Dreams Interpreted And Interrupted.
Without Prejudice
" What did you want to be when you were 5 ? "
The soothing voice of Harry our life coach at Camp Heaven, questioned us somnolent 16 supplicants as we lay down on our comfortable beanbags covered as we were in our cashmere blend blankets.
He had told us his life story, this fit, calm, almost aesthetic man. And it had been chaotic, his life for the most part up to fifty. A former Sydney businessman with a huge coke habit who ended up literally in a gutter on a street right opposite a Salvation Army Church. I'm guessing one of the more nasty suburbs of Sydney with a highway running straight through like an arrow to hell.
Stinking of hot grease and exhaust fumes and the stench of poverty and desperation. He on one side of the highway and the Church on the other. He crossed over to the other side, dodging traffic of unseeing humans that sat contained, inside their safe bubbles, their anger, their frustrations, accompanied by blaring music that thumped and pulsed and if they were lucky the chilly blast, and white noise of a working air conditioner.
They didn't see Harry, he was invisible to them.
Harry ran to save his life. Ran towards the sign that said All Welcome. Ran for redemption and salvation and hope. He had done all the so called " normal things ", in life.
The marriage that had ended in bitterness and acrimony, ( is there any other kind ? ), kids that had grown up and fled. The golf club membership that had cost him thousands to join and the florid nosed mates that went with it. The cold beers slid down there really well as did the White powder up his nose in the toilets.
He had the looks at fifty, the bullshit mouth and imagined money that attracted several young females who hung on to his every word as if he were a guru, the next Steve Jobs, but in truth just a salesman for a famous cereal company that gained him a few furtive fumblings that were better than the " hot tongue and cold bum " of the Wife.
So he ran and on that hot Sydney night, sweating and dressed in op shop clothes he found redemption, a new wife, a new life and to gain it all he had to be was sober.
Just sober.
I liked him, I liked his story but as I lay there on my semi bed of vinyl I had to be cynical. I am sure the other fifteen " guests " at Camp Heaven enjoyed their 400 dollar massages, and expensive " one on one " sessions with Harry. And I heard wonderful things about both. For $400 I had thought they would have to be! But I opted out of both " one on ones " and massages, even though a wealthy businessman wanted to treat me to one. I refused. I was being treated to five days of Camp Heaven by another wealthy businessman.
I had to be dragged there kicking and screaming as my life is so realistic it's painful and the thought of being with fifteen pretentious fucked up rich people ( my thought ) was enough to drive me into a frenzy. And I had to open my big fat trap and tell everyone I was being treated to the stay and a lot of them had taken out loans, cashed in Super to be there. So by the time the five days were over I was heartily disliked and no one asked for my email address.
They all exchanged email addresses. Tells me something.
But I return to the Balinese room at Camp Heaven and the soothing voice of Harry.
" What did you want to be when you were 5 ? " he repeated,
" What about when you were ten ? " he continued.
" What were your dreams and aspirarations at 15 ?
" 21 ? "
I attempted to write the questions down in my complimentary notebook but was too comfortable to move. I hoped I would remember them later. But Harry noticed as he prowled the room like a panther about to strike. And told me to take notes as he was going to ask us to do something challenging later. I was almost asleep. Closed rooms do that to me. I can also get the giggles.
When I worked at Bosch, computer classes were held in windowless rooms at the old Nissan plant. The man sitting next to me said something funny without meaning to and that was it, I was gone. He
and I couldn't look at each without just about falling on the floor in hysterics and the Tutor threatened
to seperate us like recalcitrant children.
Thoroughly chastened we shut up,
But would explode again as soon as we were allowed out of the room to grab a coffe or suck quickly on a cigarette.
Part Two : Coming up .......
" What did you want to be when you were 5 ? "
The soothing voice of Harry our life coach at Camp Heaven, questioned us somnolent 16 supplicants as we lay down on our comfortable beanbags covered as we were in our cashmere blend blankets.
He had told us his life story, this fit, calm, almost aesthetic man. And it had been chaotic, his life for the most part up to fifty. A former Sydney businessman with a huge coke habit who ended up literally in a gutter on a street right opposite a Salvation Army Church. I'm guessing one of the more nasty suburbs of Sydney with a highway running straight through like an arrow to hell.
Stinking of hot grease and exhaust fumes and the stench of poverty and desperation. He on one side of the highway and the Church on the other. He crossed over to the other side, dodging traffic of unseeing humans that sat contained, inside their safe bubbles, their anger, their frustrations, accompanied by blaring music that thumped and pulsed and if they were lucky the chilly blast, and white noise of a working air conditioner.
They didn't see Harry, he was invisible to them.
Harry ran to save his life. Ran towards the sign that said All Welcome. Ran for redemption and salvation and hope. He had done all the so called " normal things ", in life.
The marriage that had ended in bitterness and acrimony, ( is there any other kind ? ), kids that had grown up and fled. The golf club membership that had cost him thousands to join and the florid nosed mates that went with it. The cold beers slid down there really well as did the White powder up his nose in the toilets.
He had the looks at fifty, the bullshit mouth and imagined money that attracted several young females who hung on to his every word as if he were a guru, the next Steve Jobs, but in truth just a salesman for a famous cereal company that gained him a few furtive fumblings that were better than the " hot tongue and cold bum " of the Wife.
So he ran and on that hot Sydney night, sweating and dressed in op shop clothes he found redemption, a new wife, a new life and to gain it all he had to be was sober.
Just sober.
I liked him, I liked his story but as I lay there on my semi bed of vinyl I had to be cynical. I am sure the other fifteen " guests " at Camp Heaven enjoyed their 400 dollar massages, and expensive " one on one " sessions with Harry. And I heard wonderful things about both. For $400 I had thought they would have to be! But I opted out of both " one on ones " and massages, even though a wealthy businessman wanted to treat me to one. I refused. I was being treated to five days of Camp Heaven by another wealthy businessman.
I had to be dragged there kicking and screaming as my life is so realistic it's painful and the thought of being with fifteen pretentious fucked up rich people ( my thought ) was enough to drive me into a frenzy. And I had to open my big fat trap and tell everyone I was being treated to the stay and a lot of them had taken out loans, cashed in Super to be there. So by the time the five days were over I was heartily disliked and no one asked for my email address.
They all exchanged email addresses. Tells me something.
But I return to the Balinese room at Camp Heaven and the soothing voice of Harry.
" What did you want to be when you were 5 ? " he repeated,
" What about when you were ten ? " he continued.
" What were your dreams and aspirarations at 15 ?
" 21 ? "
I attempted to write the questions down in my complimentary notebook but was too comfortable to move. I hoped I would remember them later. But Harry noticed as he prowled the room like a panther about to strike. And told me to take notes as he was going to ask us to do something challenging later. I was almost asleep. Closed rooms do that to me. I can also get the giggles.
When I worked at Bosch, computer classes were held in windowless rooms at the old Nissan plant. The man sitting next to me said something funny without meaning to and that was it, I was gone. He
and I couldn't look at each without just about falling on the floor in hysterics and the Tutor threatened
to seperate us like recalcitrant children.
Thoroughly chastened we shut up,
But would explode again as soon as we were allowed out of the room to grab a coffe or suck quickly on a cigarette.
Part Two : Coming up .......
