Observations and inner musings on the personal frontier.

I’ll be home in Perth on Saturday the 8th of March @ 1035pm on Cathay Pacific flight 171 from Hong Kong.


2 weeks after breaking up with Flo I asked to see her again. She met me at Plymouth Station wearing a blue mechanics jump suit. I hugged her with tears in my eyes and her smile cut through any insecurities I had just like our first night together.

We sat on the grass up high in the Plymouth bay overlooking many wonders, the sky was brilliant blue and people were flying kites.

We didn’t kiss, hug or speak of broken hearts, we were just together quietly, grinning and looking.

I was invited to stay at her mothers house which I did for 3 nights.

We had a bath there and I touched her again under candle light.

Our age difference was brought up at the kitchen table and my motives questioned, it was confronting but expected and even harder considering our relationship is unresolved.

I became constipated during our stay probably due to my diet in Bristol consisting only of croissants. After a bloody and laborious 30 minutes with children knocking on the door and looking through the keyhole, I passed something enormous into her mothers lavatory which was too big to flush. I asked Flo to come and look at it and she had never seen anything like it. She procured a piece of bamboo from the garden which I used to remodel the structure of the refuse to parameters within the utilities flushing capacity.

I recieved a blessing from Flo’s mum and enjoyed my stay immensely.

We went on to Bristol to visit Flo’s sister who I’d heard alot about and had seen many photos of. I wasn’t sure how she’d take to me given the way I look, the age difference and wether she was aware that I’d broken up with Flo recently.

Her sister was beautiful and amazing from the introduction.

I’ve heard of some people saying “fuck Chris,” etc, and I understand exactly what it’s like being in the comfort of a drivers seat tutting and beeping my horn at a braking car like I’ve never been lost in an unfamiliar city.

I’m sorry she is hurt, I’m hurt. I don’t believe I made a mistake, I believe life had a lesson to teach.

The last 7 days have been tender and loving, perfect u could say. As we neared London lastnight on the train I could feel our vibrations changing. I didn’t have any accomodation and could see for both of us the prospect of me returning back to her uni room was causing discomfort.

She told me she didn’t know what she wanted and began to withdraw. Naturally.

So I stayed with Will nearby.

Now I’m in Brighton.

I don’t know what the future holds and I don’t even want to think about it. To concern myself with it is the source of much misery. The truth is in this present moment and it’s here I find it hard to believe the connection between us will be overcome by thought, pain or distance. Like she said to me before, “It doesn’t matter where you are.”
(We’ll always be together?)


I just sat down next to a couple in a cheap Bristol cafe, separate table but close proximity. They stopped talking immediately as I placed my backpack down which is now coming apart at the seams in many places. You can actually see the inside contents, most notably a grey jumper near the right back strap.

I look like a certified tramp. My hair is long curly and windblown, my chin and lips are covered in ginger hair. I have my long navy trench coat on over a black knitted sweater. I found some Levi 501′s and a pair of used Doc Martin slip on boots in a 2nd hand store. The jeans are a 90′s fit so they don’t hug my frame at all, they are rolled up 3 times at the bottom.

My camera is around my neck so as not to miss any of those spontaneous magical shots but I also feel people won’t judge me as poorly if they think I’m a photographer.

There are no hostels available in Bristol tonight so it’s lucky I have 2 sleeping bags. I have £700 pounds left to last me 4 weeks which I can do easily as long as I don’t stay in hotels.

There is a large cylindrical public space below ground in the heart of Bristol that intersects the four directions via underground walkways. It’s called the Bear Pit and has an air of urban romance surrounded by square economic structures in white and faded baby blue. Beige brick, white frame lead reinforced windows, damp tiled underpasses, stainless railings, pedestrian networks and elevated platforms peering into gritty shopping centre car park enclosures underneath drizzling sky.

There are many quirky characters around including homeless poets, anti fracking campaigners, beggers and rubbish scavengers that seem to gravitate toward me asking for cigarettes. I’ve been sobre and smokefree for two weeks now, nothing but peanut butter and camomile.

Flo responded to my email in her signature emotionally intelligent style. She told me she loves me but is deeply saddened by my repeated houdini antics that continue to take their toll on her. I embarass myself to be honest the way I say one thing and do another, I’m better of not talking.

