Friday, July 10, 2009
Sometimes I wonder.
When everything is compromised, ala too many reds under my bed, I get the strange feeling I have been letting someone alterna-xp in my very own skin. WELL. I say to these vessel-interlopers, dashing back and forth between the ether and my exfoliated full body glove, what have you?
I am the murderer, you see, the man who watches the feed. Oh and I see.
Ten-thousand viewers flocking to thee, witness a paramedic unburdening
my shell, my hermit-crab house
I'll lift this crown up off my head and wield it like the sun, right into your eyes. And ploof* a crowd gathering to witness something quite spectacular.
the undertaker rubbing his hands, you know, like they might.
because sometimes you forget to apply the apply the BIG letter at the start of a sentence, and this leads you down. down an oft-maligned path into grammar hell.
beware the backslash, you can't trust that psychopath.
/ RRAAAAARGHHH!! MUST... DRINK... BLOOD!!!
When everything is compromised, ala too many reds under my bed, I get the strange feeling I have been letting someone alterna-xp in my very own skin. WELL. I say to these vessel-interlopers, dashing back and forth between the ether and my exfoliated full body glove, what have you?
I am the murderer, you see, the man who watches the feed. Oh and I see.
Ten-thousand viewers flocking to thee, witness a paramedic unburdening
my shell, my hermit-crab house
I'll lift this crown up off my head and wield it like the sun, right into your eyes. And ploof* a crowd gathering to witness something quite spectacular.
the undertaker rubbing his hands, you know, like they might.
because sometimes you forget to apply the apply the BIG letter at the start of a sentence, and this leads you down. down an oft-maligned path into grammar hell.
beware the backslash, you can't trust that psychopath.
/ RRAAAAARGHHH!! MUST... DRINK... BLOOD!!!
Sunday, July 05, 2009
new post like a piece of cut and butchered wood stuck in the ground, tomorrow.
YOU. barbed-wire. YOU. Prison for pastorial furniture, mobile sausage factories. YOU?
Because I saw it occur. I saw it. YOU didn't.
I made it. I built this boundary, i'm the son of the head gaoler, farmland turnkey. Barricades his fortune, building again and again, sometimes returning to what time destroyed to do it again. More than 35 years of fucking around with wire, strainers, struts, gripples, netting, augers, shovels, crowbars, tractors, hiluxs', fucking around with all that fucking jargon. Excuse me, but it just seems a little pointless in retrospect.
Who am I to complain. It's all pointless, can you chart a trajectory dear reader? can you trace this? what collision course contains anything but.
okay it's obvious, muppets, that i'mupset.
I touched a live jarrah tree today, and my fingers told me something. They told me how worthless I am. To stand here, touching this towering, sometimes flowering hydra.
Told me it aint worth shit to be able to walk and talk and type.
To cut and plunder and insert and divide.
because, that's all I do.
I hurt you.
I'm so sorry
YOU. barbed-wire. YOU. Prison for pastorial furniture, mobile sausage factories. YOU?
Because I saw it occur. I saw it. YOU didn't.
I made it. I built this boundary, i'm the son of the head gaoler, farmland turnkey. Barricades his fortune, building again and again, sometimes returning to what time destroyed to do it again. More than 35 years of fucking around with wire, strainers, struts, gripples, netting, augers, shovels, crowbars, tractors, hiluxs', fucking around with all that fucking jargon. Excuse me, but it just seems a little pointless in retrospect.
Who am I to complain. It's all pointless, can you chart a trajectory dear reader? can you trace this? what collision course contains anything but.
okay it's obvious, muppets, that i'mupset.
I touched a live jarrah tree today, and my fingers told me something. They told me how worthless I am. To stand here, touching this towering, sometimes flowering hydra.
Told me it aint worth shit to be able to walk and talk and type.
To cut and plunder and insert and divide.
because, that's all I do.
I hurt you.
I'm so sorry
Friday, July 03, 2009
the coveted late night read. for one night skin licking lovers only. who don't really exist anymore because can i SEE you? no. Can I kiss you? WHEN? never. Fine.
its a night of painful self-combustion. fuck yeah. look out the window, where am I? nowhere buddy. in the middle of a nightmare. nothing. no trees. boring non-blinking headlights, late nights and crushing the morning curses.
it's all for you cindy.
none of it makes any sense.
my pining, my pinus radiatus.
See, the things you want the most. they are faded. and I fade them, luminously, bright as all sunshine.
youy know, like book spines and action figures left in the grass under the rosebuch behind my house.
I find it hard to complete you, to read you anything special. My heart is like a crossbow, highly strung and waiting to pounce. it doesn't matter, no quest rewards like the one where I bite an apple and find a dragon.
and never mind the fucking pegasaurus. sick of repeating myself. sick of creating.
creation never buys me enough time. like you, dear cells. dear dear cels. planting and pushing, pressure and cooking. WHERE. WHERE in this ocean of madness, casting spells of snow, cramming every redemption with figures meaning nothing divisble by zero.
as in, like, like like, like, as in. yesterday. I sin like a sinner might do before prostrating himself before the cross. cross. cross. ba. BAAAA!~
I never cared, for the lantern light lighting the way for ten steps to pace. I don't NEED you light. Light illuminates the suffering inflicted, you post-modern termites. and no doubt I'll stick a pop reference in to cure you.
like.
WHERE IS MY LEG???
but in all serious I think there is trouble brewing. deep. further, nothing will come so close to killing.
its a night of painful self-combustion. fuck yeah. look out the window, where am I? nowhere buddy. in the middle of a nightmare. nothing. no trees. boring non-blinking headlights, late nights and crushing the morning curses.
it's all for you cindy.
none of it makes any sense.
my pining, my pinus radiatus.
See, the things you want the most. they are faded. and I fade them, luminously, bright as all sunshine.
youy know, like book spines and action figures left in the grass under the rosebuch behind my house.
I find it hard to complete you, to read you anything special. My heart is like a crossbow, highly strung and waiting to pounce. it doesn't matter, no quest rewards like the one where I bite an apple and find a dragon.
and never mind the fucking pegasaurus. sick of repeating myself. sick of creating.
creation never buys me enough time. like you, dear cells. dear dear cels. planting and pushing, pressure and cooking. WHERE. WHERE in this ocean of madness, casting spells of snow, cramming every redemption with figures meaning nothing divisble by zero.
as in, like, like like, like, as in. yesterday. I sin like a sinner might do before prostrating himself before the cross. cross. cross. ba. BAAAA!~
I never cared, for the lantern light lighting the way for ten steps to pace. I don't NEED you light. Light illuminates the suffering inflicted, you post-modern termites. and no doubt I'll stick a pop reference in to cure you.
like.
WHERE IS MY LEG???
but in all serious I think there is trouble brewing. deep. further, nothing will come so close to killing.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
And because I am generous and nice and otherwise vacant here is a short collection of my own espouses:
oh what a generous maiden thee is.
poem:
breeze blows in through the flyscreen
the hydrangeas slow dance outside my window
cool breeze I can see where you begin
across the valley, of verdant green
the sun makes patterns of gold
on contours so gentle, they could be a body sleeping
a hillside wide and open to the sky
crested with a forest, a bush that has survived
a nature in place of heaven
smoke scent drifts unseen in the evening
carried with warmth and flavour subtle
a crow calling lonely to it's own echo
silhouhettes becoming curtains to the show
a long exhalation through the peppermints
the air is going home
to leave everything still before me
still and alone
:
thats about when I was hideously depressed and I saw a hill out the window.
wundebar
this one is about climate change being as threatenig as unwashed underwear:
LONELINESS IS AN ICEBERG
TRAPPED IN THE SEA
AND I AM A PENGUIN
IN DIRE EMERGENCY
POLAR BEAR HUGS GO MISSING
HE LEFT SOME TIME AGO
JUST THIS WHISTLING
TUNELESS MELODY
ALL THIS MELTING HEAT
HOW LOVE EVADES ME STILL
THAWING AWAY MY LAST RESORT
SOON I JOIN THE KRILL
SUN SUN SUN
EARTH EARTH EARTH
SUN SUN SUN
EARTH EARTH EARTH
NO DISTANCE NO DISTANCE
NO MORE
CARE TO SHARE MY LAST CIGARETTE
I'M SURE IT'S NOT SO BAD
WHEN HEARTS AND WORLDS AND TEMPERATURES COLLAPSE
CANCER WE DEMAND
okay, heavy on the caps huh? long time ago that one. was drunk on tainted water no beelzebub doubt okay heres nuther one:
oh and this one:
liing here agin this nite
arestless stuggle
rroon don we know there is more to life than this
rresitng arresting struggle
listening to bjorks birthday song
birthdays
I care about her, and I don't know how to deal with
my own emotions
julian once said
called it inner bitter turmoil
turnips tanks
round bitter water
to the shore
tomorrow I can
and I know it helps to right things down
FIND my wallet
TAKE the bankcard from dad's peugot
ChECK out the local op shop before 12:thrity
Put MONEY into my credit carrrd
WHEN dad gets BAck return my License PLATES
WASH the COROLLA at CLARES
CLEAN my ROOM By putting dirty clothes/sheeets in a pile
WASH kitchen dishes, clean STOVE
Generally shape things up.
DRIVE my car INTO a TREE and get into heaven FREE
no. scratch that.
BUY a QUOKKA and look at CAMPA vans.
I could VISIT MICHAEL AND WAX economical
ring kala
kala koala
bears are mean to bee together.
us make a fine bear coupla
teddy bear and karla koala
aquarius, enjoi
is that you sleep, poking around the back of my head
rubbing my eyelids
can I forgive myself?
YES
:
yeah. you guessed it. from when dinosaurs still roamed the earth for toothpics. or a long sharp splinter. anything to get the human gristle out of their sharp teeeth.
:
What happened to my only friend
the only one I call
a taxi driver once said
told me the true friend does only this
on their mobile phone
:
no , it does make sense?
:
this one is about my mum, who is dead. naturally speaking. and she told me when I was a young girl, about an out-of-body experience she had when I was even younger. maybe 6 or 7. or younger. but she said she fully lost consciousness and awoke in a hilltop village on a mountain of green. everyone in this village was panicked and running down the hill with makeshift weaponry. and coming up the hill, the invaders. mum had me under one arm. actually, another child, and was running down the hill with a weapon of her own in the other hand. anyway. I blame this out of body experience on the fact I was very demanding as a child. and annoying. and tOOK too much. so she opted for an out of body escape. anyway. mum was honest. and no words from her to me ever became a lie. thats saying something. here is the words:
To lay down here on this, this sun bleached wood
a moment to escape into
he never stops, always making noise
running, and falling again
I need a break I tell myself
what hours are provided
this child is an eternal cycle
and I am turning into his
legs stretched out, back straight
eyes closing involuntarily
something stops inside my head
and the temperature has changed
I'm not her anymore
I am her
this one is about my imaginary sci-fi sidekick, turgosh, who can't make warm milk let alone slay an oversized lizard: oh wait. it's called turgosh faces the petrifying wind:
Turgosh the unwary unbuckled his trousers,
and leant down to check his shoelashes
five crows passed silently overhead
bring with them bad wind currents
an ill wind blows no good
the air settled down around turgosh like a curse
silent and gaseous
and he felt constrained in the thickening vapours
in his veins the blood coursed as if sand had been added
slowly he felt his strength leaving him
and as if sensing petrification before Turgosh could guess
He uncorked a silver flecked brass gourd from his breeches
the liquid ran like mercury down his parched throat
setting it afire and burning with strange chemical zeal
but almost instantaneously his limbs softened once more
he crossed his shoulders in thanks to the gods
this one is about nothing. an exercise of words. oh. and hobbits:
Fruit is generally sweet, veggies savoury, funny that isn't? I reckon that's just asking for dietary trouble for starters.I wonder what sort of vegetable/fruit a honey sandwich is. I like how the honey mixes with butter between the bread. It is generally pretty preoccupying eating and doing something else like riding a horse or driving a car or doing a wee. Anyone can imagine the consequences of enjoying that little morself a little too much. Fractured spine, broken headlight or a little urinary flood to mop off the seat. Beware of eating and doing. Anything!
What brings that little idea to bear, is I find myself lounging in the thick grass down by the river with a packet of chips and a rod. Nothing happening, just the excuse of something maybe happening. One must admit, having an opportunity to do something whilst doing nothing is a fantastic way to escape the burden of being. Organisms always floating swiftly around moving crates and packing bags, looking in every degree of direction at once. Bugger it. Find your own devious way of diverting from the futile and hang on to it violently. And I caught a fish just then.
Glistening, slickened. Baby scales shedding all over my clumsy palms, a little bit of blunt trauma as the lineraggled trout bounces off the alien landscape all the way back to his gentler and wetter universe. Chances are I'll play the bad dentist again with him one day, we are probably both lazy about moving on. The tannins darken, with the bird orchestra gradually fading in from the tea trees and river gums around, basically telling me its getting darker and its their party now, not mine, not here anyway. Old wicker basket, faded a boring tattered grey and lifeless, naturally.
more word play:
Abuse.
Systematic abuse, X incidental abuse, repeated abuse, X accidental abuse, planned abuse, unplanned abuse, X eternal abuse, aware abuse, X unaware abuse, unaware abuse, desiring abuse, engaging abuse, X positive abuse, bored abuse, X innocent abuse, conscious abuse.
Aboos
Abuce
Ahbuse
Abooce
Aboose
Puce, Loose, Goose, Moose, Cous-Cous, Sluice, Juice, Noose, Bruce, Recluse, Reduce, Deus,
going to let it go.
doctor seuss.
haha. funn hey. really? well you never had a sense of humour did you:
and here is the big one.a nasty secret. a full ridden history. sweet and sick honesty. here you go good reader:
The weekend. Back the front.
I'm here at dad's little flat in town with the curtain jammed back between the speakers so some of today's abundant sunshine is allowed in, semi hunched over the laptop and the very typing unfriendly keyboard it sports. Listening to one of the 8000 and something songs jammed on it, and feeling so so, if a little frazzled and energy depleted. Flys are buzzing around lazily going nowhere, birds are tweeting absent mindedly... the day is a peaceful one, following on from the conservative chaos of the blues weekend. I did as little as possible, and wen't barely anywhere considering. And submerging back into a sea of indifference, of muted colours and dullening waves crashing above. Iced coffee in the fridge, one of the marker points of my day. Tastes good too.
