december belongs to the cities

i shared the beginning of a scattered december between melbourne and sydney.

i met josh when me and m were sleeping on the cold floor of a fashion photographer’s apartment in melbourne. he’d casually stroll by us in his underwear in the mornings. it was a cliche, him being the muse of the photographer living there and naturally i thought he was an egotistical ass, as most male models are. i was kind of right, but he had a good heart there somewhere. i shot a campaign with him in sydney almost a year later, and he became a kind of brother to me.

i was in melbourne for an exhibition i was in and i was staying with josh and the gypsy boys in a terrace near the city. their house was littered with paintings, guitars, rubbish and empty beer bottles. it was a kind of haven for the ill of mind and those drunk on music and art.

those summer days were long and hot. we brought a fan into the room and i'd sit in front of it, singing along to whatever record was playing. some late afternoons we'd walk barefoot to a school across the street and i'd lay on the grass listening to music. the boys played soccer and skated while the sun set the deepest orange. like a sky on fire. i lived on a diet of corner store muffins and iceblocks.

while we were there one of the boys brother's and his lover stayed with us after their house burnt down. the brothers looked alike. long red hair curling like smoke. they spoke the same too, and when i closed my eyes i couldn’t know which was speaking. sometimes the atmosphere was hectic, wild, drug-fucked, and sometimes when i woke before any of the boys it was quiet and safe. like calm water.

in a way they were all my big brothers, i was picked on but always looked out for. and even though i was falling asleep amongst ankle-deep mess on a strange smelling mattress on the floor every night, i was content.

soon i was in an apartment above a brothel in newtown, sydney (or to those unaware: a massage parlour). this is my friend claire's place (a journalist who i met during an interview for cream magazine), shared among 3 or 4 other pretty girls. it was like living in another world compared to the gypsy house. everything was clean, nice smelling and sweet.

i went to the movies, had long train trips, met with agencies and took pictures around the city. i went touring with my friends from papa vs pretty. it was all filmlike. all of us cramped into a tiny car filled with instruments, driving across two states. packed venues, the mayhem of music. later on i met with david lachappelle to talk on the radio. i was full of hope and naive about my dreams during that time.

it was a kind of haze that lasted only a short while. many things happened i chose to not remember. all drowned in that deep haze in my thoughts. sometimes as a writer you want to keep moments alive eternally, whether good or bad because they are created some part of your persona. but some moments are better forgotten.