(Posh female English accent) 

-in a shopping isle: “HOW, DO YOU MANAGE IT!”

Bike cycling.

Teeth brushing. Kissing scratching.

Talking and walking. Rushing, asking, wishing, wanting, wondering.

We (you) talk of Jet. A guy from Holland that you occasionally sleep with. I don’t know him, don’t care for him, never met him. He builds helicopters? Postures that you’re dumb and he’s smart. Mechanically sound, functional? Born into a cult? Dysfunctional family. How much do you believe? Mikkel is rich. He was born in prison. Mike slept with the girl back home that runs exchanges. You’re shallow, I’m shallow. Depth is water. Depth is perspective from out to in.

Top to bottom. 

I fuck you three times. Use my nails on your back. What a lay. So tight, you’re shaking. And it means nothing to anyone. Go to school the next day, same uniforms and Hollywood face.i turn the taps on while she showers so hot and cold are transposed. I hear about it, I read about it and think about it. Jolted to life; handcuffed to the bed, arms jarring, legs splayed.

Out breathing synchronises, like we’re swimming in eachother.

Massaging one another- inside and out. Hearts matching up.

A beat of sexual symphony. A water world, slippery dip. 

I bite your neck

Breathe into your ear.

Working, working, working; and it means nothing to anyone.

My pleasure, I do it because it makes

Me happy. I care not for you or anything. Greed. Our bellies touch, slippery with sweat. Hot from exertion, gripping and sliding. Climbing eachother. Raiding.

And later we talk of nothing. Our real selves slipping from our tongues. Irresponsible, neurotic.

How do you manage it, sweet pea?

I had some vitamin tablets. My pee went bright yellow.
I feel dehydrated.
I ran to Maddy’s and borrowed a book.
I thought Rowan’s father died, because we went out to dinner and the waitress mentioned he wasn’t there “you know”, able to make it.
It was Rowan’s birthday.
I bought nuts, and blackberrys and coffee and an ANZAC biscuit.
Flavour > Texture.
Changed my sheets, washed my clothes.
Went to the market, went for a huge run.
Thought of the scams pharmaceutical companies are running.
I have a bit of heart burn.
Played magic cards with Kieran.
he’s a real talent with drawing.
Sam got home, a few beers deep.

I was exhausted today.

A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.
-so you’ve been kissing?!

Shagz sending me a package.

$28.28 to live for a day.
If 5 minutes of life was purchased 20 cents.
(my life as a parking meter) – maths.
Mental issues.

Its something you don’t need.
Laughing isn’t food, but you do it anyway.
Its a reaction.
Less thoughtful/considered than dancing.

3rd March 2017, 22:07
Patrick to future Patrick: over use the word “deep”

Playing a game-
complex project.
natural models.
A plant and following patterns.
How could you follow that unnatural mathematical process.

Questioning the unquestionable with
Women.
No good.
ha ha

Also I had a silly thought. One day I will reveal.

-You getting married to Bianca Payne. Both very sophisticated.

-Define the word.

“mum you’re not listening to me”
‘I’d my bum, bony’

Dear Wil.
Its your birthday.
Your room is nice, your bed is great.
Draw a bead upon my face.
You’re welcome-
Honesty friendship.
It all means so much.
Or does it.
Like a pop-shove-it.
Boards and girls and fingers asking.
Poke my eyes and ears,
No masking.
Trusted friend,
I don’t even know.
That old sing song proper-gander.
Emotiocons and burgers.

My stomach lifts, and I think of m
heart.
Offending host and girlfriends. Talk of
disjoints.
More of that, less of this.
Green?
Free? Miss-typing madness.
My experience of your party.
DJ. BBQ LET UP.
Do to us. Up to you-
our social
hero.
And me defining a social zero.

Your birthday.

The concepts of “Hygge”
This is Hygge – book.
HYGGELIGHT – undefined.

Carly – source.

Old mate, Meditate.

