Green Hell Australia

A long time ago, Australia fought a war against a cactus. Prickly pear spread across millions of acres of farmland, an invasive beauty that seemed unstoppable. They called it "green hell."

When I read about it, it pulled me backward. It reminded me of my brother's addiction. The way he sometimes described it almost sounded beautiful. But like the cactus, it kept spreading until it took everything.

I think about one night talking about those drugs. That was the turning point. He went one way, I didn't. Though I've done drugs, I never touched those prickly pears.

What follows is raw and unedited. A song, or maybe a poem.

Hey
Your mama's callin'
Your daddy's worried
And your sister's a mess
They wanna bring you home

Say
You love it down here
I see it your way
If the livin' is easy
I could learn to stay,

Down here

A farmhouse in green hell Australia
That beautiful paradise they warned me about
Let's drive in the black of night
Go and turn it around
Turn it around

Hey
Your brother's cryin'
Your mother's wailin'
And your father's upset
They wanna bring you home

"From here?"
You all will
Love it down here"

You say

I'll see it your way
If the livin' is easy
I could learn to stay,

Down here

I don't share this lightly. Addiction has a way of making even destruction look like paradise, and I think my brother felt that pull deeply. This piece is not just about him—it's about survival, and the strange beauty he found in what ultimately took him. I'm glad I saw it from his side, but I'm even more grateful I didn't follow him down there. Writing this is my way of turning it around. And my way of remembering him, of remembering myself, and of naming the line I never crossed.