I think the idea of the the day has to go to my negging of “doing your best” and using final fantasy X to justify it.
What’s our goal? “TO DO OUR BEST”. No, no, no. “TO WIN”.
At all costs. Because that’s the goal. That’s the aim.
And if you are aware of the continuation of the moment, and how un-sustainable the moment is if you do said “best”. What about every moment before that. Has it contributed to that moment? Or is it alone in its self as an idea.

You are fuming! Disgusting, littering, blonde, sloppy lipped mong of a man. Waste!
And you Sam, strange stuttering, unwelcome, antisocail, pinger scoffing stranger.
-nice watch, and plain maroon jumper.

Keep running up that hill.

Today- free store, shopping. My wondering if I am wholly a reaction to my environment and when moments occur that I have control.
In sport? When you amaze yourself doing something purely in the moment or thoughtful? Or is that the definition of mindless. How you are in tune with the movement of another person. You see shapes and ideas blurringly assess them. That’s why sometimes you fail to relate. Piano take it away.

Driving a car, reaction learnt. Its a skill.
Self defense, falling. More to learn. Unnatural- maybe.
Words that say “I think”
“maybe” “Perhaps” “I’m not sure”.
Muted. Song to say goodbye indeed.

I met the owner of a brilliant little cafe today.
His name is Gabriel, like the main character in Joyce’s “The Dead”.
Cafe Qui Pense. I thought how funny it is, that i’m Australian and like coffee certain way and drink my coffee “A long black, please”, is the one drink that isn’t a normal translated order here. An Americano, no, no, a mistake. A lot of it. Would be a better order.

I wrote some other stuff today, in amongst study and setting alarms.

Each mind is an opal
Gift a cursed hap.
Mine many rough as coal.
Unpolished crap.
Dry stones of soul-
Sets and sits untapped.
Hexagon on natural form
From wet heat, day’s night.
Shamanistic starry norm.
Medicines curing blight.
Should this ring right-
Wrong, or some-kind-other
Cured ailment of a mother.

Hanging red gloves, above the door.
Dripping sacred, holly blood.
Fogged pane-glass, snow wet floor.
Blotch on coat, think nothing more.
Until home is made,
Jams and marmalade,
Sweet the bitter.
Trusted baby sitter.

A flooded house.
Porch without chair.
Tricker treats without-
Pumpkin or fare.

And then we look upon the kitchen afresh and what did we find?
The UNDISCOVERED CUPBOARD.
And the spelling to be beyond me, for a few good tries, for wont of help, google and advice.

Why is there a T in the word Influential.
Influence. Weird.

Listened to Rhys’ album. Mr Milo, such talent. Wonderful friends.
Associates. Amaze. Good grief, gold, and quality and wonder assured.
Children for parents are the friends you do not have.

Pack bag.
Shakespeare! Aye.

I keep trying to make my own ripped jeans, and keep ending up just wearing shorts.
Never got my scissors licence.
Pens are beyond me too.
There’s not much I’m good at.
Isn’t it a shame to think of all the people who have taken their talents and skills with them to the grave. Ahhh, the transfer of skills to others is crucial and we’re getting better at it. This I know. But there are so so many of us. And so many things to learn.
So many mistakes.

What are the lyrics to Femme Libere:
Terrible upon first gloss. More on that some other time.
I gotta read some other stuff first and brush. Yeah brush.
Soft godndamn TOOThBRUshEs. Get me down. What a strange invention.
Good grief.

Worked on a secret handshake with Thomas.
Slap it,
Crack it.
Low 5,
Forearm Cross.
Hang 10

I said I was seeing a friend of a friend.
Book of Mormon.

The word “media” has many anagrams.
“Pat are you drinking wine” – no.
I’ve been at the gym, so i’m dehydrated.

Zeal without prudence is like a ship adrift.
I am, I will be yours.
Your Bipolar Lunatic.

The oscillation and interplay of thoughts.
At school you pay the teachers to listen to you and teach you-
Discipline. Not child care. Amuse and entertain you.
Enjoy the freedom.

