What do you think about running?

And what I think while I run. Murakami would tell us everything and nothing.
Relating our ordinary lives to the grander narrative of nothing mattering.

And the vanilla.
and the voices.
and the vegemite.
and vitamins.

COUP. COUP. FLONK.

And the working word of the day is flonk. And the fact that people don’t know what i’m talking about. And how distanced I am from it. The words, the meaning of it all.

Yellow shirt. Nod nod flonk.

Iamb

IAB

Utilizing an Ecocritical lens to identify social anxieties
stemming from “light-switch story”.
The repetition that’s seen in the post-apocalyptic dystopia and return to nature, is foreshadowed as an idea in Shane’s quip over the consumption problems that face humanity because of women’s inability to turn off light switches.
Education?

The Freudian association is made through the familial link relating to the reaction of women to this criticism: “You sound like my father”. This view is entirely problematic, patriarchy. Under the guise of a joke, which Freud again would suggest is an attempt at relieving anxieties about matters of “dire importance to the subject”.

“at least I tried” underpins in its entirety his own failings.

navigation of word and image that allows for a graphic reiteration of there being no safe place while emphasising humanity’s dependence on fossil fuels

The dire concern that “the world is run on fossil fuels” a regime of verisimilitude through which the reader is hailed.

Experting

And I hesitate, no headphones no need no direction.

Needing to write a story, the same story and it all just mushes together.

And it really comes down too- washing away the grit and dust. Security, hope and safe passage. 

A hovel or hotel to hang your towels. High and dry above the tide. Water mark memory. Sink or swim mentality erodes at us. 

One was once naturally occurring- locked away we fear and follow weather reports lusting after our demise. At all the doors and windows. Peeking in as we peer out. Licking at our scarves, washing at our shoes. No more removed as it taps gently, or howls at from the trees. Peeling down the hall, under doors, through keyholes. The wind of change, lazily blows through you. Ultimately.

iWho Present, Past & Future sees
Whose ears have heard,
The Holy Word,
That walk’d among the ancient trees.ng

And it buffers it loads it crashes i spiral
Shivver snort and worry its been too long and well never change. Cutting citing cutting sliding fighting deep palms crossed holy shrinking wild nights foil be my hat and honest wanton child freed from memory feeding off emotion like the womans irreverance to prediction and we are so close. Strange because i know what i do for you.
Plane crashing forgotter, dice rolled.
Fuel ignites. Crisps.
Tunnel vision as an angler fish. Light is real real real.

Instinctual passions are stronger than reasonable interests.

The love of fame is the ruling passion of the noblest mind.

The smog of transit

Hotly waiting Couch Surfers

Waiting and tickets.
Thankyou come again. 

Mister, mister where are you?

Underhanded, waves.

“Ess” because you don’t

Know. 

-maybe a reference to ‘yes’

Rules. Laws. Tricks. Plays. Jogging. Memory. Spelling. Trying. Failing. Shyness.

“Live, to define a word” – 

Time.

Apple (company, success, religion, sustenance) 

“To experience shit is to relearn it” 

Anything: toilet.love.. Food. Emotions. confusion. Idea. Invention. Tastes. 

“Willyoubemymeltingmoment” I’m running and running. Sit down, slouch, sit up, work fidget, fight, lack want, chew chew swallow. Wonder, worry check. Stretch. Dehydration bearing.

Writing the story of Dave. Saying I’m no good for you. Mood not now. Progression and our future. Friends family change and simple pleasures. The breakdown of balanced between psychophysicality. Company, play, thoughts and sex. Physical attractiveness as some sort of shamanistic talent. Nobody would think twice if my face was ugly and my hands were broken. Nobody will remember these limited trajectories. No stopping, naked staring. Fear and shock. Dwarf any humble thoughts of the future. A cheek of back and forth. Flat grimaces of unhiding eyes. Want more? 

Raver Dave story. The drum. Toast, bread, Apple picking and the broken hand.

