Systems of knowledge.
“we’ve missed you” – what a thoughtful and lovely expression. We.
Tomorrow I run.
Today I am run down.

Self disclosing to a friend of mine.
Her and I speak of other girls in my life. I deflect.
The undertones of “what about”. I speak of my general uncomfortability around others.
She says that looking at me from her vantage point I must sometimes see conversation as some kind of performative floor, upon which I generally stand and thus own. She also mentioned that I come across as hostile to other people encroaching on that space. I acknowledge that. I suppose I should be more encouraging. But I run high stakes. Which is doubly sad for this lad as my skills and want is generally light hearted. Judgement is shallow, communication is a safety net of noise, distraction and comfort.
I hate to over engage and read too much into what people are saying.
Read indeed.

To my freckled friend after she’d powdered her nose I said:
“Freckles are the lipstick of the sun, thus universally loved is she and I”.
The stars have graced us with their touch, and we should be happy and acknowledge that much.

My sister drops the large knife she used to cut vegetables.
Lots of oil. The oven pre-heated.

“TO BE TRULY BAD YOU MUST HAVE A VOICE”.
Its raining.
This is neither good nor bad.
It simply is.
The weather last week was a gale.
Howling and
Terrible.

The weekend. Sporadic.
Last minute. Old friends hide and don’t take time.
My barriers. My want and waste of life forces and energy on others because of my firm belief in systems and networks of society.
Belief in oneself. A capacity, a question an comfort.
Invitations. Hospitality. A gown. warm flesh trumps broken bones.
By aching heart and safe distance your efforts will be my reward as I lay here-
distant.
The way you say things and how I translate them will always be wrong.
Whatever she said was not what she meant.
How could a friend say such a thing.
Why would I change? What noise are you making?
Your interpretation is flawed as your perspective is not my own.
Why are we doing this?… SILENCE.

A fine day.
Don’t park on the clear way.
Yoga and life lesson.
As they lessen your purse,
I purse my lips and shudder.
Shaking with anger at this community and the rules I fail to abide.
An early failing, a cost, expense, waste.
Throw away, money and everything.
You don’t like this; you don’t like that.
Who knows or cares?
what makes you human isn’t your caring.
I’m awake, aware disgusted.

A passerby the window farts.
The humour that we find in these sorts of things-
reminds us of the ridiculousness of it all.
A return. A word.
Peeled red grapes responds in kind to my unreasonable and seasonal anger.
I have weathered many whilst in winter we lose.
Most have given themselves in kind while Nona passes away.
No pearly gates. Reborn as a fig tress, sprinkled ashes in the back yard.
Vitamins and minerals.
Weetbix and cream.
You’re lean body, wrinkled and worn.
Welcome back into the fold.
And my aggression seers.
No peers, just a community that owes me.
As I owe them. One hundred times over.
No percent of reason can reclaim this owing.
I will take more than my dollar is worth to you.
Pounds of resource.
Rich with tax and poison.
The internal exlumination.
Delineates my mind. Spelling curls, a numberless system.
Mysterious symbol of reckoning.
I will revenge myself-
Locked and stocked.
Parking inspector with your fine day.
Irony will black out your eyes and your parents, pets and children will mulch.
I loathe today. My wanton wish to put a ring around you.
Bayonets leveled. Lids coming down.
Hats and experience welling and seething behind my teeth.
Acoustics ringing, viral and visceral.
No able bodied position for hiding the hatred that eeks from behind my teeth.

The squealing brakes,
Brokering broken fakes.
Crocodile tears that I trade,
Where houses’ lyric is made.
My age of your assassination-
Many known affiliations,
I shrug. Adding one to the list.
A sign, chaos, red sea, hearts missed.

Poly. Amour. Armour.
Multi. Plied. Vale.

Pol. Lou. Lex. Ari. Cami. Dani. Ebs. Fin. Ger. Hen. Imi. Jes. Kit. Lid. Mel
Nik. Ori. Pip. Quin. Ren. Sid. Tam. Umi. Via. Xee. Yen. Zel.