I told her I love her. I am just trying to see if I can live without her. (I’m not sure if I should have written that.)

I’ve been nurtured with the counsel of my friends since the breakup (thankyou Stel, Leonie, Hov, Pens, Tom, Bassett) which has helped me figure some things out.
In an email my Mum asked me “WHAT” it is that I actually want.

I told her my life would be perfect if I could not let things bother me.

And that I actually just want Flo, she IS the perfect women for me and time away makes that clear. I just wish I didn’t get annoyed at her unrestrained supply and demand for affection. It reminds me of something I’m uncomfortable with about myself. I just want us to be together and be happy.

I think more time independant of eachother could be the secret ingrediant.

I haven’t seen her for 6 days.

“Please don’t come back if your going to dissapear again.” Joan Middleton.







I roamed the earth to find someone I could laugh and share my life with. She’d never do anything to hurt me, she held my head when I cried and wiped my tears away. I rested my head in her lap on that bus, and she sat upright, stroking my hair while I slept.

And then we broke up.

We spent a night in Dover which shone a light on some problems we were having.

On the train home she asked me if I loved her. I couldn’t answer.

I packed my stuff and left. Then crossed the road to say goodbye to Will again. I went straight to the airport to try and transfer my flights to as soon as possible. I had to sleep on a bench until morning to speak to someone.

Bassett moved heaven and earth to call me the next day which I really needed.

Cathay Pacific wouldn’t transfer my tickets because I booked online with a cheap American travel agent and they had to do it.

I tried to called the agent but Skype wouldn’t work and I spent $100 on a 10 minute call to America while a secretary read the rule book. Then the phone cut off.

Fuck you! I just want to go home and I have no control over it!

My mate had reopened an invitation to stay with him in Bristol so I went to Victoria and got a bus out there. It was definately not as easy as I just made it sound all of this, it was a fucking nightmare.

I’m here now since 3 nights ago meditating and writing, erasing and rewriting a letter to Flo.

When I got here I was not good, on the bus I actually had a dream that I blew myself away with a handgun.

I was exchanging text messages with Joan Middleton (Flo’s friend) about what had happened and if it wasn’t for that I’m not sure where my pain would have taken me.

I couldn’t talk, I didn’t want to do anything, go anywhere, see anybody or even exist. I just wanted darkness.

I felt like my brain was totally fucked, it’s so vacillating, so divided, so yes no I don’t know anything, I have no control over my life, I’m an eternally depressed person with no hope who cannot smile.

So I got back on the meditation. I remembered the things I’d learned previously from sitting in the dark with my legs crossed and one million thoughts a minute shooting between my ears. A useless clip from a stupid American “teenage Mom” reality show popped into my head and I thought what the fuck? I don’t care about that, where did that come from? just like those pop songs I find myself singing along to that I’d never intentionally listen to.

Hmmmm, So…..Obviously….if I have no control over the thoughts coming into my head, they musn’t be mine and I don’t need to worry about them…It’s the effect of the outside world. Maybe I don’t have bipolarised jungle psychitzophrenia!

I ended up sending Flo an email doing my best to explain my position. I’m not completely happy with it and wish I’d shown more remorse for her feelings. It’s quite painful not knowing if or when she’s going to write back. I don’t know what’s going to happen but this is the choice I made at the time for whatever reason and I will walk the path.

The last look on her face before I left has haunted me. Nothing I could write would illustrate the purity of this being who’s heart I just watched break.

We haven’t spoken since.

I wish she had broken mine instead.

Tomorrow I am going to try to make my way to a Buddhist Monastery in Hereford.

My flight back to Australia is in 1 month.



Tom takes a break from Maths equations. He is working towards studying Biochemistry at Kings College London. Thanks for the shoulder bro.


Day 4.
I just recieved the first signal from my stomach that it was full. I told it to SHUT UP! I still have half a plate of food left, I cant waste it! I have to eat it, and seeing as it's so delicious, I'm already thinking about getting another one.

Why is it such a big deal to stop eating when im full? And why is it so HARD?Besides the adverse health effects of overeating on my body, and there are alot! I believe there are also mental implications involved.

Over the years I've gained the strength to be able to go cold turkey when required, on smoke, booze and even more so on other recreational drugs. But the one vice that has always been there to fill my emptiness is food, and more specifically sweets.

