Coda Josh Grant

On any given day half the population of the world hates the other half. Cooler climates somehow seem more civilised, where warmer climates don't.  Do you think the sun cooks our brains? Don’t you think it’s weird?  Hate seems to come easier than not hating. But surely not hating is easier? People are weird. But then, life is weird. How does a palm full of snot make the – I don't know what ovaries look like – egg grow into me and you? Some people don’t think equality should apply to everyone? Do they ever think about the people who don’t think equality should apply to them? How does a 300 ton metal cylinder hurtle down a runway and then lift off the ground? How did someone first discover that if you separate the white of an egg from the yolk of an egg and then you whip the white madly, and then heat it, it turns to Meringue? And how did they discover it without a Mixmaster? How did everything come from nothing? I understood what Stephen Hawkins was saying when he described it, ...

“Red wine stains your teeth when you over indulge,” said Gordon.  “Late in the dinner party night, the punters can look possessed by the devil when their mouths turn black,” said Eve.  “Too pissed and your eyes turn black too,” I said. “That’s possession.” “But that is not all…” said Nick. “I don’t remember that happening in the past?” I said. “Red wine pooh, it makes the toilet paper look like gravely liquorice smeared across it,” said Owen. “Who looks?” said Nick. “I know I always do,” said Owen. “At my age you never know when your kidneys are going to pack it in.” “That’s disgusting,” says Nick. “My mother always told me to look for health reasons,” I said. “Floaters are good, apparently.” “Floaters? Questioned Nick. “Toothpaste consistency is what you want,” I said. “Amanda always spruiked, from when Daniel and I were little boys.” But, the red wine pooh can be quite a shock, when you have a quick glance, black on the toilet tissue,” said Owen. “Because, black always means...

I love living in the inner suburbs of Melbourne. When I go to work, it is an easy walk into the CBD. It is almost meditative. Such a great way to start the day. Some days, during my time off, I take my camera and leave the house. Chubby doesn’t always understand when I leave him at home. He runs to the front door and never takes his eyes off me as I close the door. Now that is disappointment. I love it being a tram city, no matter where I walk to, I can always catch a tram home, if need be, if I walk my feet off my ankles. I love that it is a black city. I fit right in with my dressing style. And it never goes out of fashion. I love it that it is the home of coffee. I can always stop at a coffee bar and get a pick me up. I love the parks and gardens to stop in after walking, or to walk through, you know, to keep going. I love the beauty of the architecture, the best example of a Victorian city outside of London, of course, that was before they let the property developers demolish half ...

I hate the term "junk." Where did that come from? Our uptight, prudish, conservative middle class values, I guess. “Oo, noy, don’t talk arbout thart, or thart, [big eyes of horror] and definitely nort thart. Euw, noy, don’t talk arbout anything weet, or sexsee, noy.” We will non-offensive our way into oblivion, at this rate. Steve hasn't got "junk" when I slide my hand down his pants, not at all. It's far from it. It is this lovely, solid, hot, sweaty, thick, solid thing that fills my palm with amazing feelings. I love the effect I have on it. Tommy hasn't got "junk" he has something that is magnificent, that should have monuments built to it. It's not junk, it is the essence of life. It is because some uptight, cat’s bum bitch (I use the term bitch in a unisex way, non discriminatory sense) couldn’t say penis, is it?