Fuck it i’m going to buy an Argentinian Peach.

ROCKING CHAIR!* for christmas

I don’t have a sound mind.
Mind sounds
resound and are un-found.
I find I frown,
as I clown around.

Go down, there.
Lost in fear.
Feathers of my mind,
flapping and lost.
Ideas, ideals.
Lost paragraphs-
challenge.

Revenge me lost mind.
Give me streamlines
Synergy and substance
symbols, syntax, something in time.

Linear. Logical, lovely.
Listing names, date times, places.
A missing comma.
My awareness, drone drone drone.
Anger at my flatness.
My sore back of my arms.

Spelling mistakes-
Miss-struck keys.
Like miss truck,
smaller than others,
a mistake. Minor.
Child, bubbling away.
Brewing beware.
Under the surface of skin.

Skiing the slopes of nose,
eye look but do not see.
The shade I wear make all flags black.
The whites of my eyes, burt with skull and crossed bone.

No appointment for the mole doctor for me.
Very little was done,
I had barely logged in.
And it was all going to pants.
Tap, tap tapping away.

THERE WILL BE CONTEXT.

deep defined:
The etymology is vast and lengthy.

The sign and the signified.

A day of interruptions-
like this.

Evolving cups of tea.

Books purchased (not for cheep)
But you cutn, cannot put a price on education.

Late text messages.
Wants of others.
So so so so so-so, so
so many wants.

The Argentinian peach.

changes made.
Lunch, sitting.
always.

Food lumps and clumps around.
Yoga this morning.
Strange taste in my mouth.

Books and books and books to read.
Bills paid.
decisions about company made,
messages unanswered.
silence is safe, so safe.

Unless something is sneaking up on you;
I suppose.
Lead by the nose.
High society,
walks in the park.
walks in the meadow.
Dew and food.

And now? Hashtag the shit out of it.

Drafting trouble.
in my head,
laying rubble.
in my bed.

Tired, like.
Sweat and bone.
Tired like.
Please don’t phone.

Hot chocolate, tea and soup.
Going round a loop-de-loop.

My eyes are sandy.

You can’t possibly get on my level.
Trying to attach yourself to my intellect,
smarts and knowledge.
The way I AM.
Me! Unique, special and beyond.
You steal and try.
I bottle my brilliance. You break down,
you try. to understand.
Mosquito.
Over your hear.
Clouds of candy, bright pink fluffy thoughts.
The darkness is onset.
you can’t follow my nonsense.
I lose you, rambling genius.
Associations.
Like a Phoenix, I destroy, immolate and am reborn.
Social god. Energy, heartbeat.
entertaining pulse. reckless.
Wrecking. You love me? You love me?
You can’t love me if I don’t love or understand myself.
If my version of me changes.
If i’m broken, dastardly afraid of groups.
People, unsocial me.
Worried, stuck, reverting back to zero.
all social context removed.
Barriers up. Sitting on a bench getting sun.
Coffee twitching my mouth.
Turbines of my mind, wading in your waters.
Above you.
touched glove to you.
you dove you,
Shovel my love-sickness
six feet beneath you.

Heaven’s above-
you don’t get it.
Don’t get me.
you’re lost, set adrift.
Imbalanced. Unable to compensate or comprehend life or me.
Let me be honest.
I say the same shit to everyone and I tire.
I don’t inspire.
No high flyer.
Stick and stones,
in the styx no phones.
Ears and bones and loans for the Gonner.
Eyes of sand.
twisted hands.
Praying up, up above you.
Over your head.
My nonsense.

Trochee
Iambic.

Cuts and bruises.
Cats and dogs.
Good and bad.
Swing and miss.
up and down.
steak and chips.
bread and wine.
salt and pepper.

