Thursday, September 29, 2011

Brief extract from my upcoming'Hooker Handbook' novel.....

.......The month of July came and went without much fanfare. Raelene had left to go and have a baby, which I was delighted about, and a new driver came and went in the space of a week. He was a big unfriendly-looking man who used to sit in reception and stare at the girls as they flirted on the phone. I never saw him in action but I was impressed with Pip, the gorgeous manager, who did the sacking, apparently. I received most of the saga from Penn and Trish, who said he was one creepy mother fucker. They wanted Little John to come back, who the creep was intended to replace. Indeed, had monthly awards been given out to anyone in the agency for general stupidity, be they hookers, drivers or receptionists, Little John would have won the July Award in a unanimous points decision.

First strike : Refusing to come out of the casino and therefore desist at playing black jack, even after his girl came out of the booking. Gabriela, his now regular partner, it seemed, had to walk into the casino to fetch him. She found him sitting in front of $300 worth of chips and a bourbon and coke. Eventually she convinced him to drive her to their next booking, which he wasn’t happy about. Trace tore strips off him. I didn’t witness that tirade, which I was disappointed about, but I did refuse to walk into the casino and look for him, which Trace asked me to do, only because Gemma was at a booking around the corner. (She wasn’t happy with me either, for a few hours.)

Second strike: Why any driver might leave their wallet in the car was beyond me. Most girls were completely trust worthy, but not all of them, and not always because of their thieving natures. Courtney, the goofy smack fiend who I hadn’t seen for months, drove with Little John on a busy Friday night, mid-month, and either because of how out-of-it she was, which is what I suspected was the problem, or just because she needed the money, it was eventually discovered that she’d pocketed Little John’s wallet that he’d left in the console of his car while she was downstairs ‘sleeping’. I had no idea how it all played out, but to my disappointment Courtney was actually sacked, although not for the first time, apparently.

Third strike and The Icing on The Cake: Gabriela stormed into reception at about 1am with a remarkable tale that Penn later explained in full detail. What happened was this: Gabriela was inside ‘Tom’s’ place in Nedlands, and everything was going well. She and Tom had downed a couple of shots of Tequila on her arrival, they’d had a quick shower, and then they’d adjourned to his bedroom to get it on. Tom liked anal sex apparently, and he liked giving it in the standard fashion, ie- doggie style. And all that was grand. So, Gabriela was having a nice time and so was Tom. At one point, not far from Tom’s great moment of orgasmic arrival, Gabriela looked over her shoulder to render psychological support to her suitor, when she shrieked in horror. Peering in the window with his beady little eyes was her driver, Little John, himself, sprung like a doomsday chook in the hands of a hungry farmer who was wielding the axe. Gabriela started screaming out that she was going to kill the mother fucker, at the same time as a rather confused Tom began to orgasm. Amid Gabriela’s instant fury, which was exaserbated in the short term via Tom’s refusal to let go of her hips, given his current ejacuation, Little John disappeared from the window in a flash and, from all accounts, bolted for his vehicle. Bless his cotton socks, he knew he was fucked, and Brian was the one who picked up Gabriela from the house.
And so it came to pass that Little John was sacked, and peace returned to Galaxy Esorts until the first week of August.....


the book is currently in the hands of the editorial team and will be out soon.


Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Greetings sportsfans,

It's official! The Android version of the Name Guru app is out!!!!!

I'm not sure, but I think the first person to purchase it on Planet Earth, as far as I know, was the girl pictured below - Gemma, from Brisbane.

Evidently her 'name theory' was spot on the money.....

Gemma: Usually physically gorgeous, Gemma is deceptively ambitious and will use her sexy smile to help her anyway she sees fit. Life is a game for her and she therefore devotes as much time as possible to having as much fun as possible. She is a loud drunk.

Something else that was wierd in the last two days of the Eumundi markets, where 'Why shouldn't I call my son Clint?' is loving the holidays, were two Robyns. Both with a 'y' and not the 'i'. What does this all mean? Buggered if I know. But my description of 'Robin' ( puts her on a farm in Poland, where she grows potatoes when the soil isn't frozen.

What a load of shit? Look at these two eccentric goddesses who arrived three days apart....

Robyn and Robyn.....