Freud talked freely from his own perspective. He liked women I think and he justified their dreams with his own logic. Learning fro others he tried to safely and rhythmically peruse a truth that nobody was willing to tackle which was the savage in-education of people. We’ll look for answers in things that we don’t understand. (Such as Wallace and Grommit) – and we do not understand out individual/collective dreams. Which is to say the plans of others rarely correspond to our own dreams in process or actualisations.

This means that when we dream. There is no drama it’s strictly a departure from the things we know as we engage with Play. 

Dear pure blonde

My heart for you- 

Like a pissed on fire

Questionably poison.

Boys on vacation

Change station- vacation

Masturbation, annihilation fixation destination. 

Demonstrating my crap mind. 

The wanting was not stable. Horse bled.

Ironically. Tooth brushes his return. Music to

My ears and the lights. A safe change. The prince of water and layers excess. Double that- time and size next to eachother. Zoo-bandicoot. Pay me back later. Brother. Ailment. Ali. Do the shit for real. Weird and white. Albino black. And and and..,

Glass in my middle finger. Left hand. Having done the washing up. Where can we find the time to fix the house? Warm and loved- not books, not rooms, not sink nor cupboard have I the time.

Relax. Polymath.

Privy spelling. Priv prob priv 

So luck good. So much food. The sukkah- dunks dukka and the lost language of lost was. 

Hey good whys what’s up. I’ll be here. Mitigation, questions. What do you reckon. Silken and fabric- 

Our own, could be. Cast away language. Do you want to play a game? Latent. Lost lips lasting fear. And froth. Do we need music? No dog no dog … You’ve said good eight times. 

Semi oversight. I know. No.

Very delightful. People to entertain- crazy I feel like it’s a bad idea. Lungs and smoking. Smoking, active. Who cares neither neither. Nigger. Nigger. Famous fragile. 

“Do you want to play a game”

“No I would rather do any other thing” 

“Who is this” ” it’s very easy to” 

Proud proud.

Do you want to play a game? I would rather do anything else.

And the stories, the threshold. Thrashing the manifold experiences.
Tourniquet, bruised, battered beat and broken.
Bastard closeness. Legitimate. Fleeing it all.
Escape and pendants. Penance.
Drifting dragons of ghastly breath hold height to their advantage.
She shifts like love’s storm. Strong-
holding herself over me. Us all.
Men bereft of qualms.
Fleeting, feet fight for survival.
fumes and sex invite ancient hollow haunts.
We are interesting creatures absorbed in the strangeness.
She has a power over me.
The power over all-
Ignited flame. Framed in a coffin.
Caffeine’s promise of a fire inside.
Spewing ghastly wrongness.
A ghost of thoughts and feelings.
fuck. fuckkkkkk.
Spilling out of me.
My wants, and the conflict and organisation of it all.
Pulled into the fore. Out into the cold.
Drifting wanting more.
and needling need. Less-
desire whelming. flowing drifting.
Draining, bailing falling. Frowning.
Mismatch feelings flit across your face,
as your perfect lips and the self centered shyness becomes us.
Anything I say becomes a sore.
and the sunlight that shone, errodes. Blinding.
senseless. Frail and sick skin slithers from underneath the rocks.
My sin, being washed in the shower. The pipes shudder as my calves do.
The stomach of my legs, weak as vomit and the promise of more befalls us.
Unable to carry anyone or anything more.
My sister, bumped head and the mirror of my war. Worries
unwelcome and seething out of my bleeding lips and I run.
Run nothing like some mafia lord.
the joy and mistakes found in the opening lines of someone elses song.
Primal frivolities. the importance of being ernest hemingway sends me to the dictionary while the rest of us search for something more complicated.
perhaps you don’t think the best of me.
Maybe there is no best and we’re both hollow. lost and shallow.
“Love just leaves you bruised” – Someone elses lines.
A drug, pies and pile. Play ploy
place, plow, blow.
blow me down.
Blow me up.
Blow it all
Blow
blow
low
lowly
lousy
drowsy
clown.
around.
frowned
words that end in E.
Not Ax.
plain
Plane
no plan.
and the box, pandora unplanned.
Baby baby baby.
Let me suck, I am terrible.
worthless. And the surreal, unrelatable to all else.
Goldilocks and the three bears.
while your honest imaginations flaunts and rebels.
The reasonabe worthwhile shared common feeling is gone.
Extended version of my lostness.
Seemingly beatless. Beating your own mind.
tum tum tum tum
This third eye- the shuddering acknowledgement of feet falling on pavements scattered scar. Broken glass and flasks of fireball. Cinder in cancerous snow.
The carousel of my understanable loneliness.
Blink.
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
blink blink
Form meets function.
music to my eyes and ears and nose and imbalance. feel my spectrum slung down.
Hung up on nonsenesesnessless.
HESS. HERMAN.
German.
cold cold hot.
hot hot cold.
cold hot cold.
Hot cold Hot.
Cold Cold Cold.
HOT HOT HOT.