There are plenty of triggers but most commonly it's when I have nothing to do. I'll look around and feel restless, incomplete, lonely, like I NEED SOMETHING. The thought of destroying two KitKat Chunkies and a Bounty Trio is exciting because it feels good, I know I shouldn't do it and I'll be able to avoid the current unrest. For now.


Say I was to observe that craving and do nothing? What would happen?

A fucking BEAST surfing a DARK WAVE of HORROR would swallow and drown me that's what!

Just now, when I realised I was full and forced myself to put the cutlery down, the wave began to flood over me. I felt it being summoned from deep within, coming to disorganize my mental categories like a twister in a library.

The first thing it pointed it's arrow at was my relationship, piercing my mind with doubt. It has been working progressively harder in this area lately.

This is exactly the same thing I experienced in a long term relationship 11 years ago. I left her after 3 years and it took me 6 to stop hoping she would ring me up asking to get back together. Naturally I don't trust my instincts when it comes to love.

I've turned my back on friends before too, good friends, just because they said I looked like a rapist with a moustache or for exhibiting behaviours that I didn't like about myself. I'd get so annoyed that I'd walk away from them, convinced that the relationship is unbecoming, pulling me down.

Time would pass and on 95% occasion I would miss them to the point I'd meekly try to reconnect with them, apologising for my behaviour. How do I stop this Poison Carousel?

I think that binge eating, overeating, doing drugs and any other coping behaviour you can imagine when used to "quieten the beast" will only reinforce that self opinion of not being good enough.

The same goes for rejecting my true inner voice, my pure instinct, the one that tells me when I've had enough of something, the one trying to maintain balance.
"Christopher, you know better."
"I'm goin to the moon, shut your damn mouth!"
"You will regret this."
"The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom! F U C K OFF!"

*true voice gets softer*

Some people are able to keep it in balance and use intoxicants only to “celebrate life,” but I find this an impossible task for myself.

Deep down I know what my body wants and poor decisions have a direct impact on my self esteem.

"I don't listen to myself, I don't care about myself, so why would anybody else!"

It's self rejection at the deepest level.


• Things that don't matter will continue to upset me.
• I'll remain withdrawn.
• Affection will make me uncomfortable.
• I'll push away the people who want to love me because I feel like I DON'T DESERVE IT

Here’s a clip I think about alot from the movie Into The Wild

Maybe I didn’t get enough love growing up but perhaps if I try something new I’ll get a different result. Plus the amount of resistance surrounding these issues is so strong there just has to be something to gain.

1. Remove the coping behaviours
2. Face the emotions
3. Do what I love doing (know strengths)
4. Give love unconditionally.
5. Recieve Love.
6. Self Esteem.



She has told her family we are getting serious and that she wants them to meet me. Given the fact she’s 18 and I’m 32 I feel some pressure to prove myself.

That’s not why I left yesterday. I left because I’m addicted to running away from pain. It was either get cheesecake poisoning or run, and seeing as it was day 2 of an attempt to rid my life of binge eating, I bolted.

I have always needed my own space, and I’ve just spent 23 days in her university dorm with her and a room mate who told me I was a coward the first time I left and returned.

I felt suffocated, with nowhere to go, like I was travelling down a tunnel that came to a point.

I’m returning to Australia in 5 weeks and who knows what’s going to happen then? How could I meet her family with confidence when I have doubts about our longevity? What will they say when they learn I’m 14 years older than her?

You’d have to see us together to understand. We fit together like lego.


After I sent her that message and she ignored my phone call I went to Hostel 639 which had the worst reputation on hostelword.

I had no problems there.

It was fucking freezing and I left my trench coat at hers. I got sick and stayed up allnight meditating and writing in my book.


I planned another night away and visited the London Eye Hostel where I was staying when I met her.

I checked my emails and had recieved one from Bassett. What he wrote explains why we’ve been best mates for 20 years.

I gave her a call to tell her my plans and as soon as I heard her voice I knew I had to talk to her in person.

She just hugged me, told me I was messed up and gave me the directions that I was staying with her tonight.

I love her.

I swear I’m a good person.

What could I have learned yesterday if I stayed to face the pain?

No toxins or binge eating day 3.

What do you think about large age gap relationships?