Times like these, I have to ask myself... what do I want? what do I really feel like doing, what do I want life to become, to provide and to respond to? And all that I feel is the sitting, and not really doing much, hanging out with the basics and avoiding effort-requiring-change. I like doing things like looking at album covers on my music player, playing old pixel-ridden games with no real intent to entertain, eating and drinking whatever is easily found and always provided by dad. Wondering in my own way how the world is. it's easier to think less, or very little, and that's why I have the computer games. And the way i construct my world around me to be so little and undemanding. I could have got in touch with a couple of people for really probably quite needy reasons. Teegan because she would have been undemanding, and gave me an escape from the school crew. Ayesha because she might have permitted me to have sex with her. But really, everything considered, none of those choices would of been based on positive motives. Seeing Andrew Jansen shook me up, and I had expected it, but I had no clue how to react except do the obvious and hide away. I didn't want him and his entourage to stand accusing me and shouting out my shortcomings in front of everyone, but I deserved to be chastised. That much is sure, but what is right and wrong is a hard thing to set in stone universally, especially in dealing with punishments. i wasn't ever augered to go crazy this blues like I have done in the past, Just having been feeling crash hot lately. I have damaged my confidence, as well as my general health by this hermitic lifestyle. Summer is almost here, with unbelievable amounts of entertainment waiting for my extroverted interest to indulge in, but maybe I won't shift into the gears this year, the blues might be telling me something. I love music, I realy should set myself up for Big Day out, St. Jeromes Laneway Festival and Southbound, this at least. And not drinking on saturday has lent me more self-control as well as not falling back on masturbation to blatantly deal with my sexual needs. Channelling self-control and discpline, self-respect and preservation. Not drinking on command, wanking on impulse and eating I can wrap my fingers around is an almost guaranteed way of propelling myself upwards through the darker clouds. Isn't it me?
Phone died, Sjord pushed me in the pool, sily bugger. I know he doesn't mean harm but he needs to take it easy on the drink. I can see how he needs realease living in town, but yeah, silly bugger. I don't hold a grudge on him. Means I have to push myself a little and see if I can get vodaphone to send a new one my way, hopefully should be good. Which means I have to go to warrens place and get my documents from the Saab. I'm thinking about saing happy birthday to Kiara. I don't know, I am pushed and pulled with my friendship there. Sometimes I don't she has a clue what the concept means concerning me, I feel like there is a lot of distance there. And I earnt that no doubt by going silly over her at various stages of need and confusion. The Wells family are, I face it, a part of my life, as different as they are. Positivity gently tempered by reality, that sounds healthy enough.
Gently, heartbreaking, I love female emotion bound in song. Ani DiFranco, Chan Marshall... women can enter your ears and find your heart so well, so accurately.
In a vehicle of vulnerability
once mermaid, walking on knives in the sand.
I don't know how to express something that happens so deeply inside, and from foreign quarters.
I have some work to do if I am going to make this life work, and really, I must try. What is the point of wasting the only thing I know? Waiting for life to do me a favour, that must be the equivalent of expecting divine intervention, but more ambiguous.
My earliest memories.
Lying on my back infront of the concrete steps on the little patch of lawn next to the agapanthus, the warm late spring all around me in the form of freshly cut grass and dad pushing a lawnmower somewhere, the sun on my face and warming my clothes. Looking up into the blue, blue sky and feeling like this is life, this is life and I like it. It's good.
That's what I tell myself my first memory is, it's as good as any to begin with. the feelings were also one of security and self-providing, like nothing else was necessary. I was whole, complete and the universe was mine, my best friend. I didn't know much about the human world at large back then, I only knew about my world, which is was small but cosy. And non-threatening. I must have been about four or so, maybe even three. I hadn't gone to pre-primary yet. I also remember being in a childs seat in the back of a car, and it was hot, and I was irritable, grumpy at something. Mum got back and gave me a ribena, an I felt insulted because I wanted more, something better for her being away. leaving me. did sh leave me alone? was michael or claire in the car as well?> must have been, I remember I was in the childs seat behind mums chair and someone was next to me and in the passenger seat infront too. I threw the ribena on the ground angrily, and it spilt on the floor and that upset me more and I remember having a huge tantrum, tears and howling with anger at my newly created loss. I must mention that whenever I remember this, I feel a pang of emotion. Of loss, and how I was such a shit to mum when she just wanted me to be happy. I threw away her gift and pushed her away and made her life hard. She didn't deserve that, my mother never deserved that. I regret it, so young, I regret it. Something there.
A pretty strong memory for such an old one, I think mum leaving me in the car whilst she went shopping and it must have felt like forever in the heat, that stayed with me. My first memory of waiting, and being stuck waiting. i would have been really young I think. I have bluured bits of playing outside lots and going to atuls house on the hill and playing under his house with tonka trucks and things like that, but not clear at all. Of playing on my own out and about round the house in the wilderness of it all with my imagination at large and the jack russels or whatever dog was around. of dad not being around too much, and mum busy with open learning on the telly or doing this or that.
I remember adventure kept me busy when I was really young, before computers. The thrill of the outdoors, and other children, the likeminded awe of the world around us and our bodies themselves a world to explore. I think my strongest connection to the earth began so young and ended so young, I slowly lost touch with it. I kind of grew away with it due to technology probably.
things were magical then, new and magical. And I wasn't the problem, I hadn't yet thought to compare myself for flaws or shortcomings, things were too exciting for that. that came later.
I was setting off down the river, like we used to do, sometimes as a whole family. we would have great times down at the river, in the sun and the smell of the river mud and the things growing around it. I wa heading off down there for more exploration with one of the jack russels I would adventure with and I heard mum calling out my name "eeeeedddd" or "eeeedddy" or "teeeeed" or "teeeeeddy" I don't remember what she called me. But I remember the sound of her voice coo-ing out for me like she often did when I was off amongst the bracken and critters, with the earth my playground at large. She called me, as I set down ... I was nearly past the great big redgum tree, and there she was. I felt a bit frustrated, what did she want me for? interrupting my adventure so young. "time to go to pre-school" something like that she said " time to go to school". School? whats school I thought, and I didn't like it straight away as being something that intefered with my own fun, my own days. My way. And that was the beginning, she took me back to the house and got me ready, putting things on me like one of those backflap hats and I had this ninja turtle school backpack with a waterbottle filled with icy orange cordial and all that business. And on to the bus, on my own, the bus, where was this taking me? something so new, it could have been a spaceship. and I was the abductee, is how it felt.
Emotions were high, I had no idea which way to go. I got off at the primary school, not pre-primary. I didn't belong here, this wasn't my place, but it's where my brother went, so I followed the obvious. It was weird the confusion, and the feeling of being out of place and all these people around me that were bigger than me and no-one was there. I remember one of the teachers getting me together with michael and telling him to walk me up to the pre-primary up the road down below the high school. A long way for little me, and I got there. That was probably the the first day, which I have no real memory, atleast atul was there too, someone I knew. That time with the bus on my own and my drink bottle falling out of my bag down the bus steps and I started crying coz I was embarrassed or something I didn't want to be here, any excuse to make that know. The teacher must have helpd me into the pre-primary, down the steps past the green wire fence. there was all the play stuff, I found sherbies around them on a lolly hunt one time organised as an activity. and eating things that were tasty. and all us little ones running around and working it out. I remember barely how he made it hard for me. he would pick on me, come up and push me over. Bullied me, so young and a bully. maybe because I was a pretty obvious target, I was loud and pretty self-advertising no doubt. A definite little extrovert. I always sought to have fun. And be the centre of attention.
We all had our own trays were we would store things, with our names written on them. There is a picture somewhere of me and joshua newton web and kym rance sitting at a tiny table on one of the dinner nights or sleepovers or something. I cant remember. plastic plates, plastic chairs, trying to enjoy acting a little older. I had a tape that came with the teenage mutant ninja turtle bag, with old time rock n roll songs, and one that captured me for its innuendo even that young was Great balls of Fire, which I remember once bringing into class to play infront of everyone. all us little kids got the joke, and I think we even boogied to my fiery tune. I spose that was the first time I ever brang my own taste of music out. The start of something. I had an interest!
pre-primary wasn't a happy time I don't think, I never really felt that happy about it, it wasn't my choice. and being bullied so young also. years later I pushed him down a hill at the show, trying to balance out past wrongs maybe.
I was beginning to change and grow, human dynamics were educating and forming my outlook. Behaviour was adapting for the group of kids I was around, to fit in or to stick out, demanding I was to be known. I was an attention addict, not unusual, but absolutely. I liked making everyone laugh, any way I knew how. As much as I could. I spose I thought making people laugh meant they liked me, how to make friends en masse mabe. But that was never really learnt, just assumed, and I have stuck to assumptions ever since maybe, because I still have the same antics in place around people.
That was pre-primary, always happening in the way of my home fun. and it changed my wants and needs, I gained an interest in people, and how they could be a hobby in itself.
All this time I had the outside world going on. I had friends being made due to babysitting and parents shifting responsibilites based as much on respite as it was for their childrens social recreation. I remember being amazingly interested in the human body, and the bits we didn't get out as often as others. I have countless early memories of exploring each others rude parts just for the sake of why they were so important and sanctioned as much as any reason. And also because they were still a mystery. What did they do and why do we have them? until the future filled us in, we could do what we wanted with our genitals, wherever we could. Mostly with boys, as I spent more time with them, and there was always some off to the side spot you could play spot the difference or what does that feel like? Like being down in on the couch watching some strange movie about women that turn men into coccoons and store them in a room, and there must have been a sex seen, because us little tackers went and it hammer and tongs in the childs idea of reproduction, clothes off kisses and writhing around together. much to mum and the other mums suprise when they finished having a cup of tea and a chat upstairs. Or all the times, touching or putting it where or wherever was available. I was never taught that my penis was wrong, or sex was so taboo in my house,
So usually wherever I went, whomever house I was at I was educating in the idea quite often, check out what you have, pretty cool huh? It was a favourite thing of mine. In the innocence of life before puberty, or so it is seen to be, the wonderland of the body had no taboo, no secrets not worth telling. My open and well-exercised interests led right up to late year 6 or seven, when the reality and education was kicking in. Morals and guilt, and pleasures began to sour as I realised how some things aren't appreciated or normal. being sat down and told by a stern mother what is right and wrong, and some things are like a light switch, that can be turned on and off. the fear of being found out. up to no good. playing 'silly buggers' as one mum said.
you just accept what goes on, and I do not judge myself. I sit here and smirk at how ridiculous some people are to see this as abnormal behaviour for kids. to be denied self-discovery or told it was unhealthy. there must be a human understanding to temper that idea with.
exploration, fearless of the unknown.. this is beautiful. to understand the mechanics of the world, how we can feel within it.
I was entranced by the things that weren't talked about, or hidden. I wanted to know everything, it was my passion.
it was a long time ago, and so much has changed. the course of my nature like the course of this planet. the more that I discovered, the more I learnt could hurt me, or wasn't quite as wonderful. I learnt to fear the dark, and started wetting my bed. I learnt to fear being alone. I learnt to fear how people felt towards me, what people can do.
I discovered my own shortcomings.
brainstorm:
horse jumping bit
houses, and the countless hours spent growing up there
school, early school
finding out what I didn't like about myself
my behaviour.
my brother.
my mother.
my father.
loss, first memories of loss.
holidays.
fear.
bullying.
bits on a trampoline
out at that house in the wheat desert
as it happened
drawing, creation, imagination
books
talking lots, do you ever shut up?
whinging, getting my own way
active. energy, hyper-activity.
so blatant, sorry. feist can be a heart-tugger too. and the bss crowd.
-
and BJORK ofcourse.
the nature of forgiveness, when someone can barely even know you inside and still understand there is better hidden away behind all the nastiness and self-destruction
I carry myself in a sort of perpetually paranoid state of self-awareness, where all my physical failings are only waiting to be outdone by my social characteristics. And on what scale is my judgement? it's on a personal one, there is deep frustration i can't bridge the affliction of my own self-defeatist disease, self-sabotaging, putting myself down always. The only constant being an awareness of how much I don't fit, am not prett. But why? Why? is this humility? no. It is fear. fear of being unnaccepted and shunned, of being hurt or beaten. I used to have dreams of getting into a fight and punching but always missing them, not being able to connect and the fear of being hopeless in the face of adversity.
It is a life-crippling disease, leading me to be stuck in a cell. how many days shut in from the world have I spent in one lifetime so far, years.
These choices, what choices have i, many, so many, more than the largest video store in the universe.
I can think of a few courses of action that would might make me feel better off wellbeing wise.
Buying new clothes, jeans, pants, shorts, shirts, shoes... the lot. I am so self-conscious and I must admit, I haven't got much left to wear anyway. Clothes are important, I feel they are. I need something comfortable and slightly interesting, atleast partly descriptive of my nature. I could shop through second-hand shops, but nothing is guaranteed there. Well, is it anywhere I wonder. But I Need clothes, this is true. I would feel much more comfortable going out in public if I had more to wear and felt content with what I was wearing. It's a question of when I get the motivation and courage to step outdoors and see what's available, and make an effort. It's waiting for me.
Eating, drinking, whatever I put into my body. I don't like the idea of gallons of milk drinks, as strange as the concept is. I can see they were dad's downfall looking back, well that's a lesson for me. Pies and other fat laden shovel food also seems like a long term absolute killer idea. I feel nothing good by eating this food. Bread, pasta... all that carbohydrate stuffed business just serves to make me feel like a blimp expanding. I am happy with vegetables, fruit, fish, why can't I stick to that? I know dad's feeling of wanting to avoid shopping in anything other than hole-in-the-wall clovers, but I have even crossed that out. I need a fresh start, and take the food idea to the hilt. I need to start providing my own meals and choose my own diet without any dependency. I don't know where to start with that one. But even going in and buying an apple and tuna is a start. drinking more water.
Exercise, well, I could happily say i'll cross that bridge later... It has to happen though.
Surrounded by nothing resembling company, just the way I choose it.
Another thing is focussing on the future movements. Check on murdoch universiting study training? but what then? I could see.
I need to ring up about my phone. I need to insert money onto my credit account. I need to order another bank card.
Check it out, check it all out. Look at the job's down at the telecentre even maybe, inquire there.
Ideas, into motion, where to then. I can't just sit here day after day, even that is becoming an effort.
myers briggs here... hmm
enfp. counsellor, journalist, teacher, psychologist, actor, artist, musician, people stuff, interesting people stuff
-
woke up this morning at what must have been about 5 in the morning, daylight savings considered, 6ish. got out of bed as soon as light began to trickle through the window. Lovely really, freeze dried coffee and tv on the radio's new album... it really is splendid.
