He was tall and thin. Delicate like a wine glass. Too much Chinese. Hot and hot and slapped and fat. We left it all in the bathroom. No tea, no time. Class creations. Mattress borrowing- the queen is bless.

Like the industry flood. Memory of the forgotten. Don’t worry. Don’t worry, repeat after me. Smearing teardrops into belly button like holes. It’s out, wringing dry.

Our marriage over, cord severed, placated hopeless. Katherine? Sounds like the name of the one we lost. No University will teach this- sort through the pens.

‘It’s 2018’ – I find myself and others using this expression in an exasperated tone to justify just about anything relating to technology and common sense.

Nothing more to report. JFGI

Innocence and violence. Talk basic words that you have problems with- adding layer upon layer. The only issue is yours and the other person in that moment. Waste an hour on words. Walking talking entertainment. No skulking, direct questions in good humour and faith. Roll the dice, and don’t make a point of what they look like. You will be liable for your tone. If you tell a bad story it’s a ‘perspective fault’.

Wanna get a beer? -imtryingtocutback.

These people I surround me with. They take from me. Take myself from me. Drain me. Fuck me, fail me, fight me. Love, live, laugh. Like lice, feasting. Fanning fumes into me. Double letters building huts to parallel growth. Away, beating into walls falling slack jawed, hard against hope. I hope you have a nice day. Honest in all cliche. Clutching at reinforced meaning. Tone, content, eyes.

Let the sun shine.

2 and 7. Thé easy guess numbers between 1-10. Let’s instigate the predictable . It’s all about the money. Talk about kids, about the age of parents. Create a predicable sequence.

Shining sequins. Rust is a random action of ruby red love turned tarnished and bitter. Blood crust and hearts harden. The nose of every ant eater- bouncing up on a plush toy. The games we play, uncurling, symptomatic of our erroneous ways. Error as one meets Zero. Hospitable

Love you mate- thanks for the call. No inhibitions.

Nothing that I do seems right.

If you’re Blind… why do you dress so nice?

The ad for artwork.

That is all. Design; describe, explain sell. Cost price that describes a nail. « Missing » image.

Oil on canvas.

Carl Ross.

Métal design, new Picasso.

But- Blind hookers, you’ve gotta hand it to them.

Find someone to fix the house.

The idea that it’s just there

Just around the bend it bent.

Half-way yo discovery, and you sit and stare?

Lend him a pen, let the ink spend like love spent.

Splash, scribble, screw, scrawl.

Touch for a six pence.

Putting pen to paper, a panting pant-less crawl.

Swim away ideas, gullies guide defence.

Like hare, we thrust and leap

So many birds have left me sore.

At last we end up, in a heap

Flesh laid waste, ghost and spore.

Our big idea

With wit and rolling rhyme

Overcoming fear-

Butt half of the time.

Brooding, grooming oozing.

Get away! I Hyde from what you’ve heard.

Your beard is all confusing.

You aren’t my little bird.

The sun is out and up

Never tired, I’ve tried you know.

Drinking from this holy cup.

Sing little bird, let it flow.

Left grasping right

With only your pen-

hands out of sight.

unfolding as men.

Black coffee

Day off, for a treat.

Forgetting what I do.

Chocolate-orange punch.

Bitter tasting sweet warm blood.

I thought the fall, this test, would be harder.

I studied love. I thought it would be harder.

Topics:

Content, mild themes.

Like this one cattle.

Down by the watering hole, away from parental guidance.

A rather miserable mood sets in. To do with food, fatness or flatness. Dancing, fighting and footy on Thursday. All the things, the things we do between hours. Rapid, withdrawn extras. Extasy and Tassie exes. Black coffee reliance; stimulate a need, a mood, a quiet column of white quartz. A pillar to rest ideas, a pillow to hide your fears. Handshakes between acquaintances are as if to say “yep, yep, you are real”. Arms length. Any closer a kiss. And further amiss. A stretch, sick sadness. Fists clenching, written in the sands and low tide. Reaching for you, washing away your name. This was the mans mood. No wolf in his heart. Empty functions devoid of meaning. A parable for most things, no caring gene like the IT guy. Called in, called on, used, demanded capabilities without thanks or real human recompense. A lost art. Heartless floundering furrows. ConfusedCONFUSEDfucking metaphors. Nothingness, just rage, just back, justJUTSJUSTINJUSTin just. Held back, a baby bouncing. Sleep and my bad vibes. Early early early blankets. Sodden softened unrest. Request help, say yes, die young, care everlasting is found in your favourite colour. Help me help me help me. Blind, open bee keeper. Buzzing at my ears. Soundly legs are broken, back bending, heart pounding. A tireless huh-huh. Fathoms below the perceivable surface. Changing colour

‘New York? I’ve fucked everyone worth fucking there, had to move away, let the old ones die, the bitter ones mellow and the young ones, well give them time to grow up and legalise”.

That was Winslow talking, without a doubt, I thought. Dirty bastard, too honest. He’d been away for five years now and was considering going back. Dirty bastard.