Yea baby im in town just went to the photographers gallery costs £4 jack NEEDS to go there. I just looked up the worst rated hostel in london and im going to go stay there tonight, its just a calling i dunno. Hope i didnt upset you today, my body is trying to tell me something. Im going to try so hard to stay off chocs etc and see wtf is going on with my unrest. I wanted to call you but skype wnt work. I probs just need to be alone honey. Ive done this b4 havent i. I hope you understand. Love christopher




All about addiction ……………………………
I cant trust my thoughts. They tell me im annoyed, that i need time alone, that someone is being stupid. That i need something or I need to be doing something. Drawing, writing, learning….anything but nothing.
I want chocolate. Lots of it. 3 bounties. I’ll stop eating it tomorrow.

Meditation is so good for me. It shows me just how crazy my mind is and that I don’t need to believe everything it says. The truth is beyond thinking, beyond words, the truth is experienced.
Matt sims said to me tonight , “you don’t seem as anxious as before.” That’s because I’m not.
I can actually hold a conversation again.

I can’t smoke cigarettes, my body is not stupid, it knows it doesn’t want them and that im just doing it to lubricate the social cogs or shut up that voice in my head that tells me i need something. It’s like feeding the beast meat, it will shut up for a while but it will be hungry again.

How is my body going to respond when I constantly put things in my body it doesn’t want? With self dount and anxiety maybe?
Why does everyone else get to drink and smoke but I get depressed and anxious ?? Balance ?? Ignorance ??
If they can do it so can I!
Well it doesn’t work! I’ve been trying to make it work for 13 years.
How many times do i have to learn?

What if I just sat with that feeling that tells me to put something in my mouth or else everything is not going to be ok? I don’t know what will happen because I’ve never stuck to it before! Even if ive stayed away from drugs and cigarettes in the past ive always compensated with food. Even to the point where I’ve eaten so much my crap wont fit out my bum hole.

Lately I have been eating chocolate but have significantly decreased my consumption of booze and cigs which I’ve been smashing for the last 5 months.
I’ve meditated everyday for 2 weeks.
I feel fucking great, I know what I have to do.

Feel the heat and transform.

Wish me luck and please share your addiction tribulations with me.

This post was partly inspired by the HarsH ReaLiTy Blog


I decided to deactivate for a month (until Feb 12) and reassign the time to making art.


To be fair I’m missing it and even thought about jumping on today but I told everyone about my plan and will look like a dick if I do.

Most of my blog traffic comes from facebook so my stats are suffering, it does however give me a chance to read and comment on other peoples blogs which hopefully in time will be reciprocated.

Anyway, I’ve been to the National Portrait Gallery, Saatchi Gallery, Hauser and Wirth Gallery and the Serpentine Galleries in the last 10 days.

So far I’ve adhered to a schedule of completing 1 piece of work a day. I want to draw better and develop ways of illustrating my ideas and telling stories without using words.

My girlfriend and her buddies are all art students doing drawing, painting, photography, sculpture and graphic design so obviously I’m paying alot of attention to their discussions.

I had an epiphany the other day talking to Jack Yates when he commented on a painting which I’ve cut out from a booklet and collaged on the page below.

It appears to be white bundles tied together with different coloured string.


Jack said, “it’s obviously about volume and confinement.”

I didn’t find the painting interesting whatsoever until I got home and thought about what he said.

What if the artist was trying to tell a story without words? His painting representing a circumstance or the way he felt?


My work is basic but if I keep this up it will develop which apparently is exactly what art tutors want to see.

Not that I want to conform at all but I can’t deny the interest I have in learning about art and it’s history.



This is a picture of Flo drawing a portrait of Joan Middleton whom I wrote a post about last year. Here


Jack Yates – By The Queen



Me and my girlfriend were walking through busy Soho and an older couple casually walked straight across our paths so that we had to stop and wait for them to pass. I reached out and stepped on the back of the ladies foot so her shoe came off.

Earlier in the week I’d been to the laundromat and was carrying a huge sports bag over my shoulder with wet washing. I could see a girl walking towards me with a mustard puffy jacket and those gucci type sunnies with a similar coloured tint on them. She didn’t move out the way as we approached and scraped passed the bag. I was gritting my teeth with a ball of fire in my belly and imagined giving her a rugby hip and shoulder with the bag, sending her flying across the footpath in a flurry of colourful wet washing.

