Toby the Punk Poofy Cat is not a real person, he is not me, he is a fictional character made up to express my angst and joy at daily living. He hisses, spits, moans and groans, scratches and reveals himself in patches; to tell about the real me would be intrusive but one can certainly get hints, angles, reflections. I think it's impossible to relate Reality, to tell the Truth, it all gets filtered thru my obsessions, my moods, my delusions, my quirky attitude and in my stories I embroider, confess, conflate, confabulate, opinionate, obfuscate, fantasise, glorify and denigrate about IT ALL. Toby is a punked out, poofed up crazy cool cat, a curmudgeon who critiques everything including himself; a wanker artist screaming for recognition but if he ever got IT it would mean he was dead; a queer homo forever uptight over society's antipathy and disrespect yet himself disrespectful of all institutions and sacred cows; and a retard who is existentially challenged, daily considering suicide but never able to finish his suicide note, this Blog, cause there's always something more to bitch and sing about.
Thus I toy with the creative writing of poetry, fantasy and gutter-level social realism, from Syney to Bombay and into the future. I've experienced many marvels, here in Auz and whilst traveling the world, garnering boons and wounds, overall finding life to be an awesomely mysterious adventure, an intriguing enigma to be unraveled, suffered and enjoyed, beyond the horrors of war, slavery and exploitation, if possible. And as a citizen of Auz I'm lucky, much is possible for me, so read on for a picaresque poofter's adventures if I pique your interest.
( And consider this Blog to be my "2001 Australian Nights", endless tales to ward off the endless darkness, a long, long suicide note that if I ever get to the end of it, it means I'm dead.)