Coda Josh Grant

This is it. There is nothing else after this. There is only this. This is our one shot, don't mess it up. You don't get another. No virgins. No heaven. No next life forever more. No, none of that. I stood upright, with my arm extended in the air like a super hero As it's over, everything is over, never to come again. Only what is coming, will come. The only thing you have control over is your positioning at this very moment. So, I stood like a super hero being in the moment. You can choose what you get. To an extent. And the best way is to be happy. Content. In a random world. Choose life. Choose happiness and everything else will take care of itself. I stood up right, tall and proud, being in the moment. “Whatcha doin’?” came Beth’s voice from somewhere behind me. “I’m being Captain Right Now, can’t you tell?” “Captain what?” “Right now. Captain Right now,” I said again. “Oh well, good job,” said Beth. “Point your fingers towards the sky.” “Will that help?” “It won’t hurt,...

People talk, don't they. “Yap, yap, yap.” I must be getting intolerant? I went to the post office and had to stand in line for quite some time, as there was quite a queue, stupid me for going in during lunch time. And these two in front of me never stopped talking, not for a second. There wasn't even a pause. They didn't even seem to draw breath. They just kept on yakking until I wanted to say, “oh, shut up!” I guess that is what, intolerant, is there another word for it? People are annoying. Like death and Taxes. And whiney people. No, the irony isn't lost on me. Inconsiderate people are right up there. The closed minded. People who fall for conspiracy theories. People who swear the obviously untrue is true. And the talkers. Oh, the talkers. I left the post office. I crossed back over the street. I thought about going to a Vipassana retreat just to detox the world. That kind of made me smile. Me? But then you have the problem of organised religion. And detox is bullshi...

I was at the top of Bourke Street, nearly at Spring, heading to the Windsor to meet Nick for dinner. Nick loves all that grand dining what have you. I’m never so convinced. So, Nick is always taking me some place for dinner to convince me that grand dining is, in fact, the way to go. I couldn’t help but think of that HR manager I once worked with who said the Windsor was full of asbestos, and half closed up because of it. I have no idea if that is true, but that is what she claimed. I was attempting to make my way through the people and the outdoor tables on the foot path just before I turned into Spring Street. The people and the tables were many, the spaces in between were limited. It felt not unlike a slalom course. A handsome Indian guy standing there, smiled, tilted his head, stepped sideways, and swept his hand in front of himself for me to walk through before him. He looked me in the eye and smiled, as I hesitated.  “Come on,” he said. His beautiful eyes twinkled, his lips p...

We were in the beer garden, it was really late. Collingwood. I was there with Tim. Nick was there. Murray and Bruno were there. Mike was there. Evan was there, so was Carl. Josh and Trent. Carl is the shy one. Evan, I think, still claims to be straight, despite the number of male lovers he is racking up. We were all seated except for Bruno, who is as cute as a button and loves the attention. He was standing in front of us all, wearing a pair of chaps and a pair of jocks and a vest over a bear, chest. We were all off our faces. Oh occasionally I indulge. I never said I'd stopped altogether. I'm sure I didn't. Murray turned to me and said quietly, "Watch this." "Okay," I said. My eye lids were heavy. The next thing, Murray grabbed hold of the side of Bruno's jocks under his chaps and pulled the front sideways. Bruno's cock and balls fell out. Bruno has a great cock, fat and uncut. But, at this stage, it flopped out all small, but st...

I only ever see god when I am looking down another man's foreskin, that ring at the very end, that tightens and loosens on demand, is the gate way to heaven.

My mate Nigel has great legs, well, being a runner, gives him great legs. All that training he does has really paid off, in the aesthetics department.

I learned long ago that all men are, pretty much, bisexual, especially the younger generations who haven’t been so fucked up with religion, or outdated social norms. I know those with god are always trying to reduce Kinsey’s percentage down from 10% to, something like, 1%, but, actually, in reality I thing that the percentage would head the other way substantially, if the truth was known. I’ve always found straight boys very accommodating, especially when drunk. Alcohol seems to be the bisexuality key for strapping males. That old saying is not far from the truth. What is the difference between a straight boy and a gay boy? 6 beers. I think the old farts who wrote the bible probably knew men were no different to animals when it came to sex, they evolved that way, they were made that way for the survival of the species, and the inclusion of such non-male fucking clauses were political, more so than spiritual. Remember, when the bible was written there were no antibiotics, penicilli...