What you give out you get back. The minute you generate any negativity in the mind you are bound to become miserable. I know all this, it just happens so quick.

Christmas with aristocrats, squatting with a suicidal homeless man, love confession and hitch hiking from England to France.


I’ve fallen behind so I’m going to update in brevity and avoid future perfectionism in an effort to keep this resource contemporary without neglecting significant experiences.


On the 27th of December I tried to help a 37 year old drunk who wanted to kill himself. I met him on the street in Macclesfield and stayed in his squat overnight. There were times I thought I was in danger but trust did grow as light became discernable within him.


Here are my notes. I wrote them in front of him.


He said he was desperate to detox so I tried to facilitate his admission to a facility the next day.


It didn’t work out and he dissapeared into the urban landscape after security kicked him out of The Macclesfield Hospital for drinking alcohol.


Christmas was spent in a Lancashire mansion hundreds of years old among well spoken descendants of a high order gentry. They said things like “Glorious, oh crumbs” and “wonderfully delicious.”

We smoked 80 year old cuban cigars, drunk 1960 brandy and rose silently for the Queens christmas day address.

Initially the setting was confronting walking in with my fuzzy ginger afro and slight inferiority complex but I was warmly embraced.

I realised that the upper class have the same problems as everyone else, just nicer things to look at while they worry about them.


For new years I didn’t do any drugs and stayed with my girl at her friends log cabin in Taunton.

She asked to use my toothbrush.

I instantly liked her more.


I knew I was loving her, I was just waiting for the right moment to say it.

When I did she became remote.

“I’m worried I’ve spooked her and start to panic.”

At least she knows, at least I’ve honoured myself and said how I felt. If she doesn’t feel the same, it’s out of my control and not meant to be.

I told her whatever she felt was ok.

We went onto the porch in the black frost. Typically she has not been one for emotional conversation and I commented, “You don’t say much do you.”

Her brown hazel eyes fixed on me as her arms wrapped around my neck.

“I love you Chris.”

There was a stillness, a clearing of skies, a formerly unknown purity. It was one of the most arresting moments in my life.


On the 2nd of January I hitch hiked across the channel by ferry to France. It was a first.

I got there after midnight and walked around for hours looking for somewhere to stay. 3 hotels turned me away, there was nothing to eat.

It was raining. I just stood in it soaking through to my underwear. I dont want to do this anymore.

It’s over.

This is the only pic i took over there.




The Castle Inn, Dover, England

I’d been sitting out the back in the hostels 9£ a night room. It’s detached from the rest of the building and when Nicoletta had to move bags of rubbish to let me in the front door, I knew it was the spot. Noone bothered me while I sat in there for 3 days, trying to make sense of why I’d just runaway from the girl I’d been seeing in London for the last month.

I had many theories but I was certain about one contributing factor.


Historically, regular use makes me hyper analytical, impulsive and withdrawn.

On day 4 I called Her. She said she felt like she was just another travelling experience of mine before l moved on to the next. I cried. I couldn’t let her believe that, she had to know the impact she’d had on me and how enchanted I was with the words she spoke and the glow of her brilliant iridescent nimbus.

She also peed in front of me on day 1.

We reconnected during the phone call.

I ended my isolation and joined the people in the bar, but it didn’t feel like a bar, it felt like you were at your friends house.

I went outside with Chantelle. “Wanna hear my dilemma?” I asked. She listened and handed me a joint.

“So what!” she said “I was 18 when I met my boyfriend, he was 27. Go back to London, then you’ll know.”

“And stay off the drugs,” said Frank the gypsy, who woke up in a graveyard this morning.

The phone rang, it was Flo. I started to worry. Am I making the wrong decision reconnecting? Didn’t I walk away for a reason? Oh no, this is not good, I must leave for France at once.

Then, I realised. Those smothering thoughts just surfaced as soon as I got high, I’d been on the phone to her all day for shit sake.

The same pattern is discernable in London, plus I’d been doing rockstars and pacmen.

I relaxed. Flo and I spoke allnight.

I’m on the train back to London.

I’m a cunt.

At least she won’t get bored of me.






Nicoletta making mulled wine



Dave and Chantelle


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