“You don’t understand me”. And my day swing. Turned on a dime.
Nothing could go right from that point.
Other people in your life, affecting you negatively.
My armour is soft. My defenses breached so easily.
I am not steel. I am scared. Angry, un-learned. Wasteful.
But a deluded entertainer.
Angry at everyone that surrounds me.
The stage is never right, all, SO unwilling.
Be my set. Be amused. Listen, excite, feed me, give and give.
and shut up and ask and care and play and lets just play.
if only for a short while. Let me touch your hand and kiss your neck and ask deep questions. Explain to me things I know very little about. Give me your opinion. Free from judgement. Just share, lay it bare. Like a shucked oyster. Lear about yourself.
Smash yourself to pieces. Let me be your drug, we shall follow your mind until something goes wrong. Distracted. Sick.
Julliette put alarms on your iPad.
If you are going to prank, go to!
Follow through. I will allow it.
Gosh darn, blast and frig.
Placebo playlist has gone full circle.
Time to call it a night.

Playlish. Clall.

So far so good. Continuing the cycle. Trying to stay on track, rest-relax, eat well, exercise, stretch my mind, i’ll for a walk soon.
Today’s post is just a basic update. Cleaning out my room- so there are some random sheets of paper lying around that i’ll record and discard.
Then i’ll pump up my ball and boot.

one was a list of books.
Two was a flavour of burp – capsicum.
three the common question of “what do you study”

and finally 4 had to do with baseball:

Its up its over its out,
Cap back, hock and spit
Make eyes lock and hit.
throw the bat, run a bit
He’s home. Home we scream an shout.

The batter swings- strike
The batter swings- strike
The pitcher throws – hit!
The fielder prepares – mitt
The ball, its up! Long
The batter happy, strong.
The pitcher misery struck
The fielder curse rotten luck
The fans fight and clap.
The happy, horrid hollers of hap.

I felt like a bystander,
an extra in my own life.
I don’t want to be-
involved.
“should I don this?” (justify me)
-leave me out of it-

I don’t know how I do it but I feel the compulsive need to keep creating.
Do different. For arts sake. Political or otherwise; I am torn. I am art – not god.
You may identify me by the poor fingerpaints of my parents. Mix and smeared on a blank white sheet. This is my identity. A creation of only a most basic level of understanding. Comprehension and wonder.
Good or bad or just the same. Waxing the proprietorship; kunstlerroman -I am not referring to the frontierswoman. Aye me: spiritual learned, with much further afford yet. Bildungsroman by way of bilingualism, so closely are they intertwined.
And so I grow, enfilade be my option. Creativity and choice.
Options grow like the priesthood of the eternal imagination promised.
To transmute experience, so basic and normative into gold. All that shines godly, golden locks and more. Indeed all that shines. Radiant in body. Recorded, and living. Like the sparking well worn pages of some princely text. Ever-living as fame can only provide. Valid, nominal and received by all. Taken like a stable to both page and stomach. The basic fare, of food for all on the surface of the earth. Life’s staple, enough just to satisfy and make us question. Question all. Seek, learn and grow.
Our education begins with the mythscape created in language to form our own identity. The offset of god and how we are cast from the heavens above. We represent a bathyscaphe. Our individualism yet insubstantial.
The imperial construction in conversation, our eyes and common acceptance codify our point of view in our ever-brief search towards the unknown.

Its difficult to love rap. Surely, when you’re thrust into a new environment its barren and new. This would our here is lonely and cold.
Du-du-des-des-pas.. J’ai lan.

