Like most fucking pussy ass faggy writer chaps, I actually enjoy the works of Shakespeare. On a whim in the YA section I pulled out a book called Joker by Ranulfo. His author's bio on the back flap contains "blah blah blah" quite a bit, and the Modern Hamlet structure also pulled me in. This morning I was in a mood to rival athe Black Prince, so I pulled it out and read it all in one sitting. (It's just under 200pgs.) The lead character, Matthew, is quite mad after his best friend is killed in an arsonist attack and his dad's best friend seduces his mom. The madness takes the form of - in my opinion - an alternate personality called the Joker. The Joker turns this model Australian boy into an unemployed angry layabout who wants to destroy the world if he can't destroy himself. Or something like that.
I remember a newspaper story about a Czech who always wanted to visit Sydney, scraped and stinted to pursue his dream down under. Years of hard work and sacrifice finally brought him to his goal. A dream comes true. A week after arriving as he strolled down a street in Woolloomooloo, admiring the blue gem of Sydney Harbor, a stranger with an axe pounced on him and opened his head like a grotesque flower.
I must go to Sydney. Maybe a man with an axe is waiting for me.