I haven't met a Robyn for yonks, yet look at these two.....both with flaming red hair and fire in their hearts. Coincidence? Bullshit!

Ryan and Karen pictured below who (the affable tradie' that parties so hard on the weekend he sometimes does himself damage) and Karen (in a world of death, famine, war, drought, disease, suicide, mortgage payments and stubbed toes, Karen is a welcome relief because she is Ultra-Double Normal.) arrived at the stall for "Why shouldn't I call my son Clint?"

Yes, Ryan is a tradie', but better than that, each of them has a brother called Clint.

Last but not least, I wanted to mention the girl standing next to me, below. Her name is Harlene Hercules. No, Harlene doesnt yet exist in the Name Guru app, but she will, by god. No idea what the universe will tell me about her, although I have a sneaking suspicion it will be something to do with being as mad as a cut snake yet completely lovely. most of us, no doubt.

Good luck with life and the app!!!

love hock

Monday, September 26, 2011

What do I want......


I wrote the following essay in the middle of 2001, while attempting to learn Italian in the city of Livorno, Italy. It was about June, 2001, written over the course of a day wandering around the ancient township of Lucca. It needs a re-write, I'd say, but see how you go......

(Italy, July 2001 (begun at Pisa train station, en route to Lucca)
Good bloody question David…….not that I require 98% of these but in no particular order. here goes…

I want more money than the Pope but I don’t want it to change me. I want to be able to fly like superman and do vertical take-offs to awe-inspiring pieces of music from the likes of Pearl Jam, Rage, and that song, ‘The Captain’, by Something for Kate, for instance and- fuck it- matchbox 20 as well. I want to be able to talk to the animals but only the good ones, you know, the sharks, the birds of prey, the dogs, the whales and all the fish. I want to swim surrounded by an entourage of fish who for the time being listen to me and don’t eat each other. I want to remain hopelessly in love forever. I want a healthy self-belief and I want to be less self-conscience. Do I want to be different? I want a cock that doesn’t deflate after midnight and a lot of wine. I want to be smarter than I am and I want my arguments to make sense! I want to be able to put my feet up whenever and wherever I like and have it not deemed offensive. I want to sweat less and to be thermally cooler. I think I want less hair. I want to be able to play the cello. I want to wake up tomorrow and know Italian. I want to be less shy initially. I want to be able to shoot cum across the room if I feel like it. I want to understand electricity and motors. I want to have a natural rapport with the lower-middle class drinkers but then again do I?? I want an F-18, a Spitfire and a sense of direction. In fact, I want to know where North is, all the time, like one of those fuckwits in a Wilbur Smith novel.
And I want The Force to exist.
I want to be able to butterfly for more than 30m. I want to possess complete and unbridled generosity (I want to be less selfish). I want suffering to exist but for it not to be real. I want 50m viz most of the time - but not if this lessens my appreciation of it! I want my mountain bike to have perfectly functioning gears and brakes and I want never to be hit by a car. I want a big beautiful motorbike and I want never to be hit by a car. I want the Chinese government to get the fuck out of Tibet.
I hate them.

I want an endless supply of good gunja, coke and ecstasy and I want never to get caught. Actually, I want it to be legal for me and all my friends if they so choose. I want to be able to get drunk more easily. I want to love riding horses and I want them to like me ( the capacity to speak to them, not withstanding). I want not to feel lost on this train….no…that’s a lie. I do.
I want to understand how insects think and communicate and be able to grasp their perception. I want my hearing to be better. I want to be able to surf and to know and understand the ocean like the back of my hand and I want to feel great in any sea, on any vessel. I want to be a natural and funny public speaker and I want to be a stand-up comic, good enough to bring a roomful of people to stitches for a while. I want to get published and bring people to laughter and tears with my words, and to make the reader ponder their world, if only for a few moments. I want to have a gift for drawing and painting. I want to love all cheeses. I want to have an incredible house with a big woody kitchen that feels inviting like an old friend and be happy to live in it for a while. I want a thick lazy coffee table that I can be stood on and be used as a bed sometimes.
I want to know how to salsa and tango and I want to want to dance at every opportunity. I want to know how the Romans and the Egyptians and the Incas built all the stuff they did – ie. I want to sit there time-lapse wise and actually watch them do it. I want to know how humans can build bridges and plane wings and stuff that’s exactly gun-barrel straight, pardon the pun. I want to know how NASA can send a probe to Jupiter and get the angle of orbit-entry correct to within 0.02 of a degree, or whatever the hell it is. How do they do that? I want white and black and new and old Australians, of every colour, creed and background to somehow and someway co-exist with real happiness, and for the differences there-in to be truly appreciated.
I want to have read the classics, but then again, what a crock of shit. I want to remember all that I’ve forgotten and all that I never bothered to learn about plants and I want to know if they really do have any kind of awareness, and in what form it takes (like this grass I’m lying on now, for instance).
Once, as a single man, just once, I want a seductive sexy and older woman to gobble me up on the street or a café somewhere and whisk me away for a sexy few days. I want all cane toads, rabbits, foxes, mice, cats, that thorny-bush thing and any other introduced species detrimental to Australian flora and fauna to disappear instantly. I want to know exactly how many bricks built the fortress wall here in Lucca, Italy.
I’ve just thought of a skit…..