I might try the light be in it affirmation. First thing I said to myself thismorning was "It's not that i'm dreading it, I just wanted more sleep!" but that doesn't seem to be a problem now I'm up and about. Getting up early is the start, indeed. Affirmative.
Is family tree about black lynchings? maybe.
even brushing my teeth morning and night, thats a no bullshit way of doing something positive for my body. I think? yeah gotta be.
Paying an interest, actually caring about what state my immediate world is in, and seeing how I can help it in my immediate vicinity. How? recycyling? less power and electricity. yeah. I avoided having the air con switched on for too long last night. good on me.
THE QUICK GRAY FOX JUMPED OVER THE LAZY DOG
interesting. ways I can save the world whilst being in such comfortable non-threatening paradise.
Oh god how it is? How it is! That I can sit here with no negative circumstances baying for my blood beyond this window, where everything seems to be under control, sedate and passive. No-one is starving, bleeding to death, murdering, raping... well, not too many probably. It is amazing the illusion versus the fact, they can't be far apart around here. It all seems to be hanging together.
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
Nice function.
See how anything can be added to, modified. Amazing what a difference a little effort and exploration of any medium can make. I often see that in people's online stuff, how they individualise with the way they mix the media together and 'prettify' their online journals, music blogs etc.
I dont like the way dad cuts chunks of cheese off like breaking bread, or he smooshes the end of the toothpaste so you can't close the lid and the gunk builds up.
Just had an exceptionally cheezy 'pizza' toast using last night remaining pasta sauce. Body didn't agree it was particularily nice of me to feed it such a grotesque bubbling concoction. body had a point too.
feeling gluggy, time sync plus that breakfast tragedy no doubt, WATER!
GIL SANS ULTRA BOLD! With extra bold. sans serif!
another day of me being about as lazy as a stuffed iguana, why do I find it so easy to play the usual act? its weird
I spent hours infront of the laptop singing crazy, recording is fun
wow. a serious dose though
-
done that, been out again. Keep writing he tells me.
I have got a voice, it's there and it's mine. fantastic.
Fighting urges and pursuing demented ideas, how is that a respectable past-time. The writing is getting sporadic, less urgent and... probably more relaxed. Good. Looking at a pretty dull void infront of me, but the pork crackle of certain heart-failure related doom and tasty local cider has giddied my horse up. Not having the trusty red Claudia at my beck and mercy has certainly made me realise I miss her, or atleast miss taking her for granted. I have to concoct wild adventures in
my head just to justify finding another means of locomotion, well, grandma's car.
Have to chop off the previous head, and grow another in it's place, find a means of transcribing a sort of positive hostile takeover. Where the wayfaring boots get excavated from the closet, a little bit of dusting off and there we go. Back on the road again.
Certainly a good excuse.
-
The first thing to write is everything is different
isn't it.
I don't even understand how it is, but I feel it. I don't think I can trust dad anymore, or something. Holding hands.
Well thats all mush, fuck. I dont know anymore. This is turning into a bad joke. Some punchline, Kyrup syrup, skeletons of infidelity, waking up like the outsider I am.
gfthvb fffchj jumu m vbghhnmjxf vkl,n vdghgklwa,
paradox in every paradigm
I'm sitting here with kubrick's the shining in the background with a writers block in the foreground
all work and no play makes jack a dull boy
-
on a later note, what does all nothing make jack? and fuck jack.
-
nearly at the end of the year, I fear. I fear. laughing matter. Word of the day? Vagina.
and some more. of more lyrical quality. still with me? bless you, perverted voyeur.
You heard her voice in my head, a telephone crying out lost in the lonely dark. Trying, Oh fuck! God! I try all the time, to form her again. Reclaim her shape, my memory conquistador. A mud statuette worked into memento, heated and fired by lust. To leave naught but a crust.
If it was as easy to go into the clinic and have something wedged under the blanket of my flesh, to keep this wet patch from returning. She stood, she lay, she condemned the space around us. Blank faced textures bearing witness, no doubt unwilling, to carry this accident forever. As even I console the benches and grass and shade, to forgive them for interfering in something so unearthly that they really had no reason to exist. Not in our world, not then.
Alchemically, like any of our colours, we became brown. And the fun, like the flavour, was lost.
I can hear it, The clouds and atmosphere inside still can't smother that sound. She has sent the shark-spear of kill and collect deep into my organs, there is no hiding or plotting revenge. No, secrets are coins falling one by one from the threadbare pockets dressing my hips.
Once.
To throw them down. A second-sunday market tearing boots wide open and exposing every hidden treasure to the greed of another pair of hands. Blue candy leaving the tongue red, strange to think something would turn out so unpredictably banal.
When the spark finished leaping between our bodies, between the tangled limbs and firewood stacked, an irritation was born. A callous reminding us what we could do no longer, no matter how hard we tried.
Five-Thousand flutes of champagne, to swim amongst the glass vessels.
A nail so sharp it needed no hammer.
Push that fucking mobile away from your face, bather in the flourescent glow. I need you more than that, push button toy.
**!*!*!**#8313!!##!#
I wake. My eyes open, and my body rolls over to look like it should when you are sleeping. Dad is standing in the open doorway to my room, our room. The curtains haven't been pulled, he is just standing there looking at me, like a mute. Or some poor broken man-servant, expelled from his previous job ringing bells for moments of automaton stasis like the one he is in now.
" hurr.. mmrm, bl.. bh.. PISH OFF!"
That's an almost dreamlike pre-recording I have for dad every morning he comes in to stir me. I can be quite abusive when I'm barely conscious.
Dad looks at me without words again, standing with his fists at his side and sort of silly looking, like a schoolboy dragged into an ring-bound encounter with the playground bully, mumbles something, or seemed to and disappeared out the door. I didn't think to question the lack of curtain opening or shaking me round in the bear-like manner he usually does.
That's it!.
more words to hurt your eyes:
I've decided i'm getting too heavy for my wings, what I'm eating has all the health equivalent of swallowing a delicious cocktail of crushed lightglobes with disposable razor heads. more of the same yes, leave your damaged pollups out of this, average. whore.
maybe a state of defused anxiety is best for this parched working. Came from the hills and red shaped pumps above your brow, beast on console pixel clouds, draining your stamina, the death liquid to shape your suffering. no decomposition, that's a funny way to be. we are the plastic, dear society. to be the unwelcome guest for 40'000 years, awaiting a half-life like a the quarter we can all share. a peice of the planet pie. help yourself,... sorry it's not organic though,
I hope you don't mind. My dearest asian counterparts, it's with great trepidation I write to you. Remember those shiny blades you all once dearly held, with such devotion and deliverance? well hunt through your dojo and whip em' out, for my dear squeezebugs, its time to wage war on overpopulation. chop everthing up, convert it all into burgers, and we can build little cities for the burgers to live in. and ironically, with power still being a lightyear dream away for these burger cities, you can supply the burger populace with whale-oil lamps. delicious. explosive? I know you can. tear out some pages and feel the paper rasp between your fingers, sheets of literary skin, no butterfly to carry them to the great library in the sky. I'm over translation, no point anyway. there is only present longing for something. like, hmm, hot cup of chocolate. see. basis of it all is a nice warm glug of ...
a side quote from my 40 K novella:
Respect the adversary, prime your weapons, gesticulate madly.
This seems to be the general bent of training at the Hotchpotch military academy. Breeding warfare tactics with little or no purpose concerning resolving basic violent behaviour.
Septimus DeBlanko, or Seppy for shorters, stuck deep and fast in a beaurocratic nightmare with the deepest feeling of absolute futility. Drafted here three weeks ago on mandatory conscription for those living 300 clicks from beyond the city, just like all good peasants I was happily frogmarched to the distribution cells and placed in low-threat assault class 3. Also known as ripe meat for marching directly into the lazcannons.
more cold and lonely junk from a past that still kicks my shins:
I cant remember the feeling I had before I left home, But I hold the feeling now I have returned. Forking crumbled meatloaf into my mouth and hoping I can't feel a coldsore thats been threatening to pop out lately. Plastic utensils and silverfoil. I was embarassed at the shop because one of the ladies serving, Julia or something like that, commented quietly to Jess (the other one) that 'Edward needs a haircut'
I heard it and muttered sheepishly
'You could say that'
and turned my back on them and the other mine blokes awaiting their baine marie lunch.
SEE? there's always something embarassing awaiting you at the local servo.
unwrap the serviette that came with my meal to read in plain text: Greenbushes Roadhouse...
adress etc. there you go.
nice cold milk. mocha chill, slipping down my throat like sugared silk. I can see Jess' face her beaine, a look like she was tired and sick of the job she was in. I wonder how those women really feel on the inside. I sped home in the car at one point on the wet roads, letting my nerves perk up a bit. Once I got to 150 on the speedo I slowed down and recognized the possibilities.
A good vent anyway.
Worry got little left of the takeaway, she danced around manically awaiting what treasure lay in that silver tray... but when I put it down she did as best as dogs could do to emote disappointment.
Sometimes I feel like I could fit in. Enter that world the people of greenbushes live in. Be happy with a simple job, a simple partner and all the rest. Learn to connect with the people around me and share their lives with whatever they have going. But I never feel like that for long.
I mostly feel trapped. By myself, and my insecurities with people. Always feeling vulnerable and judged for any reason.
I have many excuses for keeping myself in the position i'm in.
It's thursday. I'm here on my laptop listening to one of my thousands of stolen songs. I'm thinking. I wonder what the festival is like in the city. I know I could wedge myself in a position that would enable me to go, but the cost. I can't really afford it. I don't want to miss the summer fun. But who knows?
oh, and here is my thesis on something regarding the meaning of life:
If at this point I told you the true story, then everything would cease to exist. So let us just stick with the fairytale, never mind the cracks, we can fill them with any colour you wish. Let the seconds fall away as powder, nothing worthy of form or purpose. Your mind that is pulsing and pounding needs to calm down and hear something it isn't comfortable excepting, so ignore it.
Well, most of it anyway...
Five-billion light years away, or ago, there was once a baby planet called, oh wait. It had many names, and in many dialects within that more. You can call it Earth #2 if you wish. Or wish for something far more grand and exciting. More than 12 billion forms of life dwelled upon, within and around it's ancient surface, or something to that approximate figure. Anyone who spent that much time coming up with that statistic was severely depraved and probably didn't spend enough time finding sexual intercourse or climbing the social ladder. A lot of things lived on the planet, all manner of organic bits and pieces tying themselves together and splitting in half. Amazing. But if you were one of these genetic fodder spillages, it wouldn't seem half as epic or miraculous. It simply was, you came to be and then you left. Quite suddenly if you consider the it from a immortal perspective, which occasionally happened too. That was also exciting, something that never finished, and possibly never begun. Well, we can talk about them now. And one in particular, A vessel born of soil and root, river and ocean, mountain and burrow. Something not quite 'alive' and never quite 'dead'. True children of the Earth, something so interconnected there was no line to prove positive a disconnection ever existed, like chain merged by a master blacksmith. Now this you could well see as being supremely unbalancing. But
here are a few sidenotes on the beauty of truth:
iCreation.
Ideas for a novel
A study of loneliness
Walking the path of the outsider
Swimming out of the mainstream
A fringe-dweller's account of love
Self-destruction and enlightenment
Discovering something beautiful and healing
Racking my mind trying to answer the question of existence
Existing in simplicity
Battling grief
Not knowing where to go
Wondering what I am
Wanting to save the world
Feeling the pain of everyone
Losing everything and hiding
Not thinking
Operating in a semi-conscious state
Revelling in nauseating waves of self-disgust
Human frailty and vulnerability
Coping with death
Facing mortality
Money and what has it done to us
A voice shouting truth to the millions ignoring it
Contemporary illusions
So you are looking to buy a personality, rather than build one inside you choose to house it with a lie.
this is a dnd campaign:
Settings:
RESOURCES
Shower. Cum. Saliva.
Shampoo. Disentegrating.
Toothbrush. Retrosex.
The Absolute Pained Animal
on the Early Cat Power
this is really a dark place to live, but well lighted:
the impenetrable sense of isolation, when one is clearly not isolated
to be found lost and sick inside, a cruel virus of self-disgust thwarting every step towards redemption
the shame of living, the shadow of death, constantly blotting out the sun
where in this maelstrom of chaos lies awakening, but tipping over into the eternal abyss
no time, nothing but the present moment to constantly dig into one's skin and mind
tearing, ripping apart the will to believe in some notion of health, of righteousness
you bore me
existence, you bore me
deep and hard, leaving me bloody and hollowed
feeding with gluttony upon the filth and numbing drugs, the escapisms, anything to distract from the truth inside
a way to enter stasis, a place to hide, sleeping
unstable and vulnerable, the scars never healing, pressure to survive in the permanent madness
no escape, nothing so sweet, nothing worth describing
no god, no love, no life, everything contains cancer eating it from within
fear like blood pushing and pumping our hearts into a state of constant tortured being
alive, a living thing?
destroying everything we become aware of,
blind murderous maniacs
that which we cannot understand we crush with terrified non-belief, and pretend knowledge by realising our own bizarre and twisted fantasies in their place
anything to keep us upright, moving, busy with the day, running from the night
what a mockery, a waste that we seek with so much vigour the faintest excuse to hide behind
preaching I EXIST, I AM REAL
does it ever end, the grey and bleak passage from first breath to last
or are we trapped in pergutory, swimming in limbo til we forget we ever came to be
and some more:
My fingers patter along the plastic cobblestones, patiently awaiting satisfaction. Awaiting messages from my mind, awaiting the mumbles of sex or the cacophony of violence or both. Nothing really pleases me much anymore, I can say in half-truth. Too much time spent chasing wondrous non-fiction and it seems like desensitisation has become the staple, only driving these numb fingers onward in search of some glimmering, blurred holy grail. Some glorious chalice, filled with the blood of simpletons, drained whilst watching televised spawning marathons. Oh, this is all I need to quench the anti-fire of desire. Rolling around in cold ashes, blended with the soot and chameleonic amongst the downtrodden pedestrian pidgeons. It seemed not long ago, before I became a flatulent whingeing carnivore, that all things were clouds, and all clouds silver lined.