Tonight was dinner and fajitas.
French translation, the girls and boys would get on a roll and leave me for dead.
Behind, unexplained, grasping and gasping.
I have a loose ankle, rolling wide.
And here I am on the other side.
James Bond mashups as the background.
And that isn’t the only strange sound.
And hair and hats and memory preserved.
And all us strangers games, orgies reserved.
And you can trust from the drop and tune-
the evening isn’t over, by the light of the moon.
Make it last. Lets stay keen.
Happy and bright, and light and scene.
And tell old stories, and keep our senses.
Not regretting a thing and counting our recompenses.
And your beautiful eyes and smile.
Your studies and your style.
Politics. Society.
Questioned sobriety.
French and english, that barrier profound.
Judy Dench, my single-ish life, unfound.
Damage, timing, lack of energy and direction.
Discovered in my drunken, quaker selection.
Religious belief and hand gestures,
Changing posture, and foster my destesture.
Because I hate this, this being alone-
This wait, you’re single, pick up the phone.
Because you need to put yourself out there!
Move and smile awake. So, so feeling unfair.
Despair. Putan. Because hookah pipes aren’t the release.
Not free, not out there. Not prostituted.
Blue jacket. Tell tale story.
C’est pareil.
Edoudard, strange staring.
Music plays. Vision and thoughts wrack his brain. Thrown over. The uncomfort. Where are my snuggle buddies. The familiarity. The security. The comfort.
Declan. Between my teeth, sips and questions and poor language, translations mumbo jumpo bollocks and spelling and the idea of what i’m trying to cast to everyone else. The alphabet. Gangstar. X Y Z. You’re chatter. Final. Lost, confused. Banal basic. Your cousin. Shit. True, me. It is, music. Source. Wait. Child. New. Stop. Music. Samething. On the radio. Incredible. Best.
Words that I picked up. No. Listen.

Today in sunlight we have basked.
And tight friends, time we’ve spent.
Questions answered, questions asked.
Beyond it all the tick-tock of rent.

Tomorrow’s dreams, bedtime avoid.
Comfort and ideas, couch and chair.
Here we lay, relaxed destroyed.
Always thinking; its to unfair.

Auto-tuned, disgrace non-comprehend.
To the candy shop, drugs, smoke, relax.
Excel, express of others defend.
Before you do, gather all the facts.

So we snuggle and hold, kiss and talk.
Tomorrow’s a new day, our memory lax let.
On and on, out long limbs stalk.
And yet, and yet. We’ve no need to fret.

Fore we are the future, like it or not.
And you are beautiful, talking with charm.
Style, sex appeal! Reality come hot.
Any advances and compliments are without harm.

Because table and beers.
Freedom of fears.
Of tears, talk and love.
Heaven’s above.

Silence.
What a waste.
all I need is silence and the ability to adjust, change, miss-motivate you.
Because you are mine. And we are germs and we don’t matter and you can just hold me because a comfort now is how I would reward myself not doing something outrageous. A reward worthy of, the new, of something personal.
Fair don’t you think? Deserved. It’s worthwhile. Touch me, hold me, swear in my ear.
Taste me. Lips, ears. Neck kissing. Taste the different temperatures of water. Hold me gently. Eat icecream and bring wine. The candy shop tomorrow, what do I buy your father and mother and young brother. Small gifts. What did her buy people in “beyond a shadow of a doubt” torture the women. Oh and they are, we all are. But beyond the norm. Ok, so we will. And torture them silly. Still, feel we will and sill.

Windows, frosted over.
Rap music, with its resonance and stories.
Bring it in.
Gang signs, sight and a pin.
Bubble popping, energy and worries.
Generous, real, genuine.
Spitting and telling how it is.
From a small city; who’s name you spell.
Late night, awareness sets in, story mode presents itself.
This bizarre moment in time. We crash,
but do we, no we avoid. Magnificent.
Powerful, moment of life, alive.
And strong. Put a hat on, take it to your breast.
Like the video, telling of the growth of a child.

Heads and tails.
Sleeping in a bed-
but the rude bits are still in the middle.
hahah- life’s little quirks.
and so estranged.
So out there, isolated.
Different, and unwelcome and banal, and basic.
And the meaning, look to the gestures, the movements.
Still the rolling ankle. And NOW.
oh now, I could write characters.