Do you like to go fast she asked. I drove slowly, looking out at the glitter of lights. Yellows and greens. Low and light whites.
She shivered then coughed when I made her laugh.
The lights were beautiful, man-made beauty surrounded me.

I laugh at the doubles.
The language of it all. Her eyes picking songs, but the words were there.
I’d tried to forge close, but she tore away. The language of it all.
Food, money, blown for happiness.
Measuring it all. The utility, the bullshit.
The wastefulness of it all – and how slow and quickly it all fell out of whack.

“What am I saying” she will ask.

And I laugh. I laugh and laugh, because otherwise i’d cry.
Yoga and competition and running and food and people and it was all so shallow. Hunger and jokes that are veiled. I’m only using you for your Tupperware she says. It could well be true. Good on you.
Enjoy my sweets. Your efforts are weak like your leaching.
You aren’t worth it to me. I put out too much for too little return.
Protect yourselves. Why do we set such high standards.
Next time i’ll be better.
There wont be a next time I don’t think. I’ve looked into the shallows and made a judgement call. Under 100 dollars lost. Time and effort and advice.
Some other time my lady; I tried and tired of the formula.
Norms, normal. Normative. Sack it all. Jump in feet first to the cold.
Ribbons pinned to my chest feel as prickles from pines,
climbing up spine. Yellow turned orange, as rind.
Pitted, pruned skin, I win and swim. The walk and things I wanted to do were done. No kiss and tell. Just meet and talk and walk and lie and lie and lie and lie and lie and lie and lie and lie.
And you catch me.
And I say I go slow.
Cars are bullets with someone’s name on them. Driver? Passenger? Stranger?
Bikes are razors that we systematically have the opportunity to slit our own throats with daily.
Don’t speed. Don’t speed. don’t speed.
I like to go fast sometimes. It depends who the passenger is.
I take the scenic route, but you’re heads down… Listening to music.
Shiver. Shake. We miss the good while I explain the bad.
Welling up up up.
Dinner’s on me. Formula. Chair sliding, conversational.
Hiding behind food, the nonsense you talk.
The neighbours. Dropping so much.

Underpants:
I am wrung out
Last drops until dry.
Finally I do up
my fly and look down.
Down over the coast. Two hills.
No sharpness to their peaks.
Just a faint
red glowing light
to guide. planes maybe.
A vehicle’s call for passengers and all.
Down it dims,
Beckoning, Falling.
Reckoning, Calling.
your name –
My mind, leaves you behind like autumn.
Shedding, wafting spell, smell and bell.
A ringing in my ears. Hears it all-
Here Hell cascades.
No black nor white ball.
Just fall… fall… fall.
In love.

I tire of looking for minds.Great eyes wander-

Looking at the ground.

Scouting around or absent

God sends, lost afraid unwilling.

Making connexion. Hex or

hiatus has lost us our bond.

Puffy lids. Envelope the whites-

I am the egg that careers into a

Future. Unknown and freaked.

Abound ideas of being.

Alone, none of ‘us’. 

None of we… Only a stern look at the ground that kisses my feet. 

Ovals roughly meeting me. Everyone doing everything in a round about. 

Conga lines form from politeness.

Arbitrary society, we are together for no reason. Our curiosity in life, boring into the backs of friends and strangers heads alike. Only kicking out when natures pull tells us rightly. 

Pitter-patter of feet.

The potter of dance and gardening.

Magic grows from within. 

But the line that we follow in circles grows thin. And the bonds sever. Hands on flinching shoulders makes the relation un-cherished. Red faces and wrong reasons. 

Out with time. Our disconnect and freedom is a misstep. Kicking out. Lashing left with two right feet. The conga line that we cling returns us each, individually. -us, our own. Alone

To humble home 

Land line’s phone.

Connexion.