Blasphemy! Rich and succulent, some wrung sweat from these sheets stained repetition of fact hard and eager. Advertising, human ringtones, crowing out from the city. Too treasured to sting, and lost that which is golden precious, delicious. If I was you I would take a sharpened blade and plunge it into the dough, cut at that yeasty breast. find sanction in affliction.||OKA
Here we go
Brainstorm time
FACTS
I am alone, I cant be bothered talking to anyone particularily, or seeing anyone. I am self-constricted in my life. Perpetually irritated. Always longing, yet never accurate at what it is I long for. Squandered human potential. I could be advancing in any direction, yet I choose none. I choose the administration area, on the couch reading bad out of date magazines. And playing games which insult my caged intelligence. My soul is like a whore, chained inside me, bound and stretched upon a rack of self-contempt. My body the masochistic torturer, insane and misguided, wielding all manner of vicious aids in self-disfiguration. Here I sit in the abyss, stripped bare and covered in filth. Rolling layers of fat adorn my pitiful pulsing corpse, blistered with pox-like moles and innumerous flaws. Inside is a hostile wasteland, where nothing exists comfortably, all I can recall in my skull exists to reassure how failure always triumphs, that I can only win tragic introverted disgust from closing my eyes. heavy huh. Its so strange we can pretend to be strong and worthy, when we are so fragile, weak and miniscule. We are all miniscule, but nothing in any sense. That we can harness this chaos is in itself madness, that we can conquer adversity is delusion. We have no choice or options, we are to survive, even if against our own conscious will.
this is one of my billion to do lists, note: the difference between mine and yours
yes. yours are bland in comparison:
WANDERLUST
I have lost my origin
and I don't want to
find it again
WANDERLUST
Sneeky, Sneeky Travel
Withdraw 500 Bucks a week
Pay off cc first
put it into Bankcard next
accrue 2K Split
Have phone done
Pay for sat. Internet. nah.
hrmm.
Relentlessly craving,
peel off the layers
until we get to the core
DIdi I imagine it would be
like this
was this something I wished for
from island to island
wonderful
TO search, or to BE.
Coz I can, I have the means to. At any means, without justification or and sense of righteousness.
If there is a door to be opened, let it swing.
Jeez I get Gas Sick sometimes.
To be the chooser, not the looser. LOOOSER. loser.
If he ain't going to put it to 'good' use, let his own flesh and blood creation make headways into the universe.
Dnno yanoo
Coz I could you know, Oh so childish in the EXTREMES to take money from your fathers account and tear off.
But I need to seal the deal
Okay, yes phone needs to be handed in. Bankcard needs to be ordered, along with a new credstick. Pay License TOO
new page cue.
Barbarian, Savage, hungry money eater.
Playing sticks and stones with the universe, you-nee-verse.
Could set the standard. Go to EVERY op-shop on the way across town.
today>?
All my layers,
cocooning me
Cocooning me
Thats it!
I need to spread wings
need to find wings...
whats the lesson of two evils.
Dare to drive. Like dreaming but more threatening.
Games keep the blood flowing away from my creative regions
this is my disclaimer:
If I told you, would you listen? If I pointed it out, would you look? I don't think so, but go on, prove me wrong.
My dearest, How dare you prove me wrong.
Seven, five, twenty four.
In a world where a man cannot cross the dual-lanes with his bok-choi without risk of being run over by a tank, I find myself questiong global sanity on a very local scale. Men who drink alcohol risk torture in some countries, here alcohol wields the jump-starters quite happily on it's own accord. Nearly every home around me has an electronical appliance smothered and opaque with the very wax milked generously from our mortal candle. No sunshine necessary for a day joyfully spent chasing numbers clothed in eye pleasing graphical interfaces.
I grow fat and weak, a bloated tick on the arse of society, safe from the prying fingers and investigative mirrors. But the clarity I find during my own gravity induced downward spiral is most probably priceless, it takes negative circumstance to appreciate the savage internal continent. I for one know in my bleakest hour trudging through the grey dust inside, that through self-destruction springs creation. Of either positive or negative being mind you.
This is a story about everything I claim to know, in order relevant to when it pops into my brain.
I one asked a friend what he thought death would be like, and he said wouldn't it be like when you are asleep and not dreaming?
then what is being awake and not living.
there is some formula to discovery, the abstract or cohesive focus of desire or perception. So to remove myself from the comfort zone of being, I will stop having the television on in lieau of company, a phantom emotional life partner. Vulnerablility, is a step over the blade strewn linoleum, towards spiritual independance. And I mean satisfaction, not yee-haw praise whatever. Gold is a huge escapism, and so are we to each other. Don't climb a mountain though, it may be too cold for your squishy flesh to handle. Buy a fishing line, ride a bike, attack a tree with an axe maybe if you feel like asserting yourself towards nature. I did. Happiness is however, more often a dirty world full of std's and chemical dependence.
Complacency is the equivalent of a flak jacket in the middle-ages. There is no protection necessary if your contemporary enclosure doesn't require it. Ps. There are also no ways of winning the game of life to date either. You may get old enough to forget why you ever felt like succeeding was a big deal, or the real shock that death is a handy release mechanism when living becomes a real bastard as we age. So if you are bored enough to have time to worry about how you can find happiness, you obviously are a pompous twat in need of some health complications.
in a perfect world we would do the following:
Never hurt each other, unless it was an accident, and
if it we did, accidentally, make amends instead of just saying sorry.
Respecting our bodies for the incredible mobile miracles they are, in whatever form they take.
Generate and cultivate each our own private and public wellsprings of love and make this our foremost source of energy to live with.
By any means possible, co-exist with and fund the planet's health we have sprung from, and not just for political gain. Finding a sustainable premise for living and making that a mana-driven religion.
Find a way to become the Switzerland of the food chain.
Work with our animal nature rather than against it or trying to hide it behind the curtains of civilisation and realise the potential, without giving in to the basics of it and squandering what we could do with our talents inherent and inherited.
And bla de bla, obviously.
The only thing we truly own as an ego, is our body! Amazing. Interesting real estate.
Luckily exempt from sup-prime housing crisises.
Too much time is spent in our lives trying to seize and control, an understatement.
Look up to see the light is fading, even if it seems slow to go.
We've all become algamated, homogenised and boooooring. So easily, no-one saw it coming. Individuality is to be avoided and especially uncomfortable at dinner parties.
How do you feel?
Like I am filled with sand. A dog awaiting it's bowl to magically re-fill every day and consuming the days one by one.
Manufacturing the lure, the drug, to keep us coming back and rewarding our loyalty with sickness and death. Coca-cola.
And poor dumb we.
A spirit as lacklustre as I really has no obvious purpose, thats the problem. Because what really drives me has been obscured by the giving up the challenge birth sets. Or have U?
and this is a suicide note written by one of my favourite characters. from my book. which you will probably never read. coz I aint ever gunna finish writing it:
Birds barking, sharpening beaks and hungry balls of feather, so violent on wings she was afraid. This is no movie, she told herself. But all the conspiring foul, winds non-abating and dirty sand kept her rooted in place against the shoulder dune. I hate the sea! Why here? Why do I have to come here? I don't like going under the water, I feel like some big ugly sea monster is going to eat me. I know it in my mind, black and slimy and biting great chunks off me bit by bit. She could smell washing detergent and wondered why. But, if this is where they wanted her, that was it.
The seven-thousand ideas of mortal truth, that's what they called themselved. And lately they had been pretty pissant and breaking noble rules aplenty, thats affirmative. A little angry. Grr. All this wind, breaking me off like this. Bad germans. No, maybe good ones. Myra-lee.
Myra-lee.
Can't blame the gods of my consciousness now can we. The sky was watching her as usual, and today it looked like a child predator. Some big clouds conspicously lurked out over the brown seaweed dressed water. Sorry about the mistakes they would whisper, sorry. I don't watch the tv, I only check it out online, no need to apologise. The beareau of meteorology was recently sued by a horde of angry youth, apparently. And like the apocalyptic bridge of any decent terror-stricken campaign, the oldies were strung out and talking to all sorts of inanimate objects.
Today Myra-lee wasn't worried. She'd broken a few arms before, once her own. Mushy pumpkins, that's what the heads looked like, all scabbed and carved like transcontinental holiday excuses. Huddling into the grey mish-mash of a blanket, her eyes gave up searching for a reason in the bland visuals around, threatening to ingest her very pretty blue orbs at any given second.
Sleep was easy, better than death. Sleep was like dying but getting to come back again. Check out if someone was around to miss her. Oops, what? No, not yet.
The chance had come. Up, clothes off. off off off. Up above her head, temporarily blinded in cloth, down down down, to see the infinite white trail her legs became to the sand. free, but terribly vulnerable. as usual. Better go meet the water.
It coughed, and smelt disgusting. Sulphuric and bleached all at once. But it was warm, and regardless of what that meant, it felt nice. The bath the world once cared for.
Chasey. plastic and a little steel. can't we just pretend? no, it's going in for real.
Magic, that's what it was. spoonfuls of magic, something she thought lost so many aeons ago, when you could enjoy just being alive, the simple fact of existence. And stuff did exist, and bad stuff had no real excuse to. She could run around in the pine forest behind her house, have a good conversation with any one of the jostling community of imaginary folk living there.
Now, it felt like they had a pretty hefty admission charge.
Damn Zombies.
Shame about the dinosaurs too.
Breastroke, in all the way til her knees scraped the crushed shells, Blanket so precious, so loving. Claudia. Claudia the blanket. Names now. Two minutes to go.
sigh, long and drawn out.
okay folks. hate and love you in equal measures. make of that what you will.
goodnight.
oh what a generous maiden thee is.
poem:
breeze blows in through the flyscreen
the hydrangeas slow dance outside my window
cool breeze I can see where you begin
across the valley, of verdant green
the sun makes patterns of gold
on contours so gentle, they could be a body sleeping
a hillside wide and open to the sky
crested with a forest, a bush that has survived
a nature in place of heaven
smoke scent drifts unseen in the evening
carried with warmth and flavour subtle
a crow calling lonely to it's own echo
silhouhettes becoming curtains to the show
a long exhalation through the peppermints
the air is going home
to leave everything still before me
still and alone
:
thats about when I was hideously depressed and I saw a hill out the window.
wundebar
this one is about climate change being as threatenig as unwashed underwear:
LONELINESS IS AN ICEBERG
TRAPPED IN THE SEA
AND I AM A PENGUIN
IN DIRE EMERGENCY
POLAR BEAR HUGS GO MISSING
HE LEFT SOME TIME AGO
JUST THIS WHISTLING
TUNELESS MELODY
ALL THIS MELTING HEAT
HOW LOVE EVADES ME STILL
THAWING AWAY MY LAST RESORT
SOON I JOIN THE KRILL
SUN SUN SUN
EARTH EARTH EARTH
SUN SUN SUN
EARTH EARTH EARTH
NO DISTANCE NO DISTANCE
NO MORE
CARE TO SHARE MY LAST CIGARETTE
I'M SURE IT'S NOT SO BAD
WHEN HEARTS AND WORLDS AND TEMPERATURES COLLAPSE
CANCER WE DEMAND
okay, heavy on the caps huh? long time ago that one. was drunk on tainted water no beelzebub doubt okay heres nuther one:
oh and this one:
liing here agin this nite
arestless stuggle
rroon don we know there is more to life than this
rresitng arresting struggle
listening to bjorks birthday song
birthdays
I care about her, and I don't know how to deal with
my own emotions
julian once said
called it inner bitter turmoil
turnips tanks
round bitter water
to the shore
tomorrow I can
and I know it helps to right things down
FIND my wallet
TAKE the bankcard from dad's peugot
ChECK out the local op shop before 12:thrity
Put MONEY into my credit carrrd
WHEN dad gets BAck return my License PLATES
WASH the COROLLA at CLARES
CLEAN my ROOM By putting dirty clothes/sheeets in a pile
WASH kitchen dishes, clean STOVE
Generally shape things up.
DRIVE my car INTO a TREE and get into heaven FREE
no. scratch that.
BUY a QUOKKA and look at CAMPA vans.
I could VISIT MICHAEL AND WAX economical
ring kala
kala koala
bears are mean to bee together.
us make a fine bear coupla
teddy bear and karla koala
aquarius, enjoi
is that you sleep, poking around the back of my head
rubbing my eyelids
can I forgive myself?
YES
:
yeah. you guessed it. from when dinosaurs still roamed the earth for toothpics. or a long sharp splinter. anything to get the human gristle out of their sharp teeeth.
:
What happened to my only friend
the only one I call
a taxi driver once said
told me the true friend does only this
on their mobile phone
:
no , it does make sense?
:
this one is about my mum, who is dead. naturally speaking. and she told me when I was a young girl, about an out-of-body experience she had when I was even younger. maybe 6 or 7. or younger. but she said she fully lost consciousness and awoke in a hilltop village on a mountain of green. everyone in this village was panicked and running down the hill with makeshift weaponry. and coming up the hill, the invaders. mum had me under one arm. actually, another child, and was running down the hill with a weapon of her own in the other hand. anyway. I blame this out of body experience on the fact I was very demanding as a child. and annoying. and tOOK too much. so she opted for an out of body escape. anyway. mum was honest. and no words from her to me ever became a lie. thats saying something. here is the words:
To lay down here on this, this sun bleached wood
a moment to escape into
he never stops, always making noise
running, and falling again
I need a break I tell myself
what hours are provided
this child is an eternal cycle
and I am turning into his
legs stretched out, back straight
eyes closing involuntarily
something stops inside my head
and the temperature has changed
I'm not her anymore
I am her
this one is about my imaginary sci-fi sidekick, turgosh, who can't make warm milk let alone slay an oversized lizard: oh wait. it's called turgosh faces the petrifying wind:
Turgosh the unwary unbuckled his trousers,
and leant down to check his shoelashes
five crows passed silently overhead
bring with them bad wind currents
an ill wind blows no good
the air settled down around turgosh like a curse
silent and gaseous
and he felt constrained in the thickening vapours
in his veins the blood coursed as if sand had been added
slowly he felt his strength leaving him
and as if sensing petrification before Turgosh could guess
He uncorked a silver flecked brass gourd from his breeches
the liquid ran like mercury down his parched throat
setting it afire and burning with strange chemical zeal
but almost instantaneously his limbs softened once more
he crossed his shoulders in thanks to the gods
this one is about nothing. an exercise of words. oh. and hobbits:
Fruit is generally sweet, veggies savoury, funny that isn't? I reckon that's just asking for dietary trouble for starters.I wonder what sort of vegetable/fruit a honey sandwich is. I like how the honey mixes with butter between the bread. It is generally pretty preoccupying eating and doing something else like riding a horse or driving a car or doing a wee. Anyone can imagine the consequences of enjoying that little morself a little too much. Fractured spine, broken headlight or a little urinary flood to mop off the seat. Beware of eating and doing. Anything!
