to broaden our horizons. We wanted to become multi-media super stars, experimenting with vox pops, pieces to camera and interviews with rabid 9/11 conspiracy theorists. Many bourbons and beers were consumed during the summer of faux, many laughs were had but thoughts of Princess were never far away.
Princess and I continued to communicate even though she wanted to be single, this only made me miss her more and throw my mind deeper into crisis.
Eventually after a few months of being away she asked me to join her in London. I wanted to pack my bags and get on the next flight, even though I knew it was financial suicide.
London held no mysteries for me; I had done the whole work travel thing when I was in my 20’s. I spent a year working in pubs, pissing away the small salary I earned, saving only a few pounds and using my savings from back home to fund my travels. This was when the UK had a strong economy; fuck knows how I was going to survive this time around.
I was throwing everything aside for someone who never gave me a reason to believe there was a long term future. I lost count of the number of times she called things off between us. She always told me how much she wanted to be with a rich man, someone who was normal, clearly I wasn’t.
I would often be criticized for the way I drove, ate, laughed, dressed even the way I breathed.
The day after I submitted the application for my UK visa she asked if I was being unfair, not giving her enough time to be on her own…hang on, wasn’t you who asked me to come over??
This was the world I had been living in, but it was what I wanted, it’s all I wanted.
Waiting for my UK visa to arrive was of the most frustrating periods of my life. I wanted to be in the UK with my Princess, I was nervous about the future, what would happen to us, if I was making the right decision.
I would worry that in the time it took for my visa to arrive she would meet someone else and I would arrive on her doorstep in a few months only to be told that I was no longer required, the vacancy had been filled.
I even put in a call to the councilor I had spoken with previously about our relationship but he had left private practice. The receptionist said she would call him and let him know that I wanted to speak with him. He never called me, I guess even he had got sick of hearing about my problems with Princess.
I should have seen the danger signs, drink had become my salvation, it was the only way I could get to sleep.
It was the same when I was in Israel during operation “Grapes of Wrath”, I couldn’t sleep with Katyusha rockets and howitzer shells flying across the sky, so I would chug a healthy volume of beer before bed, it was the only way to dull the fear in my head.
It was mid December, 6 weeks since I submitted my visa application, the stress and frustration was taking its toll. After a long Sunday drinking session I found myself sending an unsolicited inappropriate text to the woman I loved…
In an instant my world and dreams where smashed.
Nine months on, it still burns with the intensity of a sharp needle being jabbed into my eyeball.
I eventually got my visa for the UK, I even quit my job and headed over to the Old Dart with the ridiculous notion that I could get my Princess back.
For four months I endured the cold and wet of London.
I took a job in a call centre selling telephone and broadband packages to the old and feeble minded. I watched countless episodes of Scubs and Two and a Half Men and could never understand why they never seemed to run in sequential order.
I travelled but very rarely experienced the sensation that I was going somewhere new, even though I had never been there before.
The world feels beige, everywhere you go people are on their iPhones, texting, talking, listening to music in franchised coffee shops. The world is too easy to navigate, too many people speak English, WiFi is everywhere and you’re always with reach of home. It’s almost impossible to get lost in this age of instant communication.
For a few brief moments while I was away I thought I would get my Princess back.
The night before I was to leave and make my way back to Australia via France and Turkey she told me she was going to miss me and asked me if I really wanted to leave.
For the previous four months she didn’t want me to be part of her life in London but the night before I go she tells me she is going to miss me. I’m not sure why or what it means. I guess I should have paid more attention at University when I was studying the likes of Maslow and his hierarchy of needs.
I changed my travel plans and met Princess in Greece; we spent a week driving around Crete. Of course my driving was heavily criticized, mostly because I kept indicating, when no one else was.
So again we have said our goodbyes and I’m left to rue my mistake.
It’s difficult moving on when your mind is so full of memories. I guess the only way forward is to create new memories that overwhelm the old ones.
So it is that I am back in Sin City, with its overpriced small inner city apartments and the daily grind of everyday life.
So where to for the Faux?