No matter what I write it will be off.
The words wont come out. Its all a miss.
Miss miss miss. Bad guy firing at good guy. What I mean, the discussion, the act the direction. The stolid thought. And all words are yellow shirt. Memory lost, my knee and failing body.
Adrift and ill.
Meds might not help.
I flat line. Standing in a circle asking questions.
Expectations low. Outputs.
Worth, value and meaning.
Three word outputs for power and standing and words.
nonsense, nothing and death.
Classical height of hierarchy.

And I cried.
Misty eyed. Banana in hand.
The oven on.
Spotted advice warms my heart,
swollen like the lids of my tired eyes.
I’m just tired.
These emotions are real because of this state.
And the weakness is flooding.
That is the fucking technical term.
My fears and phobias mingle.
This working man, cooks for me.
I give my thanks.
Right tired. Worried.
Lost afraid, making plans.
Due poverty, sales and sadness.
How does a father sell his kissed fish.
Banana punching, stolen maidens of birth and breadth.
Forgetting names faces and directions.
What do I need?
Anger rage a new new knew knee.

And I.
Lost and fuming.
Rolled out, for a night.
Drags and the dregs and giving.
Speed and drugs to the fat, lost and wasted.
Blowing kisses to people I don’t know or like or love.
And the people I desire are shallow.
My ladder is lost rickety and blowing in the wind.
Wickets and bails, blow in the flow of-
anon unpredictability.
Fuss of cliffs.
And I rage. Suicide saved my life.
coming soon .The joke of many levels.
Blowing loads of steam and
and the less hot.
ahahahahahahah an an and and
d d d d d d d d
Dickhead. Unicorn.
frustration, eyes and the male gaze and gays and
patients and worth and the system.
A list of lack understandings.
Chaos and untapped missed opportunities and
all and and and.
Change I need to gettaway.
Eye contact.
Nail biting and caring.
Humanity and feardom.
The fee of it all.
Ties me down with the sporradic worm.
Work work work until you’re old and cracked and totally passed it.
No chilled ability to just rest and the future awaits us-
wasted loves and lack of energy.
Misses and missus.
Dancing on twisted smiles-
Vomit in the sink. Attacking cubical walls.
Kicking flags and glasses filled with ice.
Nothing nice to say or impart and the drink hits.
Walking alone, laces clicking.
Feet rapping, skilled skidding and the dye of the day leaks.
I am a vegetable, no levels but a platform on which I barely carry.
Heartbeat- muted and the threat of sickness away away.
Its deeper, but covered in fat and illness.
Legs and blubber and all that clings to me.
Unwell. Well well,
digging wells into my past.
Seeking out my strife.
Receipts and rules and the language that I don’t understand.
I just want to look everyone in the eyes.
I want to do that.
Why is that strange.
Wrong and off in our culture. Ugly.
Because that isn’t normal maria! I know what you;rethingk thinwink with ythose those dark eyes featuringing in my dreams of whales. batting them away in a glacial tide of batons and attack attack attack. And the people that surround me are uniformed and my white skin is a restriction and history and prejudice, power and anger flood me and I can’t talk to anyone about the coke. The black white while bubbling substance of red blood’s link to the infinity of suffering. And my care, my coping power mechanisms are disarmed while I dream and the fire alarm; its battery dead or removed, only wakes and resonates in the webs of spiders and the trapping nets of society that flow in the breeze- aloft in the stratosphere. Ironically bubbling babbles of flags float free as lanterns, the anal retentive me learns 5 new names and I am stuck. Wanting more from people. Maybe we can all just try to stand there and make light of this market. You buy mushrooms and I wish we could somehow just join hands and get along on a topic. Communication for comforts sake. There is no we in this ironic ionicsphere. Exterior to our natural cell. And sell and cell we do. Our time down the river. Black, white and bubbling. Molten down our throats as we haven’t blown on the oven baked blackened banana. Bands sing of a side. But there is only the young fire in our hearts from when we were commuting freely with nature in our limbs. One legged spins on ice that will melt and be thrown amongst us. I make prayer with my hands but over head, no amount of flapping of scissoring will cut out this feeling in my heart. Bleeding, but not to the right places.
Wrong.
No snow angels can save us.
Not me.
-today there was no we. No connexion.
lost lost love. And the wallow of old thoughts, feelings and emotions.
Curses and voodoo riddle my rotten brain.
Limbs creak and the cream of my efforts drowns me in the ethical dilemma.
Put yourself out there and murder yourself.
Achievements and nothing, converse.
look me in the eyes. React react react.
Darling. Dark dark darling. Pursing my dehydrated lips.
Lost eyes and weak meats.
Minced words, work at staking lives.
Mince steaks like hearts punctured with loss and illegitimacy.
Water, wasted words and all the worries of my scientific silence.