What brings that little idea to bear, is I find myself lounging in the thick grass down by the river with a packet of chips and a rod. Nothing happening, just the excuse of something maybe happening. One must admit, having an opportunity to do something whilst doing nothing is a fantastic way to escape the burden of being. Organisms always floating swiftly around moving crates and packing bags, looking in every degree of direction at once. Bugger it. Find your own devious way of diverting from the futile and hang on to it violently. And I caught a fish just then.
Glistening, slickened. Baby scales shedding all over my clumsy palms, a little bit of blunt trauma as the lineraggled trout bounces off the alien landscape all the way back to his gentler and wetter universe. Chances are I'll play the bad dentist again with him one day, we are probably both lazy about moving on. The tannins darken, with the bird orchestra gradually fading in from the tea trees and river gums around, basically telling me its getting darker and its their party now, not mine, not here anyway. Old wicker basket, faded a boring tattered grey and lifeless, naturally.
more word play:
Abuse.
Systematic abuse, X incidental abuse, repeated abuse, X accidental abuse, planned abuse, unplanned abuse, X eternal abuse, aware abuse, X unaware abuse, unaware abuse, desiring abuse, engaging abuse, X positive abuse, bored abuse, X innocent abuse, conscious abuse.
Aboos
Abuce
Ahbuse
Abooce
Aboose
Puce, Loose, Goose, Moose, Cous-Cous, Sluice, Juice, Noose, Bruce, Recluse, Reduce, Deus,
going to let it go.
doctor seuss.
haha. funn hey. really? well you never had a sense of humour did you:
and here is the big one.a nasty secret. a full ridden history. sweet and sick honesty. here you go good reader:
The weekend. Back the front.
I'm here at dad's little flat in town with the curtain jammed back between the speakers so some of today's abundant sunshine is allowed in, semi hunched over the laptop and the very typing unfriendly keyboard it sports. Listening to one of the 8000 and something songs jammed on it, and feeling so so, if a little frazzled and energy depleted. Flys are buzzing around lazily going nowhere, birds are tweeting absent mindedly... the day is a peaceful one, following on from the conservative chaos of the blues weekend. I did as little as possible, and wen't barely anywhere considering. And submerging back into a sea of indifference, of muted colours and dullening waves crashing above. Iced coffee in the fridge, one of the marker points of my day. Tastes good too.
Times like these, I have to ask myself... what do I want? what do I really feel like doing, what do I want life to become, to provide and to respond to? And all that I feel is the sitting, and not really doing much, hanging out with the basics and avoiding effort-requiring-change. I like doing things like looking at album covers on my music player, playing old pixel-ridden games with no real intent to entertain, eating and drinking whatever is easily found and always provided by dad. Wondering in my own way how the world is. it's easier to think less, or very little, and that's why I have the computer games. And the way i construct my world around me to be so little and undemanding. I could have got in touch with a couple of people for really probably quite needy reasons. Teegan because she would have been undemanding, and gave me an escape from the school crew. Ayesha because she might have permitted me to have sex with her. But really, everything considered, none of those choices would of been based on positive motives. Seeing Andrew Jansen shook me up, and I had expected it, but I had no clue how to react except do the obvious and hide away. I didn't want him and his entourage to stand accusing me and shouting out my shortcomings in front of everyone, but I deserved to be chastised. That much is sure, but what is right and wrong is a hard thing to set in stone universally, especially in dealing with punishments. i wasn't ever augered to go crazy this blues like I have done in the past, Just having been feeling crash hot lately. I have damaged my confidence, as well as my general health by this hermitic lifestyle. Summer is almost here, with unbelievable amounts of entertainment waiting for my extroverted interest to indulge in, but maybe I won't shift into the gears this year, the blues might be telling me something. I love music, I realy should set myself up for Big Day out, St. Jeromes Laneway Festival and Southbound, this at least. And not drinking on saturday has lent me more self-control as well as not falling back on masturbation to blatantly deal with my sexual needs. Channelling self-control and discpline, self-respect and preservation. Not drinking on command, wanking on impulse and eating I can wrap my fingers around is an almost guaranteed way of propelling myself upwards through the darker clouds. Isn't it me?
Phone died, Sjord pushed me in the pool, sily bugger. I know he doesn't mean harm but he needs to take it easy on the drink. I can see how he needs realease living in town, but yeah, silly bugger. I don't hold a grudge on him. Means I have to push myself a little and see if I can get vodaphone to send a new one my way, hopefully should be good. Which means I have to go to warrens place and get my documents from the Saab. I'm thinking about saing happy birthday to Kiara. I don't know, I am pushed and pulled with my friendship there. Sometimes I don't she has a clue what the concept means concerning me, I feel like there is a lot of distance there. And I earnt that no doubt by going silly over her at various stages of need and confusion. The Wells family are, I face it, a part of my life, as different as they are. Positivity gently tempered by reality, that sounds healthy enough.
Gently, heartbreaking, I love female emotion bound in song. Ani DiFranco, Chan Marshall... women can enter your ears and find your heart so well, so accurately.
In a vehicle of vulnerability
once mermaid, walking on knives in the sand.
I don't know how to express something that happens so deeply inside, and from foreign quarters.
I have some work to do if I am going to make this life work, and really, I must try. What is the point of wasting the only thing I know? Waiting for life to do me a favour, that must be the equivalent of expecting divine intervention, but more ambiguous.
My earliest memories.
Lying on my back infront of the concrete steps on the little patch of lawn next to the agapanthus, the warm late spring all around me in the form of freshly cut grass and dad pushing a lawnmower somewhere, the sun on my face and warming my clothes. Looking up into the blue, blue sky and feeling like this is life, this is life and I like it. It's good.
That's what I tell myself my first memory is, it's as good as any to begin with. the feelings were also one of security and self-providing, like nothing else was necessary. I was whole, complete and the universe was mine, my best friend. I didn't know much about the human world at large back then, I only knew about my world, which is was small but cosy. And non-threatening. I must have been about four or so, maybe even three. I hadn't gone to pre-primary yet. I also remember being in a childs seat in the back of a car, and it was hot, and I was irritable, grumpy at something. Mum got back and gave me a ribena, an I felt insulted because I wanted more, something better for her being away. leaving me. did sh leave me alone? was michael or claire in the car as well?> must have been, I remember I was in the childs seat behind mums chair and someone was next to me and in the passenger seat infront too. I threw the ribena on the ground angrily, and it spilt on the floor and that upset me more and I remember having a huge tantrum, tears and howling with anger at my newly created loss. I must mention that whenever I remember this, I feel a pang of emotion. Of loss, and how I was such a shit to mum when she just wanted me to be happy. I threw away her gift and pushed her away and made her life hard. She didn't deserve that, my mother never deserved that. I regret it, so young, I regret it. Something there.
A pretty strong memory for such an old one, I think mum leaving me in the car whilst she went shopping and it must have felt like forever in the heat, that stayed with me. My first memory of waiting, and being stuck waiting. i would have been really young I think. I have bluured bits of playing outside lots and going to atuls house on the hill and playing under his house with tonka trucks and things like that, but not clear at all. Of playing on my own out and about round the house in the wilderness of it all with my imagination at large and the jack russels or whatever dog was around. of dad not being around too much, and mum busy with open learning on the telly or doing this or that.
I remember adventure kept me busy when I was really young, before computers. The thrill of the outdoors, and other children, the likeminded awe of the world around us and our bodies themselves a world to explore. I think my strongest connection to the earth began so young and ended so young, I slowly lost touch with it. I kind of grew away with it due to technology probably.
things were magical then, new and magical. And I wasn't the problem, I hadn't yet thought to compare myself for flaws or shortcomings, things were too exciting for that. that came later.
I was setting off down the river, like we used to do, sometimes as a whole family. we would have great times down at the river, in the sun and the smell of the river mud and the things growing around it. I wa heading off down there for more exploration with one of the jack russels I would adventure with and I heard mum calling out my name "eeeeedddd" or "eeeedddy" or "teeeeed" or "teeeeeddy" I don't remember what she called me. But I remember the sound of her voice coo-ing out for me like she often did when I was off amongst the bracken and critters, with the earth my playground at large. She called me, as I set down ... I was nearly past the great big redgum tree, and there she was. I felt a bit frustrated, what did she want me for? interrupting my adventure so young. "time to go to pre-school" something like that she said " time to go to school". School? whats school I thought, and I didn't like it straight away as being something that intefered with my own fun, my own days. My way. And that was the beginning, she took me back to the house and got me ready, putting things on me like one of those backflap hats and I had this ninja turtle school backpack with a waterbottle filled with icy orange cordial and all that business. And on to the bus, on my own, the bus, where was this taking me? something so new, it could have been a spaceship. and I was the abductee, is how it felt.
Emotions were high, I had no idea which way to go. I got off at the primary school, not pre-primary. I didn't belong here, this wasn't my place, but it's where my brother went, so I followed the obvious. It was weird the confusion, and the feeling of being out of place and all these people around me that were bigger than me and no-one was there. I remember one of the teachers getting me together with michael and telling him to walk me up to the pre-primary up the road down below the high school. A long way for little me, and I got there. That was probably the the first day, which I have no real memory, atleast atul was there too, someone I knew. That time with the bus on my own and my drink bottle falling out of my bag down the bus steps and I started crying coz I was embarrassed or something I didn't want to be here, any excuse to make that know. The teacher must have helpd me into the pre-primary, down the steps past the green wire fence. there was all the play stuff, I found sherbies around them on a lolly hunt one time organised as an activity. and eating things that were tasty. and all us little ones running around and working it out. I remember barely how he made it hard for me. he would pick on me, come up and push me over. Bullied me, so young and a bully. maybe because I was a pretty obvious target, I was loud and pretty self-advertising no doubt. A definite little extrovert. I always sought to have fun. And be the centre of attention.
We all had our own trays were we would store things, with our names written on them. There is a picture somewhere of me and joshua newton web and kym rance sitting at a tiny table on one of the dinner nights or sleepovers or something. I cant remember. plastic plates, plastic chairs, trying to enjoy acting a little older. I had a tape that came with the teenage mutant ninja turtle bag, with old time rock n roll songs, and one that captured me for its innuendo even that young was Great balls of Fire, which I remember once bringing into class to play infront of everyone. all us little kids got the joke, and I think we even boogied to my fiery tune. I spose that was the first time I ever brang my own taste of music out. The start of something. I had an interest!
pre-primary wasn't a happy time I don't think, I never really felt that happy about it, it wasn't my choice. and being bullied so young also. years later I pushed him down a hill at the show, trying to balance out past wrongs maybe.
I was beginning to change and grow, human dynamics were educating and forming my outlook. Behaviour was adapting for the group of kids I was around, to fit in or to stick out, demanding I was to be known. I was an attention addict, not unusual, but absolutely. I liked making everyone laugh, any way I knew how. As much as I could. I spose I thought making people laugh meant they liked me, how to make friends en masse mabe. But that was never really learnt, just assumed, and I have stuck to assumptions ever since maybe, because I still have the same antics in place around people.
That was pre-primary, always happening in the way of my home fun. and it changed my wants and needs, I gained an interest in people, and how they could be a hobby in itself.
All this time I had the outside world going on. I had friends being made due to babysitting and parents shifting responsibilites based as much on respite as it was for their childrens social recreation. I remember being amazingly interested in the human body, and the bits we didn't get out as often as others. I have countless early memories of exploring each others rude parts just for the sake of why they were so important and sanctioned as much as any reason. And also because they were still a mystery. What did they do and why do we have them? until the future filled us in, we could do what we wanted with our genitals, wherever we could. Mostly with boys, as I spent more time with them, and there was always some off to the side spot you could play spot the difference or what does that feel like? Like being down in on the couch watching some strange movie about women that turn men into coccoons and store them in a room, and there must have been a sex seen, because us little tackers went and it hammer and tongs in the childs idea of reproduction, clothes off kisses and writhing around together. much to mum and the other mums suprise when they finished having a cup of tea and a chat upstairs. Or all the times, touching or putting it where or wherever was available. I was never taught that my penis was wrong, or sex was so taboo in my house,
So usually wherever I went, whomever house I was at I was educating in the idea quite often, check out what you have, pretty cool huh? It was a favourite thing of mine. In the innocence of life before puberty, or so it is seen to be, the wonderland of the body had no taboo, no secrets not worth telling. My open and well-exercised interests led right up to late year 6 or seven, when the reality and education was kicking in. Morals and guilt, and pleasures began to sour as I realised how some things aren't appreciated or normal. being sat down and told by a stern mother what is right and wrong, and some things are like a light switch, that can be turned on and off. the fear of being found out. up to no good. playing 'silly buggers' as one mum said.
you just accept what goes on, and I do not judge myself. I sit here and smirk at how ridiculous some people are to see this as abnormal behaviour for kids. to be denied self-discovery or told it was unhealthy. there must be a human understanding to temper that idea with.
exploration, fearless of the unknown.. this is beautiful. to understand the mechanics of the world, how we can feel within it.
I was entranced by the things that weren't talked about, or hidden. I wanted to know everything, it was my passion.
it was a long time ago, and so much has changed. the course of my nature like the course of this planet. the more that I discovered, the more I learnt could hurt me, or wasn't quite as wonderful. I learnt to fear the dark, and started wetting my bed. I learnt to fear being alone. I learnt to fear how people felt towards me, what people can do.
I discovered my own shortcomings.
brainstorm:
horse jumping bit
houses, and the countless hours spent growing up there
school, early school
finding out what I didn't like about myself
my behaviour.
my brother.
my mother.
my father.
loss, first memories of loss.
holidays.
fear.
bullying.
bits on a trampoline
out at that house in the wheat desert
as it happened
drawing, creation, imagination
books
talking lots, do you ever shut up?
whinging, getting my own way
active. energy, hyper-activity.
so blatant, sorry. feist can be a heart-tugger too. and the bss crowd.
