the story and the lie

Everything I'm telling you it's true, to the best of my memory — which of course isn't worth shit. If you ask me, I'll tell you: I'm from Detroit. That's a lie, of course. I grew up in the suburbs. I went to university in the city, worked there, that's the truth. 

My father wasn't in the UAW, but without the United Auto Workers, I might never have taught, never traveled the world, never broken so many bones. Or maybe that's another lie. My mother took me to Chicago when I was 13. It was the first time I'd ever seen a living city. Mum worked in Detroit until she retired, and thanks to her, I never learned to be afraid of the city. Even as a kid, though, I knew its heart was dead or dying. 

Chicago was emphatically alive. Years later I would return and explore, ride the "L" train, get a bus transfer. Public transport is unknown in my hometown. Trains carried cars, coal, not people. These days, the trains don't run. I drove downtown to university, where I explored eviscerated mansions between classes. I tutored English for gas money. Students came to my desk not only illiterate, but barely articulate. As disadvantaged graduates of Detroit's dysfunctional schools, they'd been admitted in a misguided attempt at outreach — set up to fail by a system they weren't equipped to even understand. The clapped out bombs I drove to school burned through the cash, but the seed first planted in the old UAW hall began to grow. 

I tell people that I live in Australia, and they say, “Oh, I wish I could go there!” as if I'm talking about fucking Mars. I want to punch them. After graduating uni, I drove to New York, parked my car at a brothel in Queens, and walked from The Village to 125th and Amsterdam. I knew I would be leaving Detroit. What does an arts major working in advertising do to escape his hometown? The Peace Corps offered a choice of two postings: Turkmenistan or the Republic of the Marshall Islands. If you want to find the Marshall Islands, grab a globe, and put your finger on Hawaii. Spin the globe until you find the Philippines, then back up. The Marshalls are halfway in-between. Bikini Atoll, famous for inspiring the two-piece swimsuit, is where the Americans tested some of their largest nuclear weapons. 

The '94 RMI Peace Corps recruits mustered in San Francisco. I would happily have stayed by the Bay, if Frisco needed ESL teachers, but within 72 hours, the lot of us deplaned onto a WWII-era airstrip. Sometimes, what seems like a good idea really is not. Education is a human right, and giving people skills to better their circumstances is an ideal expression of this principal. Teaching English to people who will never have occasion to use it is folly. After a summer on the equator, I felt like I was fooling myself. I declined my commission and returned to Detroit, to my old job, to winter. 

A letter arrived from my pen pal, an Australian living in Paris. I'd been thinking of throwing everything in and travelling to Europe, to visit her. I opened the letter and read that she was returning to Sydney. So I bought a plane ticket, and six months later, moved into a Sydney terrace house. A year later I moved out, and not long after, it was time to fly again. 

I circled the world, sending out a mass-emailed journal. (Which I've only just realised would've been analogous to a blog. And I thought I hated blogging.) Getting online wasn't easy or sometimes even possible, but, would you believe, the phone booths in Japan all had modem jacks. How quaint. I crammed into a Nippon phone box, uploaded my messages, and wandered the temples of Kyoto. I took a train through the surrounding mountains, and got off at the loneliest platform I saw, perched 30 metres over a river. Climbing past the fence down to the water, where the river from overhead cascaded into a misty pool, I looked up and ignored the rubbish floating in the icy water. 

Inevitably, I arrived in Paris — and returned three times? Four? I dunno. I stayed with friends in the fifth arrondissement, walked the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Visited the Salvador Dalí museum and the Rodin sculpture garden. Never climbed the Eiffel Tower. I left unfinished business, but I doubt I shall return. The Olympics came to Sydney, and I ducked the festivities to go catting around Detroit for half a year. Met a crazy girl who thought she was an artist. I let her think I liked her while I slept on the sofa in her studio at the Scarab Club. 

I finally came to my senses and flew home to Australia. Passed a year of strife in Sydney's inner west. I found a job downtown teaching my trade to pretty girls. Naturally, I moved to Darlinghurst to be closer to work. I lived in a one-room unit indistinguishable from any shithole hotel room anywhere in the world, and showered at the local aquatic centre. Work was drying up, so I embarked on my last solo trip around the world, and found myself on a beach south of Colombo, being stalked by a pack of feral dogs and hungry children. I caught a plane home for a rest. Almost against my will, I started settling down: bought some furniture and hung some pictures. I was 32, and I thought I was set. 

I bought a wheelchair yesterday. At least I don't live in a war zone; or LA. Everything I've told you is true, but even in the telling, my story is a lie. I lie by omission, by preference and by leading you to infer things which are untrue. Listen to the mix instead. 

TRACK 01 "Daddy Built Cadillacs," Joe Smith INDEX: 00:00:00
TRACK 02 "Chicago," Sufjan Stevens INDEX: 03:10:47
TRACK 03 "Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)," Marvin Gaye INDEX: 09:14:71
TRACK 04 "King of New York," Fun Lovin' Criminals INDEX: 14:41:01
TRACK 05 "Leaving the City," G. Love & Special Sauce INDEX: 18:03:24
TRACK 06 "Frisco Blues," John Lee Hooker INDEX: 21:44:05
TRACK 07 "Ocean of You," The Blackeyed Susans INDEX: 25:30:70
TRACK 08 "The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore," PJ Harvey INDEX: 28:59:28
TRACK 09 "Alone in Kyoto," Air INDEX: 32:50:66
TRACK 10 "Parisian Thoroughfare," Donald Byrd INDEX: 37:14:56
TRACK 11 "Summer in the City," Lovin' Spoonful INDEX: 45:45:46
TRACK 12 "Battle of Stanmore," Died Pretty INDEX: 48:21:28
TRACK 13 "Darlinghurst Nights," The Go-Betweens INDEX: 50:42:01
TRACK 14 "Elijah Saw the Dogs," June INDEX: 56:29:00
TRACK 15 "Why You'd Want to Live Here," Death Cab For Cutie INDEX: 59:34:65
TRACK 16 "Miss Sarajevo," Passengers INDEX: 64:18:61