Its hurting.
Its not getting better.
Its the time of year for it.
for being a guy, for dying.
inviting over every person you know.
like a birthday party.
Asking them all, as a gift to say one nice thing about you.
You put on food, thank them all for their kind words.
Selfish.
You then go into the bathroom, recently tiled, all white-
and slit your wrists.
You die, or you don’t.
but after all of that they will never forget.
The scars will never touch you.
Empty bloodless wounds, wound up your arms.
Blades on the floor. knife in your side.
eyes crying their final tears.
Mongrel thoughts leaking from your body.
Loose, lucid. Feeling, sensation then freedom.

Forethought and death, two plagues.
Having to do something but not having the value or self worth to create and do beyond yourself. Too much time learning.
Not early enough. So restrictive.
We’re so lost.
Those people, psychopaths. Talking about death and loss.
Their son, maybe they were unashamed.
Free. But there was something natural and dangerous in the immunity.
Must have just been the mood.
I’m overtired.
Jumped a fence, picked some fruit.
Stole some dates.
Stole a glance at two women on a tuesday night.
Every woman, the “harem”.
What a cutting thing to say.
What a cunt.
Until my beauty fades.
Pathetic. Scarred I will not be.
You might be found dead.

Magic how the world works.
Spinning random action.
Bundled into a car.
Hit over the head.
murdered.

The chicken was killed today by a dog dad said.
I feel like a few weeks ago marked her dying as well.
Hung herself. And I never talked about it. Its just sad.
And mum died on the 16th. 2 months ago.
I named the chicken after mum.
It was called Di.
Its dead now, no more shit everywhere.
No more eggs.
We didn’t eat it dad said;
because it was family.
I suppose that’s right.
Terrible.
Pets are terrible.
Just a lonely whole where they once were in my heart.
My poor heart.
Unrich.

Picking flowers.
Han flowers.
HAN flowers.
solo solo solo.
Cry cry cry.
petals falling.
Distant fears.
Living in it, swimming in it.
Pollution, birthdays and again.
flux and change and raising and romance and failure and love and marriage and failure and failure and conversations too hard.
And popped tyres. TIRED. TIRES.
Headaches.
work work study study.
Honesty, hugs kisses, silence.

Barriers and tiredness.
all that learning and stretching out how I feel.
broken glass.
Trimming my pubic hair.
Gum and dates and plumbs and anger over distance.
Its all gone to shit.
Breakfast tomorrow.
Shut up and fuck me.

My body’s keeping time.
Legs swirling around me.
Teeth gritting, grinding.
Eyes slick and flickering.
Jealous rays of light fall.
And i’m appalled.
At you, at me.
all of it, us.
Trainspotting 2.
tonight- with the guys.
Birthday’s work and Uni tomorrow.
money money money.
Work work sitting.
newsletters, weather. Blah.
Bring me tomorrow.
Let go!

Such a sweet message.
flit and flitter.
my fitness. fiddle and fucking.
rolling tumbling jumble.
Questions asked and nothing my response.
sad plucks. frank and final.
tests, trials and wants.
Twisted sheets.
Dance of feet.

Running geese- mouths wide.
and rubbing, running up sheets.
kisses raining on breast.
whenever and each grasp and gasp.
Sucking and wanting to inhale it all.
Trimmed hair, licking and buildup.
Twist, twist. Thrusting.
pull, inside, inside.
Deep, rub. vibrate.
wait. Breathe. Breath.

And now we recall.
The wigs we wore.
The hand flowers-
the night. More, more.
Gimmie-gimmie-gimmie.
You know who you look like.

The horrible girl that stole my vibe.
“We’re all ugly if we just look,
embarrassed to”
bashed, brittle, broken.
Brutal. basic bitching.
Bald new girlfriends.
Stolen glasses, paying bills.
Money down the sink.
Manic energy.

Ideas of play equipment.
rolling, rolley-poley.
FOLEY!!!
WONDERFUL!!!
Copy and paste game on your phone.
Proper nouns, dyslexia.
Readings for Uni.
and lost, so lost.
so social.
Headstands.
Swimming out, asking to be eaten by a shark.
A natural death and thinking of mum.
The sun.
A son.
My brother, my sister. Love.
Tomorrow it all starts.
busy busy busy.

market day!
what else.