Sell, que, double.
BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Edouard. Sat with beer in hand. Making a movie, avec his phone. Talking and singing lyrics to a french song that he knows quite well. His hair has grown out, and he has a modest stubble. His hair is brown, skin tanned to olive. He talks of a person with his two friends on the couch. It’s a somber song, pensive. The narrator has heard it before. Confident and joking make-up his predominant mood and disposition, avec people taking him seriously. We wonder about the interest and the attraction people have in his company. Making chatter simple, easy and comfortable, he risks being basic but is carefree.
He sails, but not while on holidays. He has a drunk-burn. Which looks like: both sunburn when someone was wearing sunglasses and the capillaries’ colouring upon a drink beyond capacity. A cheerful mouth, with a full set of smallish white teeth. He smokes, but doesn’t smell or make a big deal of it. The time spent with others watching videos. The sickness of bodies in close contact isn’t something that effects him. He has dark eyebrows. Yawning and not covering his mouth. He is easy going, smiling and relaxed when he’s in his own home. He can sit for hours if he is given a screen and music to play with. He is easily entertained.
Wearing middle upper class clothes. Boat shoes, grey well fitted pants, and a plain shirt to fit in.
Music and movies, humor motivate him on a daily basis. He wonders to himself the meaning of the moment, late at night. What his goals are, demonstrating a restless spirit, looking up at the ceiling. He’s pensive. Tired, blabbering-no informative. Senselessly holding his phone in his left hand, his creative side, comfortably.
What is his goal this evening? His mistress to bed, what will be his move? How does he feel. He takes a drink. He looks like he’s thinking. He’s caught me watching him, another drink. An intense stare, self awareness. “bizarre”.

Frenching. Self awareness. Danger zone. Maybe its time to brush and sleep, that’s what we’re all thinking. But his next move cannot be told. This is an endurance battle that I will not lose. Video making? I don’t feel comfortable. The mood isn’t captured. Movies in that environment are missed and strange. Can a movie capture a mood? I don’t think so. This music is unknown, but I smile knowingly. And everyone nods. Eurovision! 2016 feels like the theme for every late night with these folks.
As we head toward four after midnight, I wonder where these people get their fucking energy. I laugh in their faces. They look away. How strange. What does this hatted man desire from this situation. Bah my homework is done. And i’m lost, lost and basic.
In depth conversation with guys and girls who’s name’s I don’t even know.
Its basic and underrated. But how can I possibly do this, it wears me down.
Reckless, Wrecked. Singing, Ricky Martinesque classics.
MARTINESQUE!

Astray.
Almond drink. Real almond. Shared. Used the housemates milk.
No worries. Nobody will ever know. No stress, this is best. Creature of habit. Paradise lost. Illiterate and blind. Fruit fly. Born to die. No brains, no spine.
Commonly divine. Reflex. With each muscle a brain.
And here we are. Here we are in Ottawa. “I’m over it” I said.
Edouard looking at me with his creepy eyes.
Flushed below are his cheeks- to the bridge of his nose. Like some sort of sunglasses tan line.
Adrenaline kicks in. Stomach stretched.
music blurts. Maracas.

And the introduction to a standup show. With the etereal intro of vibing music. Ambient. Guitar, electric piano. Distorted sound. Patient and torn.
Changed in a swirl. Rising and falling away. Washing over you. Your eyes close as the audience and the recognition from the man in charge of his craft is as follows:

Hello all.
Self aware from start to finish.
And the critics would write “very amusing”.
To muse, and be interesting. to make you think, is what this person’s craft entails.
And so he would go on… after a brief pause.
-I was thinking recently, how strange it is, when you stand out… Stand out infront of people, a group or just an individual and you think to yourself: kinda quantify to yourself just how everyone else is crazy. So I tell you guys now, for safety and clapping’s sake. I AM FUNNY. but you don’t know it. And i’m only coming to terms with this myself. So don’t clap if you think a joke has happened. You have no fucking idea. No idea. I’ll tell you. I’ll laugh, you guys will just react accordingly. ok. Let that wash over you.
Like when you’ve in a group of people’s company and the conversation drys up. Isn’t that great. When there is a pause? Is it not? That’s a queer question. And aptly named a queery, buy someone, I think it was the “inventor” shall we say of gravity.
Not Albert Einstein. No. But the other guy. Adam. No standing, no sitting under a tree. For ten points.
-Isaac Newton? He’d say.
and I would point… ten times, 5 on each hand. POINT POINT POINT POINT ETC ETC.