A roman guy walks into an ancient hardware store…
“Yeah, g’day, listen….. I’d like enough bricks to fill up Sydney Harbour and I’d like the last of them to be delivered by sometime late next century.”

I want to know if there really is life after death and I want to meet a ghost- a good one. I want a bookshop. I want to act in a movie. I want a kick-arse wine cellar and I want the patience to nurture the good ones and take the time to appreciate and detect the difference. I want a Fiat bambino 500. I want to go camping in Australia and I want a good tent and some real hiking boots.
I want never to develop prostate cancer and I want a pair of coloured jeans. I want to work for an advertising company and be encouraged to smoke a joint, during work, in the name of creativity. I want to live and meditate with the Buddhist monks for a time in an attempt to attain enlightenment, but not for years. Does this defeat the purpose?
I want to experience true happiness and contentment in my waking life, like one of those healers. I want to see that date palm in India that’s as large as 2 soccer fields. I want to come up from an incredible dive in the Pacific ocean, adjacent to Chile somewhere, with the mighty Andes towering over me. Can that be done? I want to dive in the Sea of Cortez and swim with a Hammerhead and have us salute each others’ uniqueness, and I therefore probably want a sensational underwater camera.
I want my mother and sister to always be happy. I want to be able to hit a one wood long and straight 70%, rather than 10%, of the time. I want to be more forgiving- of myself and of others. I want never to be in a plane crash. I want to go gliding. I want to hang-glide without injury and I want to parachute. I want to jump out of a plane at night over thinly scattered cloud under a daylight-bright full-moon…..that’d be fantastic. I want never to bungee jump. I want to fully understand gravitational mathematics to the point where, if I wanted to, I could calculate the probability of another planet existing, undiscovered, in our solar system. I want to know the how’s and why’s of Fermat’s theorem.
I want to understand computers better and I want to witness a space-shuttle launch a few hundred metres from the launch pad. I want to know if I produced a book of incredible cloud photos, could I sell the bloody thing? I want to learn how to become more patient. I want to function in the real world a little better, although having said that I want never to fill in a form- ever. I want to live without unreasonable fear for 12 months. I want to be in a fight one day, give abit, get abit, but prevail in the end under heroic circumstances and come out with my nose and teeth intact. I want to witness a spectacular blazing airline crash but for no-one to be killed (or is this perhaps why they’re so gut-wrenchingly incredible to hear about?). I want to be more confrontational. I want a better road sense. I want to be a fighter pilot and lead my F-18 Superhornet squadron into a wargames battle high over the north Australian desert against a mixed squadron comprising Russian mig 29’s, American F-15’s, F-16’s and British tornado’s and while hopelessly outnumbered, you guessed it, prevail in heroic circumstances.
I want to go back to that day in May of 1990 at Princess Park, Melbourne, and watch Bradley’s goal against the West Coast Eagles. I want whaling to cease immediately and forever. I want STD’s not to exist and condoms never to be needed. I want globalisation and the fervent economic rationalisation of the planet to cease and the populations of North and South America, Asia, Europe and Africa immediately reduced by 50%, but to include none of my friends, none of their friends and probably none of theirs. I want the European Euro to be abolished and all currencies returned to their original form. I want a photographic memory - actually I take that back, just a better one. I want to know how to build tables and houses and I want to both understand, and be skilled, at renovating. I want to travel back in time and watch Mt.St Helens erupt along with Santorini and Krakatoa and Mt.Vesuvius and I want to be on that ship that, in 1911, recorded the 33metre wave in the Pacific Ocean. I want group decisions to be easy and quick and for everyone to be happy. Do I want perfect vision? I want a car. In fact I want a great new car- apart from the bambino- that’s low and wide and purrs with an evil grin. I want to hang up washing only once a month and I want never to stand on bindi-eyes.
I want to lie on my death bed with no regrets and to feel wonderful and blessed with the life I have led and I want to be looking forward to the next bit, be it whatever or nothing. I want to snorkel with a pod of wild dolphins. I want more dinners with friends with good food and wine. I want the courage to do a solo dive out of a small boat a long way from shore on a glassed out day to go and hang at 30m, just watching and waiting to see what turns up. I want to know if letting a bottle of red ‘breathe’ really makes a difference. I want to know exactly why putting a teaspoon in an open bottle of champagne or beer lengthens the gas retention time. How the fuck does that work? I want a coffee machine and a heap of those little espresso cups. I want not to get so depressed at times (although I think I need it). I want to know if keeping in touch with ex-girlfriends is a good idea or not (I want to know if I’m thinking too much here).I want the ozone layer to return in all its glory and for skin cancer to disappear. I want never to be attacked by a shark or crocodile. I want to know why my grandparents took me to see Jaws when I was 8. I want to know what my other grandfather made of his time in the POW camp- I want him to be able to talk about it (did I already mention that I want not to be selfish?). I want a DVD collection that magically records my dreams every night such that I can play them back as a movie, anytime I like. I want to be a radio D.J and marvel the world with my humour, wisdom, incisiveness and view of life.
And that’s about it.

