Hissing, spitting, howling, purring from a dumpster in a back alley of Cyber City - TALES WITH THE BEAT for ADULTS ONLY and artists, atheists, adventurers, beatnics, bohemians, brights, dharma bums, dreamers, dancers, civil libertarians, eco-warriors, free-thinkers, freaks, loners, libertines, mystics, mayhem-surfers, outcasts, poets, punks, pagans, renegades, ravers, rockers, queers, shamans, sci-fi nuts, trippers, trancers, tricksters, wanderers, wankers, yogis, zorros, zippies and zen.
These stories, that have been available on
Blogspot for 10 years for free, will now only be available on Amazon at the
address above. They are contained in “Vagabon Freak”, the 1st volume
of a trilogy titled “The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cats”. I have been the
archetypal starving artist in his garret, painting, drawing and writing,
writing, writing as if I were some waif crying out in the wilderness. Now I
need you, dear reader, to hear my cries and go to Amazon and buy a copy of my
book and keep me alive. There you will find my complete tale, from beginning to
end, in one place, for you to hold in your hot little hands. When you read it
straight through, I assure you, it will blow your mind.
Below are introductory paragraphs and some
pictures that I still retain to illustrate this story, hopefully to give you a
come-on to get my book. Thanks for giving me a go, TZ.
Arthur decided he enjoyed being a boy, glorifying in
masculine physicality and the world of boys with boys, doing what only boys
could do together; also the freedom it gave him, to crack what job he wanted or
wander the nights and highways with few limits. He had long given up his secret
life of dressing up as a femme fatale, jumping about under the bed covers,
rescued and ravished by a phantom hero. He went out in drag that once on a lark
to prove he could do it but never felt to do it again, he’d determined his life
path would be that of a man, and he’d have to be a tough one if he was to
He liked girls and always had a girlfriend, out of friendship
rather than for lust; he took comfort from their affection, intimacy,
reliability and courage. He just didn’t see them them as conquests, fuck-toys
or antagonists, his erections over females waned and he never masturbated over
them, the penis being the central icon in his Temple of Orgasm. He sincerely
loved his girlfriend of the moment, he just wasn’t “cock in hole” with her.
Women made great co-conspirators in the rebellion against male domination.
While all his friends accepted his queerness, in the legitimate world of work
he play-acted the robust heterosexual as it made life easier.
Part of his love for women was continuing a relationship
with Annette, he even hoped she could bring out the bisexuality in him but she
continued to push his hands away from her crotch. He broke it off for awhile
and in hysterical response she allowed a callous dickhead named Ray to take her
virginity on a beach one dark night. He was a mate of Artie’s and when he
related the sordid details to a furious Artie he was so annoyed he seduced the
boy in turn, getting him to suck his dick in the guy’s car and laughing with
When he met Annette at a party she was terribly contrite
and as she blathered tearfully on about her seaside seduction Artie confessed
his homosexuality to her. She wailed about how it was all her fault for not
giving him sex in his formative years and, as if giving herself up as n altruistic
sacrifice, she lay upon a bed with her legs spread and pleaded for Artie to
come and fuck her. He informed her it was all a bit too late for only boys
really turned him on and he left her prostrate, weeping in a darkened bedroom.
He was a tear-away teenager in Melbourne, 1967,
searching for his people, and the “summer of love” was looming upon him. The
background music to his escape from the domestic violence of his outer suburban
family home were the pop hits “Puppet on a String”, “If You’re Going to San
Francisco Be Sure to Wear a Flower in Your Hair” and “All You Need is Love”,
which he sang over and over to the echoing inner-city streets as he wandered
(If your curiosity is piqued please go to the WEB address above and buy the book to read further.)
Similar to Ruby's Flat in Caroline St. South Yarra.