last days of Sydney - stability or indignity

my sublet in sydney is coming to an end. in a few weeks i had to make a decision. do i go through the ridiculous process of trying to find an apartment in Sydney. an apartment that would be 2-3 times what i'm paying right now? and get a whole lot less? and who would rent it to someone like me who is officially unemployed and has zero income?

"we've tried it your way," the elk said, "now we let's try it my way." he wanted me to come overseas. "i have a friend in Berlin who rents his apartment out for most of the year."

only 18months ago i had packed up all my useless shiny pretty things and moved to another city for some guy. that turned to shit within weeks. so now come the opportunity to do it again. 

again? to another city? to another country?

what if it all goes to shit and i'm stranded not just far from home but another fucking hemisphere? i don't have parents i can fall back on. the family i have is buckling under it's own problems. i'm sure friends have branded me an idiot who take ridiculous risks that only sometimes pay off

more importantly, what of the Elk? travelling can be pretty damn stressful. it has not even been 6 months and we want to test each other like this? is the holiday worth it? i got bored with travelling solo years ago. travelling with another can make for some of the best holidays. but is seeing all the amazing shit of europe worth running our relationship into the ground?

should i go?

of course i'm fucking going to! the perk of being a manwhore is working from home. my office is right between my legs. i can pack it up and ship it out within minutes. take time off whenever i want. open my office anywhere i want. like a taco truck of sex, but hairier. 

why be stable and try to make something of myself in Sydney when i can fail miserably at making something of myself in a new city? i want to go back to the earlier days of being an international playboy, except now i i get to be a daddy! being a daddy is so much easier because i don't have bother douching. as much as i long to suffer the indignity of one leg hairy thigh cocked up and resting on the decrepit wash basin, plaster crumbling as the sink pulls away from the wall under my weight, hanging by a thread of asbestos as i balance above it bent over and feeding a squeezy douche of scummy european water up my arse. preparing for whatever scene i've struggled to negotiate with a client in broken pigeon english in the godforsaken bedbug-ridden shitty budget hotel i'm foolishly trying to save money in

undignified? yes. sure it may be no more sterile, but it definitely is classier than the whorebath in a bus station mens room. between one job and the next scrubbing the skank from your pits why overhearing a married man in a toilet cubicle try to ever-so-quietly suck some anonymous cock under the irritating flicker of the fluorescent tubes. why? because this whore bath will be in Paris, London, Milan….

...Berlin?
rot. gold. schwarz. i wish this could be your colour, Germany but indignity is nothing new for her. she will feel like home

times have changed. i'm not some aimless fuck-the-world punk with no respect for himself or the system, i'm a daddy now. and that means all i gotta do is rinse my cock now and then (except in england with their love of rank foreskins and cockcheese, i won't even have to bother with that)

So why not stumble over the same financial hurdles in Berlin? why not have clients shit all over my carpet in Barcelona? why not get fucked up on a clients drugs and stagger about completely lost in Stockholm?

i can make a complete fuck up of myself in new surroundings. as for the Elk and I, why not? moving to the Berlin, the party city of homo-sex and drugs is quite a baptism for any relationship to survive, but i couldn't imagine someone i'd rather take such a huge gamble with. 

if things don't work out, then we will jump off that bridge when we come to it