-
and BJORK ofcourse.
the nature of forgiveness, when someone can barely even know you inside and still understand there is better hidden away behind all the nastiness and self-destruction
I carry myself in a sort of perpetually paranoid state of self-awareness, where all my physical failings are only waiting to be outdone by my social characteristics. And on what scale is my judgement? it's on a personal one, there is deep frustration i can't bridge the affliction of my own self-defeatist disease, self-sabotaging, putting myself down always. The only constant being an awareness of how much I don't fit, am not prett. But why? Why? is this humility? no. It is fear. fear of being unnaccepted and shunned, of being hurt or beaten. I used to have dreams of getting into a fight and punching but always missing them, not being able to connect and the fear of being hopeless in the face of adversity.
It is a life-crippling disease, leading me to be stuck in a cell. how many days shut in from the world have I spent in one lifetime so far, years.
These choices, what choices have i, many, so many, more than the largest video store in the universe.
I can think of a few courses of action that would might make me feel better off wellbeing wise.
Buying new clothes, jeans, pants, shorts, shirts, shoes... the lot. I am so self-conscious and I must admit, I haven't got much left to wear anyway. Clothes are important, I feel they are. I need something comfortable and slightly interesting, atleast partly descriptive of my nature. I could shop through second-hand shops, but nothing is guaranteed there. Well, is it anywhere I wonder. But I Need clothes, this is true. I would feel much more comfortable going out in public if I had more to wear and felt content with what I was wearing. It's a question of when I get the motivation and courage to step outdoors and see what's available, and make an effort. It's waiting for me.
Eating, drinking, whatever I put into my body. I don't like the idea of gallons of milk drinks, as strange as the concept is. I can see they were dad's downfall looking back, well that's a lesson for me. Pies and other fat laden shovel food also seems like a long term absolute killer idea. I feel nothing good by eating this food. Bread, pasta... all that carbohydrate stuffed business just serves to make me feel like a blimp expanding. I am happy with vegetables, fruit, fish, why can't I stick to that? I know dad's feeling of wanting to avoid shopping in anything other than hole-in-the-wall clovers, but I have even crossed that out. I need a fresh start, and take the food idea to the hilt. I need to start providing my own meals and choose my own diet without any dependency. I don't know where to start with that one. But even going in and buying an apple and tuna is a start. drinking more water.
Exercise, well, I could happily say i'll cross that bridge later... It has to happen though.
Surrounded by nothing resembling company, just the way I choose it.
Another thing is focussing on the future movements. Check on murdoch universiting study training? but what then? I could see.
I need to ring up about my phone. I need to insert money onto my credit account. I need to order another bank card.
Check it out, check it all out. Look at the job's down at the telecentre even maybe, inquire there.
Ideas, into motion, where to then. I can't just sit here day after day, even that is becoming an effort.
myers briggs here... hmm
enfp. counsellor, journalist, teacher, psychologist, actor, artist, musician, people stuff, interesting people stuff
-
woke up this morning at what must have been about 5 in the morning, daylight savings considered, 6ish. got out of bed as soon as light began to trickle through the window. Lovely really, freeze dried coffee and tv on the radio's new album... it really is splendid.
I might try the light be in it affirmation. First thing I said to myself thismorning was "It's not that i'm dreading it, I just wanted more sleep!" but that doesn't seem to be a problem now I'm up and about. Getting up early is the start, indeed. Affirmative.
Is family tree about black lynchings? maybe.
even brushing my teeth morning and night, thats a no bullshit way of doing something positive for my body. I think? yeah gotta be.
Paying an interest, actually caring about what state my immediate world is in, and seeing how I can help it in my immediate vicinity. How? recycyling? less power and electricity. yeah. I avoided having the air con switched on for too long last night. good on me.
THE QUICK GRAY FOX JUMPED OVER THE LAZY DOG
interesting. ways I can save the world whilst being in such comfortable non-threatening paradise.
Oh god how it is? How it is! That I can sit here with no negative circumstances baying for my blood beyond this window, where everything seems to be under control, sedate and passive. No-one is starving, bleeding to death, murdering, raping... well, not too many probably. It is amazing the illusion versus the fact, they can't be far apart around here. It all seems to be hanging together.
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
Nice function.
See how anything can be added to, modified. Amazing what a difference a little effort and exploration of any medium can make. I often see that in people's online stuff, how they individualise with the way they mix the media together and 'prettify' their online journals, music blogs etc.
I dont like the way dad cuts chunks of cheese off like breaking bread, or he smooshes the end of the toothpaste so you can't close the lid and the gunk builds up.
Just had an exceptionally cheezy 'pizza' toast using last night remaining pasta sauce. Body didn't agree it was particularily nice of me to feed it such a grotesque bubbling concoction. body had a point too.
feeling gluggy, time sync plus that breakfast tragedy no doubt, WATER!
GIL SANS ULTRA BOLD! With extra bold. sans serif!
another day of me being about as lazy as a stuffed iguana, why do I find it so easy to play the usual act? its weird
I spent hours infront of the laptop singing crazy, recording is fun
wow. a serious dose though
-
done that, been out again. Keep writing he tells me.
I have got a voice, it's there and it's mine. fantastic.
Fighting urges and pursuing demented ideas, how is that a respectable past-time. The writing is getting sporadic, less urgent and... probably more relaxed. Good. Looking at a pretty dull void infront of me, but the pork crackle of certain heart-failure related doom and tasty local cider has giddied my horse up. Not having the trusty red Claudia at my beck and mercy has certainly made me realise I miss her, or atleast miss taking her for granted. I have to concoct wild adventures in
my head just to justify finding another means of locomotion, well, grandma's car.
Have to chop off the previous head, and grow another in it's place, find a means of transcribing a sort of positive hostile takeover. Where the wayfaring boots get excavated from the closet, a little bit of dusting off and there we go. Back on the road again.
Certainly a good excuse.
-
The first thing to write is everything is different
isn't it.
I don't even understand how it is, but I feel it. I don't think I can trust dad anymore, or something. Holding hands.
Well thats all mush, fuck. I dont know anymore. This is turning into a bad joke. Some punchline, Kyrup syrup, skeletons of infidelity, waking up like the outsider I am.
gfthvb fffchj jumu m vbghhnmjxf vkl,n vdghgklwa,
paradox in every paradigm
I'm sitting here with kubrick's the shining in the background with a writers block in the foreground
all work and no play makes jack a dull boy
-
on a later note, what does all nothing make jack? and fuck jack.
-
nearly at the end of the year, I fear. I fear. laughing matter. Word of the day? Vagina.
and some more. of more lyrical quality. still with me? bless you, perverted voyeur.
You heard her voice in my head, a telephone crying out lost in the lonely dark. Trying, Oh fuck! God! I try all the time, to form her again. Reclaim her shape, my memory conquistador. A mud statuette worked into memento, heated and fired by lust. To leave naught but a crust.
If it was as easy to go into the clinic and have something wedged under the blanket of my flesh, to keep this wet patch from returning. She stood, she lay, she condemned the space around us. Blank faced textures bearing witness, no doubt unwilling, to carry this accident forever. As even I console the benches and grass and shade, to forgive them for interfering in something so unearthly that they really had no reason to exist. Not in our world, not then.
Alchemically, like any of our colours, we became brown. And the fun, like the flavour, was lost.
I can hear it, The clouds and atmosphere inside still can't smother that sound. She has sent the shark-spear of kill and collect deep into my organs, there is no hiding or plotting revenge. No, secrets are coins falling one by one from the threadbare pockets dressing my hips.
Once.
To throw them down. A second-sunday market tearing boots wide open and exposing every hidden treasure to the greed of another pair of hands. Blue candy leaving the tongue red, strange to think something would turn out so unpredictably banal.
When the spark finished leaping between our bodies, between the tangled limbs and firewood stacked, an irritation was born. A callous reminding us what we could do no longer, no matter how hard we tried.
Five-Thousand flutes of champagne, to swim amongst the glass vessels.
A nail so sharp it needed no hammer.
Push that fucking mobile away from your face, bather in the flourescent glow. I need you more than that, push button toy.
**!*!*!**#8313!!##!#
I wake. My eyes open, and my body rolls over to look like it should when you are sleeping. Dad is standing in the open doorway to my room, our room. The curtains haven't been pulled, he is just standing there looking at me, like a mute. Or some poor broken man-servant, expelled from his previous job ringing bells for moments of automaton stasis like the one he is in now.
" hurr.. mmrm, bl.. bh.. PISH OFF!"
That's an almost dreamlike pre-recording I have for dad every morning he comes in to stir me. I can be quite abusive when I'm barely conscious.
Dad looks at me without words again, standing with his fists at his side and sort of silly looking, like a schoolboy dragged into an ring-bound encounter with the playground bully, mumbles something, or seemed to and disappeared out the door. I didn't think to question the lack of curtain opening or shaking me round in the bear-like manner he usually does.
That's it!.
more words to hurt your eyes:
I've decided i'm getting too heavy for my wings, what I'm eating has all the health equivalent of swallowing a delicious cocktail of crushed lightglobes with disposable razor heads. more of the same yes, leave your damaged pollups out of this, average. whore.
maybe a state of defused anxiety is best for this parched working. Came from the hills and red shaped pumps above your brow, beast on console pixel clouds, draining your stamina, the death liquid to shape your suffering. no decomposition, that's a funny way to be. we are the plastic, dear society. to be the unwelcome guest for 40'000 years, awaiting a half-life like a the quarter we can all share. a peice of the planet pie. help yourself,... sorry it's not organic though,
I hope you don't mind. My dearest asian counterparts, it's with great trepidation I write to you. Remember those shiny blades you all once dearly held, with such devotion and deliverance? well hunt through your dojo and whip em' out, for my dear squeezebugs, its time to wage war on overpopulation. chop everthing up, convert it all into burgers, and we can build little cities for the burgers to live in. and ironically, with power still being a lightyear dream away for these burger cities, you can supply the burger populace with whale-oil lamps. delicious. explosive? I know you can. tear out some pages and feel the paper rasp between your fingers, sheets of literary skin, no butterfly to carry them to the great library in the sky. I'm over translation, no point anyway. there is only present longing for something. like, hmm, hot cup of chocolate. see. basis of it all is a nice warm glug of ...
a side quote from my 40 K novella:
Respect the adversary, prime your weapons, gesticulate madly.
This seems to be the general bent of training at the Hotchpotch military academy. Breeding warfare tactics with little or no purpose concerning resolving basic violent behaviour.
Septimus DeBlanko, or Seppy for shorters, stuck deep and fast in a beaurocratic nightmare with the deepest feeling of absolute futility. Drafted here three weeks ago on mandatory conscription for those living 300 clicks from beyond the city, just like all good peasants I was happily frogmarched to the distribution cells and placed in low-threat assault class 3. Also known as ripe meat for marching directly into the lazcannons.
more cold and lonely junk from a past that still kicks my shins:
I cant remember the feeling I had before I left home, But I hold the feeling now I have returned. Forking crumbled meatloaf into my mouth and hoping I can't feel a coldsore thats been threatening to pop out lately. Plastic utensils and silverfoil. I was embarassed at the shop because one of the ladies serving, Julia or something like that, commented quietly to Jess (the other one) that 'Edward needs a haircut'
I heard it and muttered sheepishly
'You could say that'
and turned my back on them and the other mine blokes awaiting their baine marie lunch.
SEE? there's always something embarassing awaiting you at the local servo.
unwrap the serviette that came with my meal to read in plain text: Greenbushes Roadhouse...
adress etc. there you go.
nice cold milk. mocha chill, slipping down my throat like sugared silk. I can see Jess' face her beaine, a look like she was tired and sick of the job she was in. I wonder how those women really feel on the inside. I sped home in the car at one point on the wet roads, letting my nerves perk up a bit. Once I got to 150 on the speedo I slowed down and recognized the possibilities.
A good vent anyway.
Worry got little left of the takeaway, she danced around manically awaiting what treasure lay in that silver tray... but when I put it down she did as best as dogs could do to emote disappointment.
Sometimes I feel like I could fit in. Enter that world the people of greenbushes live in. Be happy with a simple job, a simple partner and all the rest. Learn to connect with the people around me and share their lives with whatever they have going. But I never feel like that for long.
I mostly feel trapped. By myself, and my insecurities with people. Always feeling vulnerable and judged for any reason.
I have many excuses for keeping myself in the position i'm in.
It's thursday. I'm here on my laptop listening to one of my thousands of stolen songs. I'm thinking. I wonder what the festival is like in the city. I know I could wedge myself in a position that would enable me to go, but the cost. I can't really afford it. I don't want to miss the summer fun. But who knows?
oh, and here is my thesis on something regarding the meaning of life:
If at this point I told you the true story, then everything would cease to exist. So let us just stick with the fairytale, never mind the cracks, we can fill them with any colour you wish. Let the seconds fall away as powder, nothing worthy of form or purpose. Your mind that is pulsing and pounding needs to calm down and hear something it isn't comfortable excepting, so ignore it.
Well, most of it anyway...
Five-billion light years away, or ago, there was once a baby planet called, oh wait. It had many names, and in many dialects within that more. You can call it Earth #2 if you wish. Or wish for something far more grand and exciting. More than 12 billion forms of life dwelled upon, within and around it's ancient surface, or something to that approximate figure. Anyone who spent that much time coming up with that statistic was severely depraved and probably didn't spend enough time finding sexual intercourse or climbing the social ladder. A lot of things lived on the planet, all manner of organic bits and pieces tying themselves together and splitting in half. Amazing. But if you were one of these genetic fodder spillages, it wouldn't seem half as epic or miraculous. It simply was, you came to be and then you left. Quite suddenly if you consider the it from a immortal perspective, which occasionally happened too. That was also exciting, something that never finished, and possibly never begun. Well, we can talk about them now. And one in particular, A vessel born of soil and root, river and ocean, mountain and burrow. Something not quite 'alive' and never quite 'dead'. True children of the Earth, something so interconnected there was no line to prove positive a disconnection ever existed, like chain merged by a master blacksmith. Now this you could well see as being supremely unbalancing. But
here are a few sidenotes on the beauty of truth:
iCreation.
Ideas for a novel
A study of loneliness
Walking the path of the outsider
Swimming out of the mainstream
A fringe-dweller's account of love
Self-destruction and enlightenment
Discovering something beautiful and healing
Racking my mind trying to answer the question of existence
Existing in simplicity
Battling grief
Not knowing where to go
Wondering what I am
Wanting to save the world
Feeling the pain of everyone
Losing everything and hiding
Not thinking
Operating in a semi-conscious state
Revelling in nauseating waves of self-disgust
Human frailty and vulnerability
Coping with death
Facing mortality
Money and what has it done to us
A voice shouting truth to the millions ignoring it
Contemporary illusions
So you are looking to buy a personality, rather than build one inside you choose to house it with a lie.
this is a dnd campaign:
Settings:
RESOURCES
Shower. Cum. Saliva.
