How can you care about other people’s opinions I said.
Broadcasting bollocks, opinions, noise over the radio.
A complete stranger. Making sounds at space and silence.
Empty threats of ideas. Not grounded in your sphere just-
just nothing. Saying and questions and wanton lack lack lack.
The quality isn’t there, the emotion or relevance. It goes.
Goes on on on. An experienced writer, or talker would have,
would have written, would have said it, differently. Diff.
Pesto. When you’re A-ing is PASTA. The words are the same but-
for their vowel sounds. So I tried and nobody got it. Left it.
A-ANG Axampla af what at as!
B-ANG wath SABTLA. Farm maats fanctaan!
C-ANG wath 80% watar (parcantagas arant raal)
D-ANG. Tha vataman D. Avary garl, and gay.
A-ANG. At as what at as.
F-ANG. Any thang. Tha taath. Bata yaar lag. Pat dack an vagana.
G-ANG. Tha G-strang, chard, masac, clathas, antartaanmant. Hat tha spat.
H-ANG. Kall ma. Strang ma ap, wath a naasa and lat ma ga: “ha-ha, than: hang”
A-ANG. At as what at as
J-ANG. Walcama ta tha jangla! Play, danca and smaka/taka a jag.
K-ANG. Taa mach K, want kaap tha dactar at bay. K-whala!
L-ANG. Blank maans, lyang. Asn’t thas fan?
M-ANG. Yaa tha mang-mang, mang. Vace Caty rafaranca! Gamas!
N-ANG. Braak yaar braan wath nangs. Starvad far axygan.
A-ANG. Cantantaas jaka!
P-ANG. Bays payang far garls staff. Nat paaang an. Grass.
Q-ANG. Cryang, mayba standang an lane ar waatang far samathang.
S-ANG. Vacal chards an tha past tansa. Laakang farward taa tha shaw.
T-ANG. Laka a flavaar. Chaps. Laman. Lama. Gangar mayba?
A-ANG. Yaa gat at yat?
V-ANG. Lackang batwaan yaar fangars.
W-ANG. Warld af Warcraft symbal. Haad crawnad wath fangars an a ‘W’. Dack…
X-ANG. Wa asad ta ga aat, bat naw wa da nat.
Y-ANG. Am stall dacadang af thas qalafaas as a vawal.
Z-ANG. Anca yaa raach tha and af a stary and yaar tarad. Snaaza tama.|
We climbed the mountain. The view was great, 0.5 points for climbing Mt Wellington. Great, so good to be part of the community of hikers.
Then we walked 7/8ths of the way to the lost world. Shoes wet, hiking, sliding, eating snow. Then she packed it in, gave up, turned back. No rest.. Just “that’s it”. I understood she was sick, but it was a serious kick in the pants.
We drove back, communication; indeed words; are the worst! I thought to myself.
If I didn’t check in. Then I could have kept walking. But I stopped, I cared, and I was furious, filled with loath feelings. Getting over halfway and heading back. Up and over the hill and halfway down and then to stop, not rest… and turn back was the stupidest hiking activity I’ve partaken in. Madness.
Then home, my foolish sister in a rush, made cookies, burnt the bottom then took the keys to the flat. It was a riddle of insult and injury. The mystery of the universe in its ununiformity confounded me slightly. No savoy baths, instead the beach. We check out Alexander Battery; driving past the turn-off to Megan’s place. Then went for a walk. I smelt the flowers, Kat had a blocked nose.
I had very little to give. Light hearted energy, thoughts and basics were shared. It’d been a long time. I decided to broadcast memories akin to each location. Running with Jacob home, bogans, fireworks.
Breaking my balls on the play equipment at a young age playing chasings.
Carols by candle lights. Ideas for outdoor parties.
The winter solstiece swim. Nude, falling over near the other battery- the letdown of friends.
Walking, the sun set, a small jump, a splinter. The tide coming in.
I went for a swim. “Pink as the day I was born”. So cold.
A cure perhaps? Fight of flight. FEAR!
A reaction, make or break.
The lymbic, limbic system.
Makes you feel alive.
No snot, no sores, or pain.
Just clarity, joy and sharpness.
Pin pricks. Heat on the outside.
Hot, warm, skin thudding.
Rolling, searing, mellow.
Headstand on the pontoon-
diving in. Freestyles
Submerged, tired, backstroke.
Cold brain. numb. swishing hair.
Wave rolling. Paddling stranger,
canoe canoe. Mum, memory story.
And then the sand and the thoughts.
Clarity, pointless talk.
Laughter, wonder, “entertainment”
a walk, a worry and a silence.
Home, home, petrol and awkward
failing interaction with the guy
at the service station. He looked at me as if i’d said something, a question maybe that he’d missed. The moment conversation drops between you and you’re waiting: really on top of it and he just stands there wondering what was said and his eyes give him away and you know, so you repeat what you said but that doesn’t help because it’s improvised. But you don’t mind or really care, you could have been nice or middling or horrible for the same outcome. The loss is still there; in his eyes. You pay. you walk out, 18 dollars something. Lots of silver change and a gold coin.
Then you drive back and pick up Rhys who is walking to your girlfriend’s old place. Which is strange because you had a dream about her, and she screamed at you and said that she never wants to see you again… Which is odd, and off, because you never see or think about her. So this is some sort of powerplay.
Rhy is going to play dungeons and dragons. He’s sad that you’ve been back and you haven’t talked to him, you should be studying (like now) but fuck that.
In the back of my mind i’m trying to work out what happened to Julius the pidgeon. And I need to tie in Homer. But I haven’t read the book. Maybe that’s overdone. Its for children, its obvious. 4 people today tomorrow in 3 or 4 hours after then we’ll be cool and close and chatty and pizza and art and coffee and heath and what could possibly go wrong, except that energy fluctuates and crashing cars and rain and pain and no pleasure over bringing people together and all that difficulty of making strangers gel. Sharing for others.
The stories. 1 on 1 on 1 on 1. How do you all go in a group?
And I wonder. But games may not work. Money will buy comfort. Ease and happiness like the french, brilliant differance.