Jeezing geeking and geezing myself again. Hating and humming. Worried and wishing. Don’t kiss the glass. I see you run to the DJ booth- I talk of old sadness and the lake where I draw my sadness. Sometimes I feel that the tap is dry. 

I live for her, love her, she’s gone. Silence and violence and chapped lips. Whisper rasping words on the wind. Carried haphazardly. Hap for chance. Not happy. Rolling dice on the cliff face. To read you’ve got to drop. And out of it we do. Out place, sphere of being and presence. Our perspective- the future playing back to us what we expect. Selfishness. Women. 

AndCuts only me. It’s only me. Ignored bored and sorted. Hardly organised. Old blood misgivings and unforgiving and the stir crazy midday drunkardness of lonely-sum people. Hooks in, beyond language “how nice it all is”…

Yes yes me- Ill, vom. No vim or vigorous. You touch me on the dance floor I’d never touch another person unless asked or told. Told by whom: we are after all impressionable beings. And my conflict lays and lies with me. Treacle into my ears.

Lost love I repeat. I loved you. I love you. I hate you I’ll never forgive. Both told, both felt and both forgiven feelings over time. Wouldn’t it be great to build up these emotions. While we all seem to create networks to fit in, operate and fuck. And that passes the time. Until we die. More and

More and

More. Abhorrence. Uncomfort. No

Love lost. Only questions of truth and love and something to make it all… Make it all bareable. 

And there they were, the words of stranger.
Outside my door, walking tours. Fem.
I know of her. And that’s OK.
Its OK. It is OK. I keep saying it.
About different things. In life there is only difference.
Distinguished. Playful, deference.
No gravity, its all lost. No suction or sound.
Captivated and lost in bright eyes.
I splash water in my eyes.
A passing truck. Trust me, too quick to blink.
and the cafe vibe at the end of the day when there is no outside world to come and take the rubbish away. I pay for my tea. Honey and Milk.
Two apples before, one in each hand. Plucking at the petals of a flower.
She… me. She… not.
And its all knots. And I lose interest or is it interested?
And it comes pouring out of me. Asking all these questions and HOBART.
and there he goes past the window.
and the taboos of it all, the exhaustion of a large group.
and the comic relief.
energy and the acceptance of death and the scattergory of musical chairs and wondering at how we can just sit there alone. And I wonder, sadly at how once upon a time I was stranded in my own uncomfortability. And I shared that with everyone. And I need to check in and and and and and andf and and fuck.

Cheers. Cheese Chewing gum.
All I need is an name, date, age and tombstone.
I’ll come up with their story.
The sweet relief of something real. I’ll come up with a story for them.
One that you will be sorry and happy to read.
And you ask me.
Ask aks sak ska. scare me.
How are you. And I look you in your beautiful eyes and I wonder.
“Can you hear the rain?”
Pouring is the wrong word.
Crashing on corrugated iron.
Upside down inverted bubble. As if giant fish swam upside down and exhaled tiny water balloons. It all comes crashing down to earth. House, dogs, cats, umbrellas, lovers, cars, grass – all washed clean.