Shampoo. Disentegrating.
Toothbrush. Retrosex.
The Absolute Pained Animal
on the Early Cat Power
this is really a dark place to live, but well lighted:
the impenetrable sense of isolation, when one is clearly not isolated
to be found lost and sick inside, a cruel virus of self-disgust thwarting every step towards redemption
the shame of living, the shadow of death, constantly blotting out the sun
where in this maelstrom of chaos lies awakening, but tipping over into the eternal abyss
no time, nothing but the present moment to constantly dig into one's skin and mind
tearing, ripping apart the will to believe in some notion of health, of righteousness
you bore me
existence, you bore me
deep and hard, leaving me bloody and hollowed
feeding with gluttony upon the filth and numbing drugs, the escapisms, anything to distract from the truth inside
a way to enter stasis, a place to hide, sleeping
unstable and vulnerable, the scars never healing, pressure to survive in the permanent madness
no escape, nothing so sweet, nothing worth describing
no god, no love, no life, everything contains cancer eating it from within
fear like blood pushing and pumping our hearts into a state of constant tortured being
alive, a living thing?
destroying everything we become aware of,
blind murderous maniacs
that which we cannot understand we crush with terrified non-belief, and pretend knowledge by realising our own bizarre and twisted fantasies in their place
anything to keep us upright, moving, busy with the day, running from the night
what a mockery, a waste that we seek with so much vigour the faintest excuse to hide behind
preaching I EXIST, I AM REAL
does it ever end, the grey and bleak passage from first breath to last
or are we trapped in pergutory, swimming in limbo til we forget we ever came to be
and some more:
My fingers patter along the plastic cobblestones, patiently awaiting satisfaction. Awaiting messages from my mind, awaiting the mumbles of sex or the cacophony of violence or both. Nothing really pleases me much anymore, I can say in half-truth. Too much time spent chasing wondrous non-fiction and it seems like desensitisation has become the staple, only driving these numb fingers onward in search of some glimmering, blurred holy grail. Some glorious chalice, filled with the blood of simpletons, drained whilst watching televised spawning marathons. Oh, this is all I need to quench the anti-fire of desire. Rolling around in cold ashes, blended with the soot and chameleonic amongst the downtrodden pedestrian pidgeons. It seemed not long ago, before I became a flatulent whingeing carnivore, that all things were clouds, and all clouds silver lined.
Blasphemy! Rich and succulent, some wrung sweat from these sheets stained repetition of fact hard and eager. Advertising, human ringtones, crowing out from the city. Too treasured to sting, and lost that which is golden precious, delicious. If I was you I would take a sharpened blade and plunge it into the dough, cut at that yeasty breast. find sanction in affliction.||OKA
Here we go
Brainstorm time
FACTS
I am alone, I cant be bothered talking to anyone particularily, or seeing anyone. I am self-constricted in my life. Perpetually irritated. Always longing, yet never accurate at what it is I long for. Squandered human potential. I could be advancing in any direction, yet I choose none. I choose the administration area, on the couch reading bad out of date magazines. And playing games which insult my caged intelligence. My soul is like a whore, chained inside me, bound and stretched upon a rack of self-contempt. My body the masochistic torturer, insane and misguided, wielding all manner of vicious aids in self-disfiguration. Here I sit in the abyss, stripped bare and covered in filth. Rolling layers of fat adorn my pitiful pulsing corpse, blistered with pox-like moles and innumerous flaws. Inside is a hostile wasteland, where nothing exists comfortably, all I can recall in my skull exists to reassure how failure always triumphs, that I can only win tragic introverted disgust from closing my eyes. heavy huh. Its so strange we can pretend to be strong and worthy, when we are so fragile, weak and miniscule. We are all miniscule, but nothing in any sense. That we can harness this chaos is in itself madness, that we can conquer adversity is delusion. We have no choice or options, we are to survive, even if against our own conscious will.
this is one of my billion to do lists, note: the difference between mine and yours
yes. yours are bland in comparison:
WANDERLUST
I have lost my origin
and I don't want to
find it again
WANDERLUST
Sneeky, Sneeky Travel
Withdraw 500 Bucks a week
Pay off cc first
put it into Bankcard next
accrue 2K Split
Have phone done
Pay for sat. Internet. nah.
hrmm.
Relentlessly craving,
peel off the layers
until we get to the core
DIdi I imagine it would be
like this
was this something I wished for
from island to island
wonderful
TO search, or to BE.
Coz I can, I have the means to. At any means, without justification or and sense of righteousness.
If there is a door to be opened, let it swing.
Jeez I get Gas Sick sometimes.
To be the chooser, not the looser. LOOOSER. loser.
If he ain't going to put it to 'good' use, let his own flesh and blood creation make headways into the universe.
Dnno yanoo
Coz I could you know, Oh so childish in the EXTREMES to take money from your fathers account and tear off.
But I need to seal the deal
Okay, yes phone needs to be handed in. Bankcard needs to be ordered, along with a new credstick. Pay License TOO
new page cue.
Barbarian, Savage, hungry money eater.
Playing sticks and stones with the universe, you-nee-verse.
Could set the standard. Go to EVERY op-shop on the way across town.
today>?
All my layers,
cocooning me
Cocooning me
Thats it!
I need to spread wings
need to find wings...
whats the lesson of two evils.
Dare to drive. Like dreaming but more threatening.
Games keep the blood flowing away from my creative regions
this is my disclaimer:
If I told you, would you listen? If I pointed it out, would you look? I don't think so, but go on, prove me wrong.
My dearest, How dare you prove me wrong.
Seven, five, twenty four.
In a world where a man cannot cross the dual-lanes with his bok-choi without risk of being run over by a tank, I find myself questiong global sanity on a very local scale. Men who drink alcohol risk torture in some countries, here alcohol wields the jump-starters quite happily on it's own accord. Nearly every home around me has an electronical appliance smothered and opaque with the very wax milked generously from our mortal candle. No sunshine necessary for a day joyfully spent chasing numbers clothed in eye pleasing graphical interfaces.
I grow fat and weak, a bloated tick on the arse of society, safe from the prying fingers and investigative mirrors. But the clarity I find during my own gravity induced downward spiral is most probably priceless, it takes negative circumstance to appreciate the savage internal continent. I for one know in my bleakest hour trudging through the grey dust inside, that through self-destruction springs creation. Of either positive or negative being mind you.
This is a story about everything I claim to know, in order relevant to when it pops into my brain.
I one asked a friend what he thought death would be like, and he said wouldn't it be like when you are asleep and not dreaming?
then what is being awake and not living.
there is some formula to discovery, the abstract or cohesive focus of desire or perception. So to remove myself from the comfort zone of being, I will stop having the television on in lieau of company, a phantom emotional life partner. Vulnerablility, is a step over the blade strewn linoleum, towards spiritual independance. And I mean satisfaction, not yee-haw praise whatever. Gold is a huge escapism, and so are we to each other. Don't climb a mountain though, it may be too cold for your squishy flesh to handle. Buy a fishing line, ride a bike, attack a tree with an axe maybe if you feel like asserting yourself towards nature. I did. Happiness is however, more often a dirty world full of std's and chemical dependence.
Complacency is the equivalent of a flak jacket in the middle-ages. There is no protection necessary if your contemporary enclosure doesn't require it. Ps. There are also no ways of winning the game of life to date either. You may get old enough to forget why you ever felt like succeeding was a big deal, or the real shock that death is a handy release mechanism when living becomes a real bastard as we age. So if you are bored enough to have time to worry about how you can find happiness, you obviously are a pompous twat in need of some health complications.
in a perfect world we would do the following:
Never hurt each other, unless it was an accident, and
if it we did, accidentally, make amends instead of just saying sorry.
Respecting our bodies for the incredible mobile miracles they are, in whatever form they take.
Generate and cultivate each our own private and public wellsprings of love and make this our foremost source of energy to live with.
By any means possible, co-exist with and fund the planet's health we have sprung from, and not just for political gain. Finding a sustainable premise for living and making that a mana-driven religion.
Find a way to become the Switzerland of the food chain.
Work with our animal nature rather than against it or trying to hide it behind the curtains of civilisation and realise the potential, without giving in to the basics of it and squandering what we could do with our talents inherent and inherited.
And bla de bla, obviously.
The only thing we truly own as an ego, is our body! Amazing. Interesting real estate.
Luckily exempt from sup-prime housing crisises.
Too much time is spent in our lives trying to seize and control, an understatement.
Look up to see the light is fading, even if it seems slow to go.
We've all become algamated, homogenised and boooooring. So easily, no-one saw it coming. Individuality is to be avoided and especially uncomfortable at dinner parties.
How do you feel?
Like I am filled with sand. A dog awaiting it's bowl to magically re-fill every day and consuming the days one by one.
Manufacturing the lure, the drug, to keep us coming back and rewarding our loyalty with sickness and death. Coca-cola.
And poor dumb we.
A spirit as lacklustre as I really has no obvious purpose, thats the problem. Because what really drives me has been obscured by the giving up the challenge birth sets. Or have U?
and this is a suicide note written by one of my favourite characters. from my book. which you will probably never read. coz I aint ever gunna finish writing it:
Birds barking, sharpening beaks and hungry balls of feather, so violent on wings she was afraid. This is no movie, she told herself. But all the conspiring foul, winds non-abating and dirty sand kept her rooted in place against the shoulder dune. I hate the sea! Why here? Why do I have to come here? I don't like going under the water, I feel like some big ugly sea monster is going to eat me. I know it in my mind, black and slimy and biting great chunks off me bit by bit. She could smell washing detergent and wondered why. But, if this is where they wanted her, that was it.
The seven-thousand ideas of mortal truth, that's what they called themselved. And lately they had been pretty pissant and breaking noble rules aplenty, thats affirmative. A little angry. Grr. All this wind, breaking me off like this. Bad germans. No, maybe good ones. Myra-lee.
Myra-lee.
Can't blame the gods of my consciousness now can we. The sky was watching her as usual, and today it looked like a child predator. Some big clouds conspicously lurked out over the brown seaweed dressed water. Sorry about the mistakes they would whisper, sorry. I don't watch the tv, I only check it out online, no need to apologise. The beareau of meteorology was recently sued by a horde of angry youth, apparently. And like the apocalyptic bridge of any decent terror-stricken campaign, the oldies were strung out and talking to all sorts of inanimate objects.
Today Myra-lee wasn't worried. She'd broken a few arms before, once her own. Mushy pumpkins, that's what the heads looked like, all scabbed and carved like transcontinental holiday excuses. Huddling into the grey mish-mash of a blanket, her eyes gave up searching for a reason in the bland visuals around, threatening to ingest her very pretty blue orbs at any given second.
Sleep was easy, better than death. Sleep was like dying but getting to come back again. Check out if someone was around to miss her. Oops, what? No, not yet.
The chance had come. Up, clothes off. off off off. Up above her head, temporarily blinded in cloth, down down down, to see the infinite white trail her legs became to the sand. free, but terribly vulnerable. as usual. Better go meet the water.
It coughed, and smelt disgusting. Sulphuric and bleached all at once. But it was warm, and regardless of what that meant, it felt nice. The bath the world once cared for.
Chasey. plastic and a little steel. can't we just pretend? no, it's going in for real.
Magic, that's what it was. spoonfuls of magic, something she thought lost so many aeons ago, when you could enjoy just being alive, the simple fact of existence. And stuff did exist, and bad stuff had no real excuse to. She could run around in the pine forest behind her house, have a good conversation with any one of the jostling community of imaginary folk living there.
Now, it felt like they had a pretty hefty admission charge.
Damn Zombies.
Shame about the dinosaurs too.
Breastroke, in all the way til her knees scraped the crushed shells, Blanket so precious, so loving. Claudia. Claudia the blanket. Names now. Two minutes to go.
sigh, long and drawn out.
okay folks. hate and love you in equal measures. make of that what you will.
goodnight.
Everyone I talk to is starting to look like a Two Worlds extra. As in, the terrible excuse for an Oblivion ripoff rpg character, geddit? farout out out.
And this hiccup situation is keeeeling me. Wolf Blass, 33 percent extra, one good time.
one good time loaded with antipodeal hiccup incestuous doubt.
As you know, dear good people, we all have a heel.
is your heel achilles? is it the one place where an arrow will strike leaving you vulnerable and not so invulnerable? maybe it is.
mine is in ma belly. my belly.
Like you good people, you all belong in a world full of consumption. where every waking minute is tantalised by either masturbatory study cram or glitch skin disorder cream, ie. play MASQ now. look it up in your web browser. PLAY MASQ now.
fantastic.
ever feel like your opinion counted? 1 2 3? did you?
play that web based game now or suffer the consequences of being stuck in a shit play with no good actors and NEVER a director worth starving for.
speaking of starving, I think the enamel off my teeth has come undone.
god bless you wolf blass. you and your army.
So we have a problem? no? really? well go off and sit your exams you post-natal fucks.
and if you already have that was an anachronistic joke.
you know,
outside of our relevant time-structure, juxtaposing our current realitees truth with anothers.
bla bla
with your poison.
with your poison.
with your poison.
with your poison i could taind th well.
Pretty village, last not longer me yet, as you suck from the milk of my cows.
And this hiccup situation is keeeeling me. Wolf Blass, 33 percent extra, one good time.
one good time loaded with antipodeal hiccup incestuous doubt.
As you know, dear good people, we all have a heel.
is your heel achilles? is it the one place where an arrow will strike leaving you vulnerable and not so invulnerable? maybe it is.
mine is in ma belly. my belly.
Like you good people, you all belong in a world full of consumption. where every waking minute is tantalised by either masturbatory study cram or glitch skin disorder cream, ie. play MASQ now. look it up in your web browser. PLAY MASQ now.
fantastic.
ever feel like your opinion counted? 1 2 3? did you?
play that web based game now or suffer the consequences of being stuck in a shit play with no good actors and NEVER a director worth starving for.
speaking of starving, I think the enamel off my teeth has come undone.
god bless you wolf blass. you and your army.
So we have a problem? no? really? well go off and sit your exams you post-natal fucks.
and if you already have that was an anachronistic joke.
you know,
outside of our relevant time-structure, juxtaposing our current realitees truth with anothers.
bla bla
with your poison.
with your poison.
with your poison.
with your poison i could taind th well.