Roley-poley redemption.
Cement-to-be path!
Stuck in a tree.
photos
stolen glasses.
meeting people, shaking hands and “the hot girl, guy from the party”.
Cal, he’s always there.
And dancing. and a girl under each arm.
and fuck it.
Dancing and drinks.
and 6am bedtimes.
And an agenda not done,
bad-black-coffee.
run and run and run.

Eat it all up.
Wanker.

I drink and drink.
rank with the feeling.
Depressions on my forehead.

I drink and drink,
not really wanting to.
Passing time, passing round.

I drink and drink,
everything swells. Feet, hands-
Ideas, hunger, genitals, blood.

Swelling and smelling sweet.
My lasting latent treat.

And over we blow,
in the glow of-
it all. Action. Excitement.
Learning so much.

Sitting and running.
Not sunning, safe.
Dad and mum.
Kids growing up, to be better than their parents.
All the things that we can rally and rail against.
Sleet from a sleeping ship.
Slipping on stairs. Crying behind barrels.
Tar in out eyes.
Pitched souls.
Morbid turgid thoughts.
tastes of gluttony.
Burnt sugar and sand.
Taken beatings from the feeding hand.
That’s your reprimand.
My final stand.
Unplanned, ship unmanned.
Fanned clans of Jackie Chans

Time to rest, no time for swelling.
Brush your teeth, drink some water.
All out of whack.
Time fly
working tie.
No sky,
smile wry.
Simple pie.
regular guy.
Green green – curry.

Sharper than a Turner that’s been rolled into a point, drizzled with lemon juice and poked in my eye.

I revel in the magic of fertility.

No ruby unwashed, nor coeur unquashed.
Could this lady so become.
No text unwrit,or parlnce spit.
Could thus my darling see by sun.
A dancing child, some vision guiled
No rain, no sea no liver biled.
These children should be seen and
heard.

“out damn spot!”
be out and banished.
The qualms and queries
shall be banished.

A grimoire, tome, this
dead sea scroll…
the world, unabated.
Shall unroll.

Death, worth
acceptance
All do yield.
This sword of iron
I chance the field.

Eyes of fire, tears of
grace.
A swirling spear a whirling mace
Through killings,
violence.
Sweet, sweet silence.
My stab destroys you,
I am your deception.

A strand of hair swings before my eyes.
Blonde, like the sand of a barren beach.
Bones of the world’s history scatter-
themselves at the tideline.

A breath, haggard.
Ruined lungs screech.
These bloodshot eyes
search for a ruin.
A ruin both known and lost.
The decrepit crenellations of my own spirit.

In the distance a hazed horizon.
A shape can be made out.
Jagged, cruel, despairing.
But made to be repaired.

This broken stone, a standing tower.
This shattered glass, a gloaming star.

Remember.

The broken was once whole,
and can be again.

My rumbling chest.
recovery.
Snot.
bacteria.
Slam, sickness, feeling,
rocks off poetry.
talk and talk and talk and fear.
and shameless sex is sex as sex.

(zucchini and speed) – yes he’s looking back.

Future regrets! Looking forward, that’s easy.
South America.

What would happen if university was free?
Exchange students?
International students?

Have I read that book in the future?

I was at preachers.
Some parents had let their kids alone to play their favourite game “dead in a coffin”.
the child at play, by my ear as I sat-
he offered me candy. I refused, but said “thanks”,
He kept playing, then put one of his green sherbert sugar candies in my lap.
I popped it in my mouth, laughing.
Still reading Bukowski’s postal efforts.
Drenched he was, struggling with brilliant syntax which I would mimmic all the next few days.

out of context but the words are here:

‘They slip down, down down they slip, down around the cheeks of your ass, a wet rim of a thing held up by the crotch of your pants.’