And still I’d be thinking of the milk i’d borrowed and the interruption of this person upon my life and how I look and tight fitting clothes. Corrupt of me.
Almost broken and unhinged, sickly with desire. Which is strange for me. Out of my lowly window. Staring. Not quite agape or lolling. But noticing, surely.
that would be me. Yes. Attentive. There’s that double ‘T’
I’ve changed how I write my double T’s. But nobody really cares, and I don’t save much time. It’s just a style change.
Anyway as I was saying isn’t it great when you’re in a group and conversation dies. And then someone brings something up and you realize in that moment of CREATION.
The conversation. The vibration in that person’s neck that they THOUGHT THAT. And whether or not its politeness or curiousness, a statement, anything. Any one of those modes of conversing. They have chosen a direction. You could thank them, be surprised. The myriad of emotions, the cause and effect. And if you are affected. Your follow on thoughts from this. -are you even keeping pace?

Probably not. I hear a lot of people don’t. And those that do, well they wear themselves out and in turn don’t recall what the other person said most of the time, unless there is some sort of strong resonating emotion. Alas, sandy beaches.
So, what i’m trying to say. Isn’t it great sitting silently in a group of people.
And if someone says something, then you just stay quiet. Everyone stuck in a silent loop. Just thinking, but with company. Sharing eye contact. Smiles. Gremlin like.
Google eyes. Goggles off. Obvious. Thoughtful, devilish, unveiled, vile, true, smiling, watching, intense, poignant, impressive, animal, vermin, wanting, looking, lustful.
Like me out the window, silently watching people go by. If they look good to me I stare. What denotes them looking good?> I don’t for the life of me know.
Subconsious? maybe, maybe not? Maybe we’re not honest with ourselves.
I think i’m a liar. To myself. But when I play sport I’m honest with myself.
Honest and angry. Moving, and hating and wanting. And thats me. And I don’t want to focus on anything else. I have no alterior motives. Just angry energy, and a following eye. Smiling, evil, and destructive. But not untoward. Just and honest.
Finally the veil lifts. I my own corpse bride, lifting myself from the grave, only to dance in circle. Clutching myself in the shower. Scrubbing until red, but always disgusting. Mutilated, yet somehow accepted. Looked over.

Like a groom, cum mannequin. Each and every person, beguiled. Spellstruck, down turned smiles to follow the gravity of the situation. Pulled to their graves, matching their expression. Clones. Morbid, hive mind zombification of 4pm. The cold sinks in. Sloppy, washed out souls. Upon the open seas, arms outspread upon the whitewash surf. Pushed in towards the rocks. Brains to be dashed, smashed, crushed and wrecked. Their ships, vessels betorn. Born to be poked holes in and questioned. Caught in their world that is not their own. Phones out or wayward. Starfish, no survival backstroke, or be it facedown will save you or show you favour. Nor free you from your bubbling, bubblind demise. Self despised, plucked and bleeding eyes. Limbs boil, and the sea of acid destroys every living thing. Turning brown, to yellow to green and finally evaporating leaving naught but bones and the disouraging sign of a godless, eternity of something bigger and uncomprehending of what you might call suffering, but I willingly and gaily admitt to being a moment of self aware. Instead of the basic desire of tight clothes and their happening. The need to provide, sustain and relive. To delve inside another and preceed yourself with a mixture of them. Not that but a sight of yourself. Eyeballs hanging, red reflecting the coldness of the day and your fed middle. Spicy and sick. Gullet wobbelling and your advice ringing hollow. Torture yourself, the women and children. But for what? For want of what? What control.
Beyond that there is only the pointless. So if you haven’t stood up and left which- hehe. You could and maybe should have. Oh bittersweet digress is my end.
But I jest. But do I? Indeed.
Then I know. I know this matters to you, and I can tell you I find it particularly funny. Which is grand. Oh yeas, yes yes yes, grand. Grande. Like the upsize. To escalate. Quickly. Ascend to more. And more. Because that’s what we’ve grown to want. To ask for, desire. Predict and fight over. Because of the fear of one-day/. Something will come. But don’t worry. That hopefully will be you and you into mean, with mean to little ones. With plenty comes your worth and maybe that’s the best lot you can ask. But fate and the time and culture will pray and influence. Oh yes, yes sir. Sit, look up. Look to your wife. Put out your hands. Smack.
yes turkey.
A slap.
What else goes with cranberry sauce. What a mundane question.
man. Mun. Mundance. Allow your head to balance evenly at the top of your spine.
Experience the present moment. If you find your attention has wandered off. Bring it back. I know that sounds abstract but its not. Focus.
Smell this. Do you know what this is? It’s Cloves.
CLOVES children. You don’t know the smell. You don’t remember it all.
You certainly don’t know everything, or anything. Yet. So i’ll give you some time, to muse and amuse, and rebel and refuse. And fuse thought a light a fire. Tinder and twigs. And horses and tails and pianos and sticks. And hitting and wood. And erections and hands. And plans and flans. And pancakes and milk sugar eggs. At all.
it not going on at all. What is going on is above all transformation of mental states.
Gurp hurp hurp grup.
Excel, gum chew chew chew.
I know its tough but if what you’re doing is brilliant then what i’ve put in has got to be something, doesn’t it? It’s not on a scroll or ingained or carved. Its semi permanent at best. I must print. SCARF