Pretty village, last not longer me yet, as you suck from the milk of my cows.
cindy.
back to you, vicarious student of the north.
so, my german girlfriend is enduring heart failure. meanwhile I endure white wold blass wisdom of the underkind, so forget grammar. cupid vixen. fuck grammar.
for all those watching, watch this you underbelly stink of oral reprise.
(insert blank text. well, actually I had to log on and remove a large chunk of criminal evidence that could have got me in quite a lot of shit. thank the god of reversible lies for an edit pencil)
pps. www.alteraction.com/
go there. NOW. or you miss one of the most important and ground breaking games ever released on the unsuspecting public. and i'll give you 10 bucks if you don't fuck your secretary the first time round. seriously. I tried not too. and I don't even like blondes. but I just.... couldn't.... help... my.. GnnHHnnnn uhhh... self.
ahem.
there ain't an extra page.
PLUS!!!
listen to LOW there latest album teaches you about life, in reverse, ie, destroying it.
PLUS!!!! listen to the drones.
FUCK!!!!!! (was that as good for my blog as it was for yours?_
back to you, vicarious student of the north.
so, my german girlfriend is enduring heart failure. meanwhile I endure white wold blass wisdom of the underkind, so forget grammar. cupid vixen. fuck grammar.
for all those watching, watch this you underbelly stink of oral reprise.
(insert blank text. well, actually I had to log on and remove a large chunk of criminal evidence that could have got me in quite a lot of shit. thank the god of reversible lies for an edit pencil)
pps. www.alteraction.com/
go there. NOW. or you miss one of the most important and ground breaking games ever released on the unsuspecting public. and i'll give you 10 bucks if you don't fuck your secretary the first time round. seriously. I tried not too. and I don't even like blondes. but I just.... couldn't.... help... my.. GnnHHnnnn uhhh... self.
ahem.
there ain't an extra page.
PLUS!!!
listen to LOW there latest album teaches you about life, in reverse, ie, destroying it.
PLUS!!!! listen to the drones.
FUCK!!!!!! (was that as good for my blog as it was for yours?_
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
well yeah I do have to quit this blog, Cindy, for a number of reasons:
A-
It's stupid.
B-
I'm busy, you know, like doing stuff. Saving the pirate bay from extinction. Going to iceland. Eating. Buying tissues. scaremongering.
well, alphabetically numbered. whatever.
And I deleted all my illegal music. left me with one snowman album. So I hereby give up trying to climb on bandwagons, it'll still give me terrible arthritis in old age(ha) though. luckily that ain't been planned for any of us.
but seriously. I was told in a lucid dream by the eternal universe that we are heading into a dark hole of absolute oblivion. You and me and everybody. Even the people who, like parrots, have no self-awareness. Even if some stupid bible-bumpkins suckers praise it like the bubonic first phase of rapture. Yeah there will be a second coming, but we're going to string that pork on stilts up and martyr that fool a lot damn harder than mel gibson ever imagined.
I'm looking forward to my good dose of influenza. Bring it on.
reckon they have some on ebay yet?
A-
It's stupid.
B-
I'm busy, you know, like doing stuff. Saving the pirate bay from extinction. Going to iceland. Eating. Buying tissues. scaremongering.
well, alphabetically numbered. whatever.
And I deleted all my illegal music. left me with one snowman album. So I hereby give up trying to climb on bandwagons, it'll still give me terrible arthritis in old age(ha) though. luckily that ain't been planned for any of us.
but seriously. I was told in a lucid dream by the eternal universe that we are heading into a dark hole of absolute oblivion. You and me and everybody. Even the people who, like parrots, have no self-awareness. Even if some stupid bible-bumpkins suckers praise it like the bubonic first phase of rapture. Yeah there will be a second coming, but we're going to string that pork on stilts up and martyr that fool a lot damn harder than mel gibson ever imagined.
I'm looking forward to my good dose of influenza. Bring it on.
reckon they have some on ebay yet?
Friday, February 20, 2009
hello faithful minions.
everyone take a seat. make it the most uncomfortable plastic swedish designer, because today is about beauty and agony. two words that get bandied about in tennis match fashion rather a lot with quite a few of our more alternative bands out there.
Oh. And it's going to be swedish, because today is about KAREN DREIJER. I am not even going to google toolbar spellcheck that, because we all know it's about the muuuusic maaaan.
Karen Dreijer, one side of 'the knife' and now a sophomore mother. She spent the last double figure of months incubating little four-limber parasites and cultivating a rich tabula of scandinavian inclination. She popped, literally and stereowise. And know this, foul treaders of the meta-column, FEVER RAY is in the house. Not mine, that would be trayfuckin'cool, but in someone's house. And that's cool too.
Now I have problems talking about what music sounds like/makes me feel/blablabla. Sort of the same gag reaction I get at wine tasting bacanal fests. Oh this has a hint of patented italian leather, roughly pending on the palet with a good connotation of red wine and rosemary.
So instead, i-buy (that means you buy) the cd. Listen to it. Listen to it good.
and vatch!
oh. woops. that's my genius friend andrew. genius. amazing. runs on methanol.. check my russian hat though. check?
ok, here is what you little partisans want:
I could have unloaded 'If I had a Heart' and I WOULD HAVE posted 'Dry and Dusty' even if it was some misshapen toxic crusader of a fan clip. But alas, none.
Ahh. I love watching things. I watched 'Dancer in the Dark' again last night.
I experienced the whole damn thing emotionally backwards though. I Lykke Li'd it up for the first 15 minute colour thingy montage because it was so sad knowing what happened. And by the extreme 'agony punch to the tear ducts' last bit, I was dry. and felt calm. And accepted Bjork's death in a fashion that let me communicate for the next 2 hours after. Amazing.
I love that woman. I think she is a woman.
Naaaah, Sylph. Nereid. Dryad.
oh wait. they got the womans bits too don't they.
Not an eskimo elf though, Cop out!
Bye Kids!
everyone take a seat. make it the most uncomfortable plastic swedish designer, because today is about beauty and agony. two words that get bandied about in tennis match fashion rather a lot with quite a few of our more alternative bands out there.
Oh. And it's going to be swedish, because today is about KAREN DREIJER. I am not even going to google toolbar spellcheck that, because we all know it's about the muuuusic maaaan.
Karen Dreijer, one side of 'the knife' and now a sophomore mother. She spent the last double figure of months incubating little four-limber parasites and cultivating a rich tabula of scandinavian inclination. She popped, literally and stereowise. And know this, foul treaders of the meta-column, FEVER RAY is in the house. Not mine, that would be trayfuckin'cool, but in someone's house. And that's cool too.
Now I have problems talking about what music sounds like/makes me feel/blablabla. Sort of the same gag reaction I get at wine tasting bacanal fests. Oh this has a hint of patented italian leather, roughly pending on the palet with a good connotation of red wine and rosemary.
So instead, i-buy (that means you buy) the cd. Listen to it. Listen to it good.
and vatch!
oh. woops. that's my genius friend andrew. genius. amazing. runs on methanol.. check my russian hat though. check?
ok, here is what you little partisans want:
I could have unloaded 'If I had a Heart' and I WOULD HAVE posted 'Dry and Dusty' even if it was some misshapen toxic crusader of a fan clip. But alas, none.
Ahh. I love watching things. I watched 'Dancer in the Dark' again last night.
I experienced the whole damn thing emotionally backwards though. I Lykke Li'd it up for the first 15 minute colour thingy montage because it was so sad knowing what happened. And by the extreme 'agony punch to the tear ducts' last bit, I was dry. and felt calm. And accepted Bjork's death in a fashion that let me communicate for the next 2 hours after. Amazing.
I love that woman. I think she is a woman.
Naaaah, Sylph. Nereid. Dryad.
oh wait. they got the womans bits too don't they.
Not an eskimo elf though, Cop out!
Bye Kids!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
apparently it's possible to break precious stones.
fuck, like I could get my hands on a diamond-tipped drill. Sigh.
here is another clip.
Now, just for the sake of fidelic integrity I'll assume all you cutesy-pie kids with your napoleonic-fashion complexes will view this like a soggy sao on the counter of the 'all you can eat, fresh as a minor-label' buffet. But for fucks sake, this band was good. Oh so good. Pathetically challenged in the mortal coil stakes, but look.
Look look look.
Why? The rise and fall of this band (the minor spike in the under-charts they were) pretty much metaphorically(/some ally word) mirror my current emotional crises.
fuckers. How dare they nostradamically cancel out my current bloody hearted campaign. I must blame SOMETHING!
i'm going to canberra.. NOW!
ps. this is cindy. she is my msn mandate from heaven (anyone get the Might & Magic plug?)
Cindy No you don't see my email address@hotmail.com says:
oi
muckguppy says:
hello precious!
muckguppy says:
oh.
muckguppy says:
read my blog.
Cindy No you don't see my email address@hotmail.com says:
i did last night!
muckguppy says:
um I updated it... do you like?
muckguppy says:
its going to be my fucking mONEY SPINNER AAAARGH I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO BE A MUSIC JOURNO AND DO LINES WITH MAYNARD AND MASONIC SWORD RITUALS WITH BRITNEY OR THE OTHER WAY ROUND YES
CJ says:
a money spinner? only if you add a lot of porn ads
muckguppy says:
i am a walking porn ad. kowdown.
muckguppy says:
oh and my profile pic is like, so 2005 isn;t ahhhh
muckguppy says:
I have had too much coffee to bolster my driving efforts to CAAAAAN berra. oh oh
CJ says:
msn or facebook?
CJ says:
the haircut...
muckguppy says:
uh the avatar one looming at me incessantly to the left
muckguppy says:
AND that
muckguppy says:
heheh
muckguppy says:
farney
CJ says:
you look blokeish
muckguppy says:
Ah you can stroke my triceps anytime CindyLoo
muckguppy says:
http://muckguppy.blogspot.com/
you read it... EH?
muckguppy says:
now read it again before I beat you with my half-site knifeflop hair.
muckguppy says:
eh
muckguppy says:
where did you get you're avatar from!?
muckguppy says:
I want it tattooed.. tattoo ED!
CJ says:
i actually have no idea
muckguppy says:
good
muckguppy says:
I likes it that way for confidentiality
muckguppy says:
plus I don't have to namedrop which mobile ad will send to you for 4.50 (plus subscription costs, anytime you wish to stop receiving messages just text: OHMYFCKINGGODMUMISGNGTOKILLMEPLZSTOPSTOPSDTOP
muckguppy says:
I assume you are ignoring me for my online cemented ego-domine.
CJ says:
well i was actually just comment on your facebook
CJ says:
and also expecting you to be gone by now
muckguppy says:
well. are you pregnant?
muckguppy says:
(sometimes I can take random stabs and get it right)
muckguppy says:
maybe I should be a chemo nurse.
CJ says:
i don't think chemo nurses get to stab people
CJ says:
i hope i'm not pregnant
CJ says:
i feel fine, so it's unlikely
muckguppy says:
good girl. carrots.
muckguppy says:
yum yum yum
muckguppy says:
we can drink vegetable based drinks (with potato based vodka) yay!
ahh. epic social plugging. win win.
fuck, like I could get my hands on a diamond-tipped drill. Sigh.
here is another clip.
Now, just for the sake of fidelic integrity I'll assume all you cutesy-pie kids with your napoleonic-fashion complexes will view this like a soggy sao on the counter of the 'all you can eat, fresh as a minor-label' buffet. But for fucks sake, this band was good. Oh so good. Pathetically challenged in the mortal coil stakes, but look.
Look look look.
Why? The rise and fall of this band (the minor spike in the under-charts they were) pretty much metaphorically(/some ally word) mirror my current emotional crises.
fuckers. How dare they nostradamically cancel out my current bloody hearted campaign. I must blame SOMETHING!
i'm going to canberra.. NOW!
ps. this is cindy. she is my msn mandate from heaven (anyone get the Might & Magic plug?)
Cindy No you don't see my email address@hotmail.com says:
oi
muckguppy says:
hello precious!
muckguppy says:
oh.
muckguppy says:
read my blog.
Cindy No you don't see my email address@hotmail.com says:
i did last night!
muckguppy says:
um I updated it... do you like?
muckguppy says:
its going to be my fucking mONEY SPINNER AAAARGH I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO BE A MUSIC JOURNO AND DO LINES WITH MAYNARD AND MASONIC SWORD RITUALS WITH BRITNEY OR THE OTHER WAY ROUND YES
CJ says:
a money spinner? only if you add a lot of porn ads
muckguppy says:
i am a walking porn ad. kowdown.
muckguppy says:
oh and my profile pic is like, so 2005 isn;t ahhhh
muckguppy says:
I have had too much coffee to bolster my driving efforts to CAAAAAN berra. oh oh
CJ says:
msn or facebook?
CJ says:
the haircut...
muckguppy says:
uh the avatar one looming at me incessantly to the left
muckguppy says:
AND that
muckguppy says:
heheh
muckguppy says:
farney
CJ says:
you look blokeish
muckguppy says:
Ah you can stroke my triceps anytime CindyLoo
muckguppy says:
http://muckguppy.blogspot.com/
you read it... EH?
muckguppy says:
now read it again before I beat you with my half-site knifeflop hair.
muckguppy says:
eh
muckguppy says:
where did you get you're avatar from!?
muckguppy says:
I want it tattooed.. tattoo ED!
CJ says:
i actually have no idea
muckguppy says:
good
muckguppy says:
I likes it that way for confidentiality
muckguppy says:
plus I don't have to namedrop which mobile ad will send to you for 4.50 (plus subscription costs, anytime you wish to stop receiving messages just text: OHMYFCKINGGODMUMISGNGTOKILLMEPLZSTOPSTOPSDTOP
muckguppy says:
I assume you are ignoring me for my online cemented ego-domine.
CJ says:
well i was actually just comment on your facebook
CJ says:
and also expecting you to be gone by now
muckguppy says:
well. are you pregnant?
muckguppy says:
(sometimes I can take random stabs and get it right)
muckguppy says:
maybe I should be a chemo nurse.
CJ says:
i don't think chemo nurses get to stab people
CJ says:
i hope i'm not pregnant
CJ says:
i feel fine, so it's unlikely
muckguppy says:
good girl. carrots.
muckguppy says:
yum yum yum
muckguppy says:
we can drink vegetable based drinks (with potato based vodka) yay!
ahh. epic social plugging. win win.
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