Oh yeah, I want to be an unbelievable exponent of the torpedo kick, and I mean unbelievable. I wanna be able to kick a torp‘ 90metres on a still afternoon with the sun setting behind a mountainous background. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?


have a nice day, and may each and every action contain some measure of future good....
love hock

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

a day at the markets......

Yes, goodmoring sports fans and welcome to this, another grand day at the Eumundi markets (20km west of Noosa, Queensland) where, once again, me and my tremendous market stall were confronted with another startling array of humans and their wears.

There were many highlights of the day, too many to mention in fact, but I cannot go past this one. His name was Scot. That's right: that's Scot with one 't', and naturally, therefore, one might anticipate that Scot would be cut from a different piece of wood to most people. I suppose each of us is.
He was walking away when I yelled out for him to come back. "Hey, Scot, what's that tattoo on your shoulder? Give us a look?"
He came back to the table, turned his shoulder to me and says, "Oh, I'm a Jedi."

"Hey? You're a fucken Jedi? Are you serious?"

"Yep. Check it out....."

R2D2=ACDC, if you dont mind.

I had to touch the tattoo to prove it wasnt a henna substitute.
"So, what's the writing underneath the 'Jedi'? Is that the special Jedi language?" I asked him.

He looked at me coolly, barely hinting at a smile.

"....Yes," he said. "It reads, May The Force Be With You," he said.

Amen. Now that's love for you.

Scot will be in the next update of the Name Guru app for sure, and the Android version is released this weekend!!!!

So, may you live long and prosper.

Hock (Squadron Leader)

Monday, September 19, 2011

An open letter to the Australian Desert, by David Hocking

Dear Desert,
As you know, on May 20th, last year, I left Perth, and began a 12 day odyssey across the desert in a 1986 Toyota Tercel*. The car was full, as was my ipod, and I was leaving the great state of WA as part of a plan that would see me relocate my entire life to somewhere greener, somewhere hillier, and to somewhere different.
The route took me 4000km east across the Nullarbor plain to Sydney, then a further 1000km up the east coast, to the peaceful streets of Noosaville, abutted without rancour onto the end of what the world calls, Noosa Heads.
Disregarding distance, there were three distinct phases to the journey. (painted after I got to Noosa)

The first was the six day trek to Sydney, the second I’ll allude to at the end, I think, and the third, somewhat orgasmically, was the final and glorious stretch that saw me arrive at my new hometown, Noosa, Queensland.

