Making Laws for Clouds by Nick Earls

rips you in half trying to get out of you. Rips you open like a zipper with its razor sharp claws, and your guts just pour out like lumps of fresh roadkill. Like a bag full of dead cats. Slopping all over the floor like chunks of whales sliced up by big Japanese knives. But it won’t happen unless you fall asleep, of course, Wayne.’
    Wayne shuts up. Shuts up and his eyes bulge and his upper lip gets quivery and it’s like there’s a big lump of something pushing up against his throat from down inside. But something more like tea than like an alien.
    â€˜Kane, I’m bad with that stuff,’ he says eventually. ‘You know I’ve got a very active imagination. It’s in one of my school reports, in the maths bit. You’ve seen it in writing, you bastard.’ There’s a scratching soundabove us, a possum running over the roof. Bad timing. ‘What’s that noise? That noise outside?’
    â€˜Dunno. Could be the alien, ripping a few sleepy possums apart for practice. Or maybe it’s not. I guess we’ll see. Those of us who dare to fall asleep tonight.’
    â€˜Now wait a second. With “The X-Files”  . . .’ Wayne’s getting a bit wobbly with the talking now . . . ‘with “The X-Files” when there’s that light and they come to get you . . .’
    â€˜Wayne, remember I said we could only watch the show if we didn’t have to have the talk about aliens again.’
    â€˜Yeah, but what if, like, really truly . . .’
    â€˜Okay, Wayne. There are no aliens. Or if there are, they’re basically grey and peaceful and kind of globular in the head and just here to check a few things out.’
    â€˜Kane, even the quiet aliens take your temperature using your butt. I’m not stupid.’
    â€˜There are no aliens. I made up that stuff with the ripping and your dreams. You were doing that breathing that gives you a turn, so I had to slow you down a bit. Now, back on the subject of the other thing, I knew we’d get to it some day, and maybe this is the day. To start with, the question of room and the female parts. Let me just say first, man to man and in a respectful way, it’s not like you’re rattling a sausage around in a lunch box . . .’
    I don’t know where to begin with Wayne and sex, but I figure I’ve got to start off mechanical to get his attention. Well get nowhere with a lecture on ‘clean thoughts of meaningful attachment’. I can’t tell him that, with Tanika Bell, it’s not just about the bit where you roll your eyes back and get shaky. It’s about the two of you taking in the night sky, shutting everything else out for a while, shutting out all the crap in the world. It’s about the minutes or even seconds when there’s no one else, and she gives you one of those looks that no one else gets. And she says just a few words that will get you through the crap, and that’s what it’s about.
thursday
    With the first coat, the wood soaks up the paint and makes it look like a bad job – makes the
Stella Maris
look patchy and us look like the amateurs we are.
    It’s hot and I stink and my legs itch from the grass from Whipper Snippering for the council. There’s been some rain lately and the grass has gone mad, meaning lots of cutting and lots of seeds, and the seeds tunnel down into your socks and bug you all day.
    Some days, I just want Harbo’s boat finished. And I want these people to treat me better and talk to me like they used to. There’s fornication all over this coast,and plenty of people keep right on doing it. I’ve done the right thing since Christmas, and they should give me a break.
    â€˜Tanika – you know, Joe Bell’s daughter,’ Harbo says to me on his next inspection tour, and I think I’m in trouble. I think some of my sins of thought might have become