Dip. Down. Sad. Gloomy.
Spent. Poorly.

I don’t know why,
I can’t look anyone.
In their eye.

I fear their look.
They’ll see my sadness.
Don’t read THAT book.

There is only sorrow.
This flesh soaked in melancholic.
I hold, I borrow..

A shallow depression runs-deep.
I drink with gourd.
And cycle and sleep.

My own crying.
It sounds strange to me.
Am I dying-

Have I done enough?
Tomorrow I’m afraid.
Chipped away at, into the rough.

Push and pull.
Tug of loss.
Had my full.

Evening dross.
Death, dirt “back to the mud”.
All blood and new green moss.

Chicken. cat.
Pray, ALL hunters.
I don’t know where i’m at.

A simple day,
That asked so little.
I hide away,
And feel so brittle.
My mind a tank.
Half full of brine.
I blame everyone,
and lack sun-shine.
I mellow at lunch,
and roll into dinner.
And fear for my girth.
Wishing to be thinner.

I think of words,
I’ve read and writ on page.
I fear the glory of life and its stage.
I can’t look,
I can’t look the audience in their eyes.
I fear,
I fear and feed
My own despise.

It takes me forever.
Forging anew.
To my surprise.
I feel untrue-
To myself I write,
so often I do.
Organise thoughts,
get them down,
“out-the-blue”.
Strange, fantasy,
ALL-OF-“IT” untrue.

Unwieldy ideas.
My duped perception.
More and more fears.
And all that reflection.

IS THIS LIVING?
I wonder and wonder.
Pretentiously ponder.
Thoughtless. I flounder.
Wound tightly around her.

Little finger.
Manipulative pinch.
She learns, she cries
Inch by inch
Situations just worsen.

I’m cordial most times.
Aware of the times,
The places. The external.
Influence me not.
ugh GARBLED.

I batter away the world.
Behind this shield I defend my own senses.

…But in doing so-
I do not experience.
I don’t learn.
I don’t ask.
People ARE moving about.

My debate for DOING versus THINKING.

Is not asking anything of anyone-
are we perceiving each other.
-If you can dream it have you already “Done” it-
**open your eyes.

LOOK AMONGST YOUR FUCKING SELVES.
Just look.
FEEL RATTLED.
PRICKLY SKIN.
GOOSE FLESH.

FEEL THE TEMPERATURE OF THIS ROOM FOR WHAT IT IS.
Cold? Alone?

Fuck that pretty girl.
Put your motivations in your back pocket and sit on them.
Take off your pants and tie them up. “lass”-oooooh-”

Better yet a noose.
Hang your pre-dispositions and fears.
They are beneath you.
kind of…
Let them hang out to dry.

Constantly rained on my Tasmanian winter…
Let them air.
Talk to someone else.

Surprise yourself with your own comforts.
Practice being genuine.
Exercise-
Exercise.
Be concise.
ANNUNCIATE!
Let your demons go.

THESE people surrounding you,
The reason you aren’t talking to them is because you don’t know them.
Let the aesthetic sink in.
Let it underpin your silence.

Chemistry!
Forget science this night.

Be wild. And… tell stories.
Adventures you’ve had!
Be happy in the plenty -of company.
Children in a sand pit.
Diapers; filled with fears, slung out, from your renewed,
your invigorated, inspired, precious flesh.

It won’t last long.
Like drugs.
Like alcohol.
It won’t last.
It will fade.
The effects.
These states. Their boarders shift.
Shrinking.
Politics.
Conflicts.
Hiding in you.
Don’t feed them if you don’t want to.
Don’t idealise.
Don’t prejudice.
Don’t condone smoking.
Don’t. DON’T

Just don’t.
Jack put down the knife.

And he did.
He put down the knife.
Into her hand.
*scissors, paper, rock with self*
He never forgot that.
She never forgot that day.
“Thanks for the memories”
Nothing a-bit-of things and stuff; can or cannot fix.

Something… (You’re lost now, look around the audience)

Was blood everywhere?
Were they family? Eh?
What did they share?
DNA?

Break your coding I say.
Put the knife into her hand.
Blade first. Cutting though bone and tendon.
The tender first touch repaid.
REPAID?
In FULL!
“Better to have never been”

Never been a mother, father, sister or brother.
The busted up, broken bindings of family.
The soul.
How you are raised and the luck of your environment.
That will depend and depress upon you how fucked up you are.
How damaged your soul is.
BULLSHIT.
EVERYTHING IS BULLSHIT.
Thankyou for that insight Robbie of Harbour lights.
You’ve got something for everyone when they need it.

Breakfast is served.
And I ACTUALLY appreciate it.

Witness now the movement of people.
Be qualitative.
Some transfixed.
Ironically, as I’ve now lost the plot.
This excuse for a stage.

LIFE as entertainment gives to us-
Gives up an opportunity to pander,
posit, donate, think and thrill.

At will we can change.
Behaviours only last as long as they are allowed.
I feel a shard of glass in my own behaviours.
*point at brain.

“On-set”, change.

Let me pull a shape.
Look at me.
LOOK AT ME.
So out of shape.

“this is something real, I had sex this morning”

Real! Really a lie.
So memorable.

—————————————————
What’s great about people.
Instant reception.
No buffering.
No loading.
Updates updates updates.
Mods.
Apps.
Versions.
Effort.
Patience.

Ahhh the sacrifices we make.