The late invitation to dinner, is like an electric piano on your spine.
Teeth like white notes, gaps of black.
The fillings of that smile, animated.
And how you’re coming across- always taboo.
I feel wild, aware, thoughtful.
Yellow shirt yellow shirt. Yellow shirt.
And I look you in your painted eyes.
Still wet from artists description. Tears maybe.
You sneeze and the nights glitter puffs into the air.
A ghostly cloud glimmers.
Pup pup. is the sound of our minds disconnecting and powering down.
Like a tomb from the archive, dusted of by the strong blown wind.
Chest compressing, eyes squinting.
Wild marbles of the mind,
my corporate ball clicker.
And the reading starts again, and its my move.
Choices are all mine.
How do you feel about this loss?
Lets walk in the cold and wonder why our voices change when we get sick.
Is it the interplay of ears and mouth made tones or are our vocal chords actually influenced. It all leaks over and the stars of the city light up the night. The rain comes down and washes, refreshes everything.
you get it in summer but even in the winter there’s a need.
Don’t get pneumonia red-heads.
Read heady books under heavy sheets.
Hot hot waterbottles and slippers. Silk body next to mine.
Sexy body. Ravenous. Pulling nails from my hand with desire,
gravity boundless and the habitual change that comes over me.
People are afraid of change.
I’m scared, scared of so much. The grey hair, the loss, the choice the patience the squeezing, claustrophobia. Ick.
And rock climbing, exhiliration.
Bambi and the broken leg.
Throwing white roses in the air and worrying about the girl that lost her father the week before. Grace- I don’t know you that well.
But I feel your pain. But mine is numb like winter passed.
Like a brain as cold as the feet. My logic as cracked as my lips.
Parched. Un-patchable. Launching confrontationally into question after question. What could they possibly ask me that I don’t already know?
Useless interactions. Let me ask you a million questions. Don’t you dare gather yourself. If you want to play this game then prepare to lose.
You know me too much, enough. When we’re quiet in eachother’s company then we will know death. Mine and yours. A romantic coupling of stolen tongues.

White blood cells, wearing the skins of their victims.
Glands will tell you that they always rememeber.
Swollen egos and to original success of chemical warfare.
Your own sickness, illness, disiese ridden flesh is the successful warfare of race and weakness. Unaccustomed, promise. Perfect blackened eyes.
The whole world is made light of.
You don’t know what my laughter means.
Let me laugh at me, utter reaction.
You’re emotion is my laughter.
Stunning. Welcome and final.
How is the rain now?
Tears tear hearts. Acid drops burn, while bread-knives pulp the fiction of breastplate. Breakable broken china at a greek wedding means that you’ll take my talking hand for all of time and love me as your own. A child. A being of illicit sickness, desire and privilege. My anger, rage, danger of emotion: jealousy and self righteous frigidness. Ice Kind. Your kinglyness. Bow and Bow and Bow.
The onomatopoeia of brilliance. Like the fall of coins to deaf ears.
And we honour the dead with the miss-spelling of name and broken jokes.
I cope. An manage.
Readings readings.
Writing’s writing.
Tongues eye
Lips poise.
Cracked visage.
All that in a yellow shirt, yellow shirt. yellow shirt.
sex. sex. sex.
beer. beer. beer.
fuck me. fuck me. fuck me.

I’m a fish. You’re a fish. He’s not a fish.
we’re all fish. He’s my space cowboy.
I’m a lost fish.
“i’m going to go over here”
You’re a goldfish.
We’re having an after party. You should come.
He’s gone. I’m uncomfortable.