Lunatic Bipolar.
The scatter of emotional reaction.
Everything is great. I go to university, I choose what I learn. I read all about these things, I pay you to read what I think and have to say. You pay attention to me, read critically, mark, assess, agree, disagree. My ideas.
There are other things that I do, but this is a big part of me.
I focus, read, write, focus and try. I pay for food, I am supported. My basic needs are covered. Why is everything difficult? Is it that I haven’t put my next aims and goals into place. What do I want?
I read one thing. I realize, somehow that I’ve let you down and I’ve let myself down not knowing. I’m angry. People make me angry. Influence me, and affect my emotions. I wish you weren’t around, I wish I was free of people. Nobody there to distract me.
I could do so much, free from the anger and confusion you bring me.
My jovial attitude, my enjoyment, alone but learned not to be lonely.
I could be happy like that. Why do I blame others. Why do people influence me, have sway. Why do I like being a people person. I felt like the effect of my positive nature might make brilliant and wonderful ripples. But like a functioning relationship between others, it can breed jealousy and annoyance in the casual observer. This dissonance, fall from grace must be cured somehow.
But I am lost, i’m still discovering who I am. 35 is middle aged- in the bible. I still have a long time to waste, spend, try as I see fit before then.
Life is easy. I have so many things. There shouldn’t be any stress.
I am a functioning human being, doing things should be easy.
Time slips away, I just need to make chips. Small portions, towards what I wish to achieve. Every single day.

I have returned from Montreal. A french city in Canada.
But for my fatigue I will not retell what I did.
Suffice to say, I got dehydrated. Having fun, riding around. Bed early one night, and late the other. Listening to a guy ramble on about Bollywood and his friends.
He confirmed what I study, and then actively took up a monologue. It was quite something.
I gave Bilbo my vegemite, he was the guy I couch surfed with.
Share the worldly experiences I say.

“What are you doing”
*I ignore the question*
“what are you doing”
– just this. (ask me another question)
“Fair enough”
What dullery!

Lorsque = when/during.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
nodding their heads in sprightly dance.

Met a german tourist called Astrid.

MPL.COM in Montreal.

Kiddir, was the guy at reception.

5016A was the password for the door.

“Mike the homeless” – ha has friends in the hood. Big guy; has a hat.
I gave him 3 dollars.

Tequila Jacks. Like Whiskey Jack.
Like the O-Bar of Ottawa. Slutty, basic, clients.
Welcome to drinking – all of you.

Is it weird or progressive when people yell “faggot” out the window of a car.

AH-AH-Ah a gift idea.
Real memories!

werewolf? Oct 8, 2016, 23:10

We Chat – app

My teacher. Lecturer uses the line “Can I get a hand on that” – to the class.

