The Rant.

Making my way through my apartment in to the communal corridors that insulate myself from the collective, I walk outside to bask in my own feeling of isolation to enjoy my final cigarette from the eternal pack of emptiness. As I draw back on the paper-lined cylinder of cancerous gases, I look up at the sky to see one of the last visible stars that is not cloaked by the smog that engulfs our lives.

As I take the final draw on the already extinguished cigarette I sit there watching the incandescent glow of an ember that is one puff away from oblivion, like the star that’s light has already diminished after its million-year journey to reach my eye. Reaching down to put out the remains of the cigarette, I look up to see a stilted figure taking clothes off the line, with every peg that falls into a an old tin can sending shivers through my spine.

Looking closer, a woman with short black hair that seems to blend into the night moves graceful from side to side, plucking the pegs off the line like apples in an orchard and placing them gently into the old can. Perching myself on the rail of the stairwell, I angle myself closer to see which number she chooses to inhabit. Edging myself closer, I see her disappear around the corner and out of sight.

Regaining my balance, I move back inside from the harsh realities of my environment. It's strange to think at one stage of our evolution we were at one with nature: living in it, sleeping in it and breathing it. All I seem to breathe these days is the polluted haze that falls over the city like a thick blanket from the industrial estate just out of town.

Although we live in this polluted state, we direct our attention away from the gas guzzling cars, the torrents of smog we inject into the atmosphere from the numerous industries that sustain our modern conditions, thus turning our eyes on to the individual- like we are the ones responsible for all the cancers, tumours and respiratory diseases that plague humanity. We smoke too much, drink, use mobile phones, microwave our food, sit too close to our televisions, eat processed food... and on it goes, placing the responsibility firmly in our own hands.

So if one day I do happen to get cancer, I won’t be able blame it on the multinational corporation, the gene-tech organization or the petrol syndicates; the responsibility will be with me because I smoked too much, enjoyed a drink and wanted to keep in touch with my friends and family. The irony is that the only thing that gets the filthy taste of the petrol-guzzling cars and the polluting factories out of my mouth is a crisp clean smoke of a cigarette, which furthers my predicament.

Sitting down feeling jaded by the injustice of it, I reach over to pour myself a stagnate crimson glass from a bottle of pinot that is sitting on my desk as the words fall out of my mouth: 'we're all fucked'.

Another Friday Night...

Sitting alone on another Friday evening, I feel the compulsion to enter into the night like the masses of people that pass my window every weekend. The inner drive to participate in these weekend rituals is a strong instinct, shared by our collective conciousness and compelling us to walk the street for that perfect experience or person, with most of us returning home feeling jaded by the whole experience. But as sure as the world keeps turning, they return home after another day in the grinder to apply their lipstick and foundation and return to the street searching for that unmistakable connection to a fellow human being.

I fight the instinctive drive and find solace in a bottle of Chevis Regal and the husky voice of Tom Waits playing on my laptop, which used to belong to an ex-lover that had long been forgotten. The recorded sound of the worn needle scratching against the contours of the vinyl surface seem in harmony with the stilted lyrics from the abused voice of a discontented bar fly on his last round of drinks. I pull my last cigarette out of the crumpled packet sitting on the side table next to a crystal glass where two ice cubes slowly dissolve, turning bold amber liquid into a translucent shadow of its former self. Taking a lighter out of my jacket pocket, I spark the end of the cigarette and watch the tobacco slowly ignite, creating a luminescent crimson glow. I draw back slowly, feeling all the nerves in my body pulse as the intoxicating smoke penetrates deep inside my fragile lungs.

As I take the last draw on the already expired cigarette an uneasy feeling falls over me, for I will need to replenish the empty packet on the side table before addictive properties of this cancerous cocktail overwhelm this discontented psyche. Regaining my balance, I take my wallet from an empty fish bowl that houses an assortment of objects found on my daily travels, pushing through the hard wood door which shelters me from the outside world, walking through the corridor and out into the night.

As I walk through the streets, passing small clusters of people trying to extricate themselves from there own lives, I keep my eyes to the ground to hide my drunken state and avoid any accidental interaction that could take place. Walking around the bend at the end of the street I enter the flickering lights of the 24hour convenience store. I stumble through the door trying to cover the four scotches previously digested; but upon reaching the counter I look into the clerks eyes and see my subterfuge has not gone as well as expected. I manage to mutter out a few legible words that the clerk easy translates out of years of experience into 2 packets Malboro lights. I retrieve my purchases and make a hasty retreat back to my small room.

The Ideal Man.

As I live in this city of complicated social interactions, many questions come to mind, especially about dealing with the opposite sex. It seems that there is whole agenda when it comes to finding the appropriate lover or potential partner. A secret list exists between the collective of Sydney’s female elite, which most men do not measure up to. You have to be intelligent, passionate, athletic, career-focused: and beyond all that you have to be wealthy.

So were does this leave the rest of us?

Well, some of us choose to live in isolation, amusing ourselves with the simple pleasures- video games, movies, music and a good group of friends of the masculine persuasion, with whom we find solace in sharing our burden about this untouchable species that we know as “Woman”. While this group has resigned itself to the fact that there may not be a perfect woman and are content in the bubble that they reside in, the other half keeps on getting back up with ever-broken hearts and another notch on the bedpost.

It’s hard to know what is the right combination of attributes needed to be the perfect man. Usually the first couple of weeks of courtship are the best, as they have only seen a glimpse into the person that you really are. But as the weeks roll on, the chapters unfold and suddenly they have seen too much. The way you gurgle your mouthwash, fold the corner of a page to mark your place or even the slightest mannerism can be the catalyst for the inevitable break up.

But as one book closes, another reopens with the prospect of a more fulfilling interaction. Maybe this is why we reminisce about our carefree youth. The relationships that we developed during university seemed more fulfilling, with the only agenda being to have fun, socialise and have endless hours of mindless sex, with no consideration for the person you are going to be. But as you hit the wall of the final year, people start changing, pairing off in different directions and suddenly you start planning for the future as you stop living your life one day at a time.

The dynamic of the workplace is another nail in the coffin, as most of us fresh from the academic hub bring the principles we have lived by into the real world. Its one thing sleeping with a fellow student, but getting involved with a work colleague can be the end of a career before it’s even begun. However as lessons are to learnt, we slowly navigate our way through the labyrinth of social etiquette with every encounter, interactions and relationship building for the foundation of the person you eventually become.

At the end of the day we hope that all the stale relationships, awkward interaction and embarrassing encounters contribute to this so-called perfect man...