Its been two weeks since I wrote.
I’ve been recording things but I feel the reverse pull of time.
Exhausted by the future.
Drained by the cold.
Fearful of what’s coming.
Taken by my aging bones.
I want to be bold
and share some thoughts.
Wishing to be brilliant.
Wanting recognition. Waste and wine and anger boil and fizz in my hands and feet. Like pin pricks and the works of others. What can I take for better understanding of the current world. Take it all out of context.
“I was with someone”
“Your book is ready”
“Learning French/Look at flights”
“Hemorrhaging money”
“Rock climbing”
“Tight spaces”
“Adventure, ice skating, overland track, run, walk, chill”
timing, timing is everything.
And the marathon at the end of this month. Only a week away, scares me so.
and the timeline, the suffering and fear that I have now.
The loss of energy the worries. The writer in me that I want to focus on.
To write ecologically unsound, unsavory, afraid, worrying thoughts down.
Doing things in my spare time, that’s the worry.
Plenty of time for that young man.
What’s the fear? What’s the rush, why the crutch?
Don’t use your education that way – focus focus.

And the ship shuddered.
Like floating icecubes in a drink, jumbled and marching. The propeller it was said had broken off. So there we were. Set adrift.

And Wendi is here. I have only fear, to say hello and shake hands and make her felt welcome. But things are more complicated… Must they be? We say one thing and mean another. I desire the unrecompensable. I cannot ask for one element to be returned. I cannot write a letter than cannot be read.
And you’re lost to me. The changing of wood by fire. The burning of oil for light and fumes. The magic of white light and rainbows. The healing property. The majesty. We are so insignificant over this distance. The power of light over the capabilities of humans. What can you do? What can I do. What can we do? And we are not ‘We’ at all. And the chances to meet up grow slim. And the slippery surface that’s our icy reflection when next we skate is blue, dry lipped and ghostly. I don’t know how to go forward without the fear of falling right down. And all I think of in the morning is food, just to get me through. Sleeping in, worrying, fearing, hurting, angst.

And I wait for a girl. I spend time, but my heart might not be in it. I’m not happy where I am. So I am dangerously frail. Lost to the people that I might love. Lost to myself. Afraid of the first step from bed. Ice on the flat of my foot. Hands blotched. And MONA. the art of it all. To be anti-art. You are hailed by everything you know and do. You become the books you read, the things you do and I fear i’m doing nothing worthy. Not one thing.

“I bump my head when i’m angry”

Diane’s Funeral:
Down to the river to pray

(Alison Krause)
Father Along

(Ellen Mcilwaine)
Show some emotion

(Joan armatrading)

I rose early and went. Tasmanian beach; no waves roll in. Only a quiet lapping at the shores. Squeaky sand. Paddling out, thinking Harold Holst. The cold is like being squeezed between giant hands. I exhale pins and close my eyes. A few bubbles swirling from my nose, up and out. A fattening. My heart beat is sharp, pressuring tears. No toes to feel. My open eyes are below it all. The sun rises now. now light streams. Silver gloss. Thoughts chaining. Just sparks flittering. Above currents. Streaming, streaming. Below the surface, prickled eyes perceive flits of white. Circles hollowed out. Ashtray eyes. Flat light, disperse silk. Saturating skin. Sight as sense is static. White mixes with a wash of red and blue. 
Suddenly all of a sudden.

broken nails, pregnancy scares.
The enjoyment of he exhale over the inhale.

I told her:
Your hands are nothing,
compared to the ocean.

My heart is a mirror.
your heart is a mirror?
Narcissus looks into your heart for all of time.
My grubby fingers stain.
You put your hands in my mouth,
I taste salt
Salt and citrus.

MOGWAI = ANGUISH QUENCHED WITH ZENITH

While for others it was standing at the gate of hell.
in your monday worst.

And she, she.
She beat me at pool.
Didn’t like coup.
Love speed and sex and showers.

And she said one or two unique things:
I CAN ONLY CREATE ART AFTER MIDNIGHT.
“I’m sorry, i’m so emotional”
She was sick, is sick. Smoking, coughing. Quiet.
Quite, quit a stupid.

She didn’t eat enough, low on energy, back rolls.
Smiling, great teeth, nice hair and frame.
Out of bounds.
Trying me for a baby, not giving in.
And finally: She finished my sandwiches.