Create
Destroy
Rebuild
(logo)

Let anyone among you who is without sin, be the first to throw a stone.

Roxanne – philosophy class.

Harbinger.
Femininity
Strome – tous les même
The tree – all the same.
Charachters: (what I haven’t been motivated to do this year)
Prospero
Marke Change

Sorry I ask too many questions.
“That’s ok you have a curious mind”.

We all need an addiction. (but do we)

Ingredients for Chinese Moon Cake:
Sugar, salted yolk, flour, vegetable oil, rice flour, melon seed, walnut seed, olive seed, almond seed, sesame seed, water, egg, potassium carbonate, dehydrated sodium acetate, potassium sorbate.

Cooking in the modern worlds has transformed from cook-fire and billy, stove top-pot, to industrialised-isms.

The opposite to the hungry caterpillar.

Books you must read:
Asterix, Harry Potter.

Scholar- random letter type. (makes me think of latin)
Nooni
Michael
Sebastian – lives here.

These are a great many nonsense notes over the past month that I decided to delete.
Great…

Defining terms:

Oscillating
Secular
Pathos
Eros
Logos
Deus ex machina
Truncated

“Do you want to be rich?”

Christ, I had more than this but the internet dropped out and the page reset.
Impermancence strike again.

Do peoples tattoo sleeves look all that different?
No, no I don’t think soo.

And I don’t think your smoking is you in conversation with yourself.
It’s just an accepted way for your to loiter and stare.
To be a voyer.
You should be avoided.
I’m going to run on that thought.
This playlist is so so so sos good.
I’m stuck on so at the moment.
My heart beats, desires, wants and needs.
My thoughts and honesties sputter with rapture and my head is holed.
Hollered, and hated and hacked, humbled and holy, hinging, harmfully, hapless, hogging, hidder, hearted, hagrid.
Put your curls down, with your umbrella, UMBREAL. Umbridge.
Umbral. Cumbarl. Late to the pub again, where I go, I dare not.
For I am not a kiss and tell, your french company, your trials.
Let me disconnect. Stare, think deeply. Fixedly. I’m despondant.
Reactive I am not.
What do I want, let me think think think. Like pooh.
Bah! The poobah, dance, djs, boogie, inform, wish and be filled with nostalgia.
Let me do as I please. Figure that, let me tell you a story, pick away and open up.
Gods.
So thin. How do you do that. Sleep and evaporate.
Become something more, or less and lazier than what I am, what I could be, what I want to be. Let me resent you.
Hate you and your ability. That friendly face, smiling flash talking trash outside my window bullshit.
The window to your soul, which is barren and typecast, shallow and overdone. Makes me ill with reflection and childhoods mystery which is not uncovered to be nothing.
Like a bogus excavation of the truth I find you’re just some dead animal, with autonomy and action. This living death. A shallow grave of exploration, enjoyment, and uncontrolled reactions. You are the product. And people can attribute worth for the fun of it. You are as mysterious as any other function. Bah.
Aye me, there is tragedy there. But the comedy of it all doesn’t allude, illude, miss or confuse me. My great hole. Wholesome mouth, belly laughter rattles and shakes me from my middle to my squishing eyes.

Sexy. Swing. Talking song . Son. Lady, girl, friend. Lets get close, swim in the sheets. Let me bite you. Hear you squeel. Such tenous, tenors and sweet melody. Captivated. Sheets like capes. Ribbons of silk, hands tear and scratch at sheet and skin. Red lustful, raw, and raucus screems. Control lost, emotions swim, heads swoon and eyes roll. Rise and fall. Lips dry, breathing gasps, wretched, spine jutting, grease running as moans of harmony transgress AND permeate from within. The body, the room, the house, and beyond. Their power immutable, fixed and joyful. Bliss.

Mind,
my mind is full.
Full of it.
whatever it is.
You are full of it too.
We all are. Look at all the double letters in English.

