LONE STRANGER
Third book in the trilogy
"The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cat"
(The Deviant Pilgrim's Progress
Through the Poverty of Violence.)
Dedicated to Amiria
Have a look at what the cat dragged in
The cat who swallowed the canary.
Not big enough to swing a cat in.
The cat is out of the bag.
A cat's chance in hell.
Cat burglar.
Catcall.
'Lone Stranger' was influenced by:
The Sexual Outlaw =
John Rechy
Memoirs =
Tennessee Williams
The White Goddess =
Robert Graves
Interzone =
William Burroughs
The Ministry of Utmost Happiness =
Arundhati Roy
The Wrong Man =
Chris Bolestrero
The Harp of the South =
Ruth Park
You never know when it's over till it's over and that could be any time, any day. It applies to the creating of art as well as one's lifespan. I've been researching, making notes and trying short story versions of 'The Punk Poofy Cat' since 1977. I got the first short story version published in an anthology in 1983 called "Edge City" edited by Gary Dunne and my story was titled "Welcome to the Mens." It describes my childhood till the age of 13 and pubert, set in Melbourne and tells of my upbringing in a working class family, my influences, my hopes, dreams, joys and pains.
This story was noticed by a historian, Gary Wotherspoon, who asked me to reprise it in 10,000 words for an anthology titled "Being Different", tales from 8 queer men, their childhoods, influences and hopes for the future. I called my story "Alec Farthing" recounting my previous tale but taking it to the age of 19. I should've taken if to the age of 21 when I ran away from my traumas of Melbourne to live on the roads of the world, especially 4 years in India, but I stuck to the brief of 10,000 words. I was too polite as the story's ending would have been perfect if I'd elaborated for another 1000 words.
I kept reading, researching, writing and rewriting, by the late '80s projecting ahead, far into the future, envisioning what the finished artwork word be: my long, adventurous life told in three books, the classic form of a 'trilogy' as there was so much to tell. I wrote and wrote and wrote, possibly going through the many stories 49 times. As I stayed with the metaphor of "the cat", it being the slang term in Australia for a queer man, I thought a poetic way to lay the three books out would be in 7 lives, finishing at the age of 70 and hoping there might still be 2 lives left for this cat and he would live till 77. There won't be an eighth book telling of the two extra lives in my extreme old age as who knows how and when the end will come?
I broke the 7 lives into three books, the 1st "Vagabond Freak" recounting my life from birth up to the age of 26 when I returned to Australia from my global wanderings. My 2nd book is "Punk Outsider" that speaks mainly of my life in Sydney in the late '70s and the '80s though for biographical continuity I included a story from the '90s, "Under Northcott" telling my tribulations of 30 years living in the infamous housing estate in central Sydney. My third book, "Lone Stranger" tells of my life from the '90s to 2023, Sydney and my further travels on the roads of the world, Europe and Moorocco, but again mostly India from 1997 to 2023.
I write in the third person singular a character named Arthur Farthing as I want this artwork to be considered in the genre of 'novel' (actually a roman à clef = key to a romantic adventure, where names, places and times are altered to protect the protagonists.)
For all that obfuscation I still say my stories are autobiographical and an attempt at 'folk history' as I do researh and try to get right the dates, place names and event details. I conflate different aspects into one story, at times I exaggerate, I obfuscate, I hallucinate, I prevaricate on some truths, to retain privacy in the intimacies of my life, and to "not let truth get in the way of a good story." Most of what I write is basically true though contingent on tbe vagaries of memory.
I created the character Arthur Farthing so I could get a distance from him (myself), observe him as if he were someone else, try to be objective about him, detail his flaws as well as his good attributes. He's not a hero, he's the quintessential anti-hero, picaresque, a deviant pilgrim perhaps on his way to some improvement of character, some resolution, but neither the reader nor I will know till I get to the end, the story is about his progress rather than the consumation of his travails. He is both a devil and an angel, for sure his guilt at his sexual queerness needs assuaging and that's part of his progress as is his overcoming of his tendency to violence towards a society he feels fucks him over as much as it supports him.
I self-publish even though it's costly, extremely difficult and limited in distribution as I could wait forever for a legitimate publisher and drop dead in the meantime, my books never seeing the light of day. Also because I want my books to be my artworks alone, totally my design and content. A publisher would definitely demand a rewrite, editing, their choice of cover, fonts, format, illustrations, back cover blurb, on and on, till it wont be my book but theirs, "art by committee" which I abhor. I've long experienced everybody wants to stick their finger in the pie, a committee decides on its existence, too many cooks spoil the broth. My books are totally my own creations, as is each painting. It's actually happened that as Ive been painting someone has asked if they can paint a bit also, something in the corner or photoshop some imagery on top of some figures they disagree with. I adamantly refuse. Fuck censorship, cancel culture is killing independant art. (I know, nobody gives shit, all good, it sets me free, I can create what I fucking want.)
I have just finished the 21st and final rewrite of my third book "Lone Stranger - The Deviant Pilgrim's Progress Through the Poverty of Violence". Just in case I do drop dead before I self-publish and launch the book at an art show I'll put on in some gallery in September 2024 I am posting the book chapter by chapter, story by story here in Blogspot so that it will exist and be available to read for those who want to follow Arthur Farthing's progress and find out if there is any resolution of his dysfunctional life. I'm 74, I have a frail heart condition and lungs, (from smoking too much.) I still lead an extreme adventurous life, especially in India, fast cars, even faster motorbikes, chaotic cities, dangerous high mountain roads, dark back alleys, nefarious characters met with. Who knows when the end will crash upon my head?
I must get the story out! Why? I won't be the next Dan Brown, a best seller. I won't be the next Jack Kerouac, a cult hit. I simply love to write, to tell stories, it gets me very high. It's compulsive, I've been this way since I was 7 years old, I kept diaries and wrote short stories before I could blow. I've read, read and read till I now feel Ive devoured about 3000 books. And each of them has both inspired and influenced me, they've mulched down in my brain and heart till Ive developed my own style, I hope. The stories I tell, of historical events, places and people wont be told unless I tell them, for what it's worth. I've only distributed 350 copies of each book so far, but put them in the National and State Libraries so that any historian may reserch them to get some inkling of my character, influences and times. Much of my content is about street life, ordinary people, nobodies, the fringe dwellers who few take note of or care about. The street is where I come from, the road is where I ever tread and belong.
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