The story went on but now I asked the kid.
“what flavour is that candy, do you reckon?
“The young kid said mint” I was dubious and tried the higher path.
“Do you know mint is a plant?”
He said “yes”.

I sat with my legs kicked out, one up on a chair. One knee cocked with the foot planted flat. The kid reacted to my next question, which was banal and a “which” question. Probably, asking which was his preference of flavour.
Anyway
he jumped down from his coffin, from just behind my head-
next to my ear, he jumped down. skirted around me, carefree.
I was forgotten. He touched my knee, jumped over my leg and walked to play with his sister.
Not another care my way.
A lolly, an answer and a denial of what we come to understand personal space to be.

It was nice.

Tonight I asked dad as he pissed in the front garden.
“How’s the new car?”
He replied “Its OK”
I pushed: “just OK?”
“yeah”, he said.

I wanted him to bring up that it wasn’t done, to talk while in a urinal.
I had planned to tell him the whole world was a urinal.
But it never works out.

And i’m told crows in Canada sound different to crows in Australia.
Imagine waking up to that. murder.

18th Feb, 2017. 19:53
Dates. Dates.
Laughter, dates.
older women, women the same age.
“tiny furry sharks”

Armani Code -Scent trials.

The name of the girl at Savoy Baths is : Yeeva? Eva?
One of the guys in the change room left his underpants.
I didn’t steal the dressing gown, even though the massage cost $100.

31st of Jan
PYSCHOTROPIC:
Affecting mental activity, behavior, or perception, as a mood-altering drug.

As a drug: tranquilizer, sedative, or antidepressant.

Imagine the surrender before the moment of drowning.
The moment you suck in water. Hoping for air.
Bubbles float past your eyes.
as if from detergent.
you perceive rainbows.
You snort. sweet, salty, maybe bloody.
You vomit water, choke almost.
calmly you re-inhale.
Lungs spasm in.
eyes shutting.
nose honking in a fever
a new colour.
a haze, foreign pitch.
nausea.
feelings of numbness.
teeth and toes forgotten.
heart, once racing, slows.
A calm.
The forgetfulness.
Passing over you.
over, over.
no more heaving.
just a ripple of memory.
a fallen spark in a big
dark pool.

-A sore sword placebo-

There I worked as a chef.
well, a cook.
Not a cook even.
A —
vegetable cutter.
In a sub–terranean
prep–dungeon.
The fluorescent lights,
they
never stopped flickering
in-my-mind.

The halogen lights.
of “day”,(now) my office.
the neon lights (later)nights

—
colourful circus.

and the sea level’s rising.
Co2 levels rising.
ability to discuss, dropping.
caring,
love shopping
bags; dropping.

my erection over my own death is rising.

mouth, temples, wrists, smiling
noose gaping.

pills or gun?

a building.
dropping dropping plate.
dropping heart–rate.

-Honest report-

maybe this is too complicated.
or simple.
hate other writers you said.
Can’t share.
wont share.
thursday thursday personal thursday.
light hearted? grim, sorrow soul.
private posturing battles.
anxiety and neurosis.
poetry and people and my honesty.
damn my want to impress.
what will I get. nothing probably.
a pat on the head.
pat. Shit.
cows, cud, chewing, critics.
worry, lashing out.
over sharing, oversharing.
honest reactions.
the depths and the shallowness of the word.
my words.
banal, cold recycled coke cans.
tango?
references and code that nobody will understand.
like Shakespeare’s rambling use of metaphor.
bestial.
over analysis.
traps to incite a feeling! or reaction.
the food in my belly is a storm and my caring,
my understanding.
my fear.
a smear of an idea.
rambling.
not even rattling. The sound is new.
new and unintelligible.
People tell me they want to listen to my mind.
congratulations.
if I read my own work its nonsense.
not something anyone will ever get good at.
its just different.
How could I be confident.
the material is known.
Like the sponge I am.
Once squeezed,
expect red.