Now, Desert, how are you? I have a few questions for you: firstly, are you flat enough, do you think? Are there enough crows out there? Are you sick of the trucks belching their way across your sacred belly? Does the constant wind not drive you insane? Or does it lull you with old memories? What about all those poor little scrubby bush-spinifex things....are there enough of them? Are you tired of looking at them? Do they ever get enough water? And what about these humans? What do you make of them all, out there sticky-beaking? Do you really think they’re increasing their worth as free-standing individuals by being able to say, “Well, Roger, I drove the Landcruiser from Coffs down to Melbourne, along the Great Ocean Road (God it’s lovely) up past Ceduna, over on up to Perth, and then way up yonder to Broome, and then across the Gibb River Rd to Darwin. We stayed with my sister, Noreen, and then pushed on back across the top. Only took us eight months. And the petrol....well she’s a diesel, you know? Oh, the caravan uses a bit, but you know....what else are you gonna’ do? What’s five tons of burnt fuel between friends?”

Desert, my friend, I drove 5222km Perth to Noosa, and I saw only two native quadrupeds: one dingo and one wallaby – is a wallaby a quadruped? I’m not sure, but I definitely spied no camels. No, I didn’t drive at night because I didn’t want to hit something, plus I wanted to enjoy the scenery, which I did, actually. In an empty desert you are duty-bound to feel completely free because you have no choice. Don’t you agree, Desert?
I saw three wedge-tailed eagles – one that was airborne about 3 feet from my window at 100km/hr, and had he or she taken off half a second earlier, or later, I would’ve collected them, which would have broken my heart. This brings me to another question: is your wildlife getting smarter? Are you advising them, finally, not to go near the roads or are they just kind of non-existent now?
And what about all these crows? Seriously? Were they always there? A friend of mine, ages ago, once told me, Desert, that each crow was a reincarnated black fella. (I can say black fella, cant I? I used to know a black fella in Broome, and even he called his friends black fellas?) Anyway, when they told me that, I scoffed. Not for disbelieving of the afterlife – i have no idea about the afterlife, or most of this life, truth be known – it just seemed such a silly possibility at the time. But now, do you know Desert, I’m not so sure?
Have all the black fellas been replaced with crows? Is that where they went?

The city was a bit different, though. Crows didn’t exist in downtown Sydney, naturally, and i’m not sure i would have noticed them anyway. I was too stressed.
After 6 days of flat-nothing flat-nothing, Sydney, and phase 2 of the journey, proved to be a claustrophobic hell. Without a map and without the sun in the rain, it took me 90 minutes to drive from Mosman to Rose Bay. I stopped 7 people on the way to ask for help - hotel concierges, the police, coffee vendors, servo’ attendants. It was a miracle i made it.
Then, the real rain started. You should have seen it - you would have loved it. And then, my right front wheel started to click. At first a little, then alot. The more I turned the louder it got. Like viewing the picture of Dorian Gray, it snuck up on me hideously. I sensed disaster. 6 days; 4000km...nothing went awry, but now, i felt it. The Desert was coming to reap her penance. Weren’t you? I could feel you coming to get me.
Then, just when i felt like I might know where i was going, I turned a corner in Newtown, and ‘BANG!!!’ Bang went the front wheel!! Bang, i say!
The only noise louder was the echo of despair that rang out through my heart, for the Tercel had ceased. All my gear in the back, my new life, it was all about to end, here in a tropical rain storm in gloomy Newtown!! If it was Newtown. My life was over! How would i recover?
I got out of the Tercel and stood in the rain. Soaked to my skin. Drenched to my soul. What had i done, leaving Perth? All my friends? Was i insane? Surely it couldn’t be true? I rang the RAC and the NRMA answered – what the hell was happening to me? Even they struggled to know who i was! I was doomed!
Then, you Desert, you came to my aid, didnt you? It was you, wasn’t it? I looked up amid the downpour and there, right next to the car, my now silent, dead and laden car, was the Alexandria service centre! A mechanic!! Hark, I heard the angels sing! And I heard you Desert, I know that now. It was you, wasn't it?
The NRMA man arrived and towed my car 2 metres to the corner, and a further 8 metres down the street and into the mechanic’s workshop – I swear, the only dry place in New South Wales – and i nearly wept the tears of the unforsaken as Zam and Jimmy went to work. They fixed my CV joint in 2 hours, but you put them there, didn’t you Desert? You saved me. And I love you. I love all your crows. I love every lonely spinifex, who are not lonely at all, for I am with you brothers and sisters. I can hear you now. Hope not for nothing ever again, way out there in the stunning expanses, for all of us are connected, by the power and the peace and the capacity of this great brown land, to forgive.
And to live.
Australia, I love you. Every bloody centimetre.
Thankyou Desert.