A poe-
pose.
prose.
mmmmmmmmmmmm
frozen prosem.
nosing between your legs.
lost found alone and together.
Weather we like it or not.
the thought remains. eyes blue
pop culture reality.
Down and that makes you larger than life.
Clouds looking like the sway of more.
Hope helps us with our love in another way.
Keep keep all you bitches in fragmented framed wonderlands.
Larger than the life we didn’t and don’t lead.
Stray thoughts ruffle at feathers we never had.
Evolved senses of jargoned rudimentary skills.
Waffle holes that we fall into.
Like the trappings of scattered droppings.
attention spans falling like the loss of mountains.
time’s like:
lines of sight struggling.
Bumping up and along for no reason but to cancel.
Clients let me down. lower, below the waist and the knees.
Your bent, me on the floor, like a begging rock.
Alpha omega. Ancient reminders and memories paddle though us.
The language of the lost.
Lasting image of the soils.
grey lead of moments we’ve watershed.
Moments aloft. Lost- lasting fasting minimalistic.
Virluent, poison toxic reading, relished prism prism
continuity jargon. work word floss arse jason birthday jack of spades, bush mighty jauntily prism prison cordially invitaiton to the spectrum of monkeys writing skates born of shakespear and lousy fingers typing and massaging cunts flack born of pathogens that know knowingly nothing but riddance and dance and poise to strike jackson pollock bristling with abundant nonsense loitering behind every corner convention and marriage and cooking dinner as a man with no wants and needs but simple satisfaction, drug deals and pills and pretty woment and wam cclothes and uggly boots and free sprit and goose flesh dumplings and china town avid wants fly over heat and head and heart and hart and bull and ram and rapists wishing for books and a show from the kissing mother they never had but the hype is lost in the forrest and we forrage for gems amongst the standing sandpaper threashold that we use to wash our closed bodies. Bleeding as if a period of marketing didn’t influence, burn and waste our lives.
This visual energy. burn burn burn. Car’s fossilezed fuels no hearts for animals to lift and live and thrive and survive oin gloin biffer boffer bombour fitting like Winnie the Pooh. The split personality of Christopher Robbin. Calling and crawling from the 7:18, the song that re-writes history will be Dune. out to lunch without complimentary water. Rushing around visceral crayon lifestyle. Arts fragility is the failed science and effort of our childlike limiters limited passon. My math and matrix of home and hope and understanding like putty freezes and I dont run. No reply from gods or friends. All the strange shit i’ve said and done. Forgotten mostly. Pidgeons and hole and trees and thoughts and doves and loves. Hearts broken. mistaken and passed. Squashed and boiled. Cast to the side. ASIDE: I never wanted any of this I tell myself.
but who am I talking too> Two to. to to to two many times. Two. Many. Too. To.
as well. meaning shifts and shits on us. And we lay together, lovingly but not in love I suppose. Flummoxed.
Oh no. Motto. P- yeeah?

The placement of flowers. Mourning placement. Precious- poor people. Who wore/were more. Bouquet of flowers. Curious habit. A forgotten child’s grave achieves nothing. Personal satisfaction, is not Cod’s Wallop. 

I counted 12 dead bees as I walked to the city today. Scattered as striped litter. Wingless and harmless. End

Your welcome. You’re welcome.

Teya = precious Native American.

I’m at your beckoning quall.

And impossibility of pineapplesz

Nothing super exciting – I’m sorry.