“you are what you eat” – for mindfulness.
This months tactful idea is to take a photo of every meal.
My sister is becoming a personal trainer.
She’s a very motivated individual.
Its fun to test ourselves with things like this.
DOING.
Enertaining. A good day.
I used the heading to get more hit.
mindfullness.
Fullness.
The french don’t like using the word full.
They say its too graphic. *I think.
I was told that once. I’ve fleshed the thought out more, in my mind.
now i’m saying it. Which makes it a belief. Not true.
Just.
JUST. something. I said. Once. I can change, we all can.
I hope you’re not mad.

The top selling books last year were all “Colouring-In books”
-For mindfulness.
Ah Mindful. Not mindfull. Mine field.
Ness.
Nessy.
Messy, fantastic, magical, strange, imagined, made up, pre-historic boogey man of an idea.

Gadzooks.

“Original thinker”- I got that today from a teacher.
I should be modest. It was an ordinary thought, that probably wasn’t mine.
4 step process.
Got rid of the 2nd step.
Timing is everything.
Specialisation.
Job satisfaction.
Hub-ub. Quality control.
Efficiency. Madhouse.
Wild experiments. Large groups of people.
See how they all act. Who know’s what they’re doing.
“we need people to colour in”.
-No NO NOOOOOOOOOOO.
Don’t take me from what i’m doing.
Coaxing.

COAXXING. COMMING. -ING WORDS, and the consonant double up. confuses me sometimes.

Exams are like semi-finals.
Not the big time. Not quite the perfect idea of “game day”.
But if you’ve done the work to get there, you want to perform.
This is all temporal.
Mid time. In between. Grey scale.
Not real. Unreal. Irreal. Misreal. Dereal. Quasireal. Stopreal. Parreal.

Assignments call.
I have to do a catchup blog for the other day.
The internet went down, lost my god-damn work.
Shocking.

Jake is moving in as soon as this week.
I wonder where he’s from. Dear me. Another body. Looks like i’ll be sharing shelf space. Shucks.

“let anyone among you without sin be the first to throw a stone”

Picasso : Missing letters. E,F,G,I,M,N

I remember being young and in class, grade 3/4 and finding out if I dropped a pencil the lead inside would crack, not having my pen license I would sharpen my pencil, and then while writing if the tip fell out it would be entirely a disaster. Colouring pencils the same. And they roll, and fall of the desk and i’d fear. It would encompass me- consuming my perspective – my being. Fear. Loathsome. Fated. Hatred of chance and wonder. My concentration shot, I was to blame. Shame of the self at such a young age. Fuming.

Print out tickets.

Roxanne- Philosophy.

Prank: Print out A4 sheets that say “wet paint” and put them on everything.

Imagine if your eyelids glowed in the dark.

Insult: inslit: sinslit: insult: “white cunt”

“What i’ve done doesn’t matter until the majority crushes me…”

The seating at the bar looks like advanced solitaire. No rules.

**
Hello my darling. I have taken my time to reply because each letter for you is the heart. I love you also with my head and soul. I feel you, I stress and think of you often. Each day can be a plague if I let my mind wander. You’re far away, and we are free. My life for liberation has never been so watered. Down by want and emotion. You occupy a space in my being that is unique and wonderful. For that I will always live and love for. Hope upon hope: pipe dream come wonderment, be free and be in love and love me as your own for I will ever be. xoxo

I know you’ve spent your night slimming- let’s sit down (angry).
Lets get sweaty.

And the girl said to the guy: “wear tartan, you’ll be in for free”.

My lady queens leaves.

The printing press is slow today.
It’s white-work we wait and pray.

Metis: North American Half-breed.

And that’s when it happened: at the history museum.
He was an attractive looking man, I stared confidently myself.
And that’s when it happened.
“Have you ever seen the whites of someone’s eyes”

Ed.

Living in a fantasy land.
Augmented yet real
he who leads you by the hand
pleasure’s pain we feel.

Bring us to the fore
Enlightened darkness
Push open the door
Get on the ark-miss.

PROVERB:
‘As the old sing, the young pipe’
-Children take after adults.

“Be my mug of wine”
-I am this drink.