Your humble servant,
David Hocking

(from left to right, Zam and Jimmy.)

*. As far as I can tell, a mid-80’s answer to the Subaru 4WD station wagon.
You can buy David’s app, Name Guru, at any good itunes store, and the Android version is iminent!!

Sunday, September 11, 2011

'Why shouldn't I call my son Clint?'......

Yes, my dream of building and flying my own Spitfire received a timely reminder two days ago when "Jess" turned up to the stall of the book, "Why shouldn't I call my son Clint?" with one tattooed on her leg. Her grandfather was a fighter pilot in the RAF in world war 2. Lovely girl and a lovely leg.

From the Name Guru app/book....

Jess: Jess may or may not be the most stunning girl in the room, but she certainly does nothing by halves......

And proof that neither the app or the book are accurate all the time - from the Name Guru app....

Colleen: Another name that is impossible to say without wincing like you've just jammed a splinter beneath your finger nail. Is this why Colleens can be so ghastly?

Piffle, I say!! Colleen, pictured left was just delightful.......

and she bought the app. what a gal?

In other news, another swimmer/surfer was killed in Western Australia this week by a white pointer. Danni Karis, my cousin and singer/songwriter, messaged me from Sydney with thoughts of, "The Arc of Tommy Shoalhaven". The novel I wrote a few years back that tells of a young guy who becomes a ghost inside a great white after having been killed by it.

Bloody weird world, isnt it?

A few months after the book was released I flew to the UK, and took a stack of books to sell on the plane. The flight was empty and so I only sold one copy - to an Emirates hostess whose good friend was killed by a great white a few months earlier while leading a snorkelling tour at the Abrolos Islands.

Anyway, here's to living and breathing in a bizarre world.

goodluck and what a wonderful life!!


Sunday, September 4, 2011

a day at the Eumundi markets.......

Greetings sportsfans, and welcome to this market day, Saturday just gone, here at the Eumdundi markets, 20km west of Noosa.

Hocking, of course, was in fine fettle and all runners expceted a good day of racing (selling), and things got off to a frantic beginning.

Hocking, of course, selling his remarkable comedic book, "Why shouldn't I call my son Clint?", began well.

Music selection was critical and he began brilliantly. Early on all he seemed to meet were Julies and Kristys and Joels. True, most Joels are about as cluey as a packet of chips, but at least they're happy souls with a good sense of humour, and they love a backward facing cap.

Rounding the first bend the sun began to shine and the punters hit their straps. More Roberts (borish) were in attendance than normal but they were fighting hard. A glorious textbook Josephine blazed into the stall as if stepping out of a limousine at the Cannes Film Festival. (See below)

Oh praise thine Josephine! And the day only got better after that.

Rounding the turn for home and who would arrive, but a previous customer called Tony(pictured left), who damn-near leapt across the table to give me a hug when he saw me.

"I bought your book man! I love it!" he yelled.

"So you enjoy the book then, Tony? That's great! Thanks mate."

"I use it to pick-up girls!" he said, gushing with delight.

I asked him how he managed that feat and says, "It's easy. I just take the book to the pub, walk up to a girl I like, pull the book out and ask her her name. In two seconds she's ripped the book out of my hands and pissing herself."

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"I met my current girlfriend like that. It's amazing," he said.

Tony's sister, on the left hand side of the photo, confirmed the story.

So, thankyou Tony.

Just as the day finished, Glenis turned up with her husband. (Glenis, the book describes as u-beaut 100% Australian gum tree.)

I told her that I'd turned the book into an app (Name Guru app: and that I was promoting the app via my youtube interviews. Of which 'Glenis' was one.

She watched it, and laughed so hard I thought she might undergo a cardiac arrrest.......

so, I'll see you all back there again for next week's match.

Good luck. May the universal god's smile upon you.

love Hock !!