You’re drinking again.
Urged to it.
Need. Want.
Compelled
Desire.
Consume and the after effects.
Staggering, bright eyed, intrusive, annoying, incoherent, sleepy, clumsy, liability.
Behavioural.
Conditioned.
Smoker.
Short term memory loss.
Anger.
Numb.
Painless.
Helpless.
Scattered.
Stunned.
Forgetful.
Of, turned, strange.
Corpse.
Red faced.

You’ve started drinking again.
“I’ve heard you”

I don’t believe you.
I trusted you.
And now you break my heart
Once again.

What are some systems of society that can be ignored without the dearh of a fellow human? Maybe lines at the post office.

To the man that pushed my sister. What would happen if a pleb like you pushed Helen of Troy? I will contextually allow you to write the writ, proclaiming your own death warrant. Social, unmitigated suicide. I spit on you.

I drive through a red light. Kill a young boy on escape-board.

I drive my personal jet out of its hangar and onto the tarmac without approval. A plane aborts a landing and continues to circle. I take off. Take to the air, one parachute and a tank full of fuel. No deaths.

My mother is dying in hospital. A friend calls me, they’ve had a bad day. I neglect to give them attention.

I steal an almond from coles. One singular almond. It was on the floor, to be thrown out I presumed, I pick it up, dust it off and eat.

There’s a music gig on. I throw my bottle of water at the stage, the lead guitarist is saturated and electrocuted before endearing fans.

An artists in the french underground graffiti scene is throwing up a piece when he is clipped fatally by a passing train.

Bryce King cliff dives into a lagoon, accidentally landing on his neice’s collar with his pivvoted knee. She dies instantly.

Paul sits at his computer, that day he has bought a new jumper. He has recently developed an itch which he has not attributed to his latest purchase. He goes into shock while eating M&M’s. Seizuring on the floor his last senses are his shortness of breath and the semi-digested reflux of his last meal.

Steele uses a public toilet, opens the door with an unwashed hand and sneezes. Nobody is there to witness or say “bless you”. Rubbing deeply at a watery eye she hurrys down the spippery white tile corridor whence she came to visit the bathroom. Later that night while she sleeps her eye become infected so badly that she will eventually have a permanent after effect of blindness.

Joel’s taste in men is privelliged. He is rich and an idealist. He never uses protection., though he chooses is,partners quite carefully. One might call hi,m frigid or even proper the first few encounters. One night he is celebrating a work mate’s wedding, drinks are free. Strange because usualy that would n
Mean nothing to Joel. He can afford his own drimks, as many as he’d ever want or need he reminds himself. But tonight he goes ho,e with a woman called Joanne. He jokes that the could form a progressive music group called Jo Jo. They sleep together for many reasons. Company, excitement, the mood was just right. The both have a thrilling yet hazey encounter.

What drives me to do what i’ve done.
Use of language.
A toastie.
History of words.
Farewell to dad, chatter with mum.
Tea and tea and cups of tea.
My sister arrives home with important news,
Success and stories.
Father is pre-occupied.
Mother uses interesting language.
My sister sits.
The social positioning of the entire family is strangely off and wierd.
I laugh.
Laughing can be hard for others to hear.
The human mind, fills in the blank.
Self infecting.
Consciouss.
Selfish.
“He’s laughing at me”
We all think that.

7.45 sport.
Bottles of wine.
Meeting new people.
House parties.
Delicate glasses, changing how you are as a human being.
Fragile, small movements, precise motor functions become necessary drinking from the venetian glass.

Beauty.
Sex
Curves.
Proportions

Posturing.
Studied vs Lucky.

Banal. Success flying in the face of forthright inexhaustive enjoyment.

Big eyes.
Bracers.
Teeth shifting.
A shame, out of shape.
“The fitness, function and form are the base for the superstructure of cultural norm”.
The externally intrinsic.
Natural beauty.
Divide how you please.
You’ve lived this long and survived.
In for a penny, infor a pound.
Economics gone wrong.
This game of mine will take you for a ride.
You need to be this tall, with a life expansive time-line this wide.
Buckle up.
Knuckle down.
Take advice in your stride.
I’ll be next.
By your side.

Hold me beautiful.

The original hierarchy of needs five-stage model includes:
1. Biological and Physiological needs – air, food, drink, shelter, warmth, sex, sleep.

2. Safety needs – protection from elements, security, order, law, stability, freedom from fear.

3. Love and belongingness needs – friendship, intimacy, affection and love, – from work group, family, friends, romantic relationships.

4. Esteem needs – achievement, mastery, independence, status, dominance, prestige, self-respect, respect from others.

5. Self-Actualization needs – realizing personal potential, self-fulfillment, seeking personal growth and peak experiences.

Time ith-thought.

i-guess.
Eye-Guess.

Exhibition.
3 seconds stream.
Relaxing, immersive background music & sounds.

3 seconds of closed eyes.
Formulate, take in, guess their eye colour.
2 seconds: Eyes open. Iris reveal. Pupil Pulse.

Picture shifts.
New person. 3 seconds. Guess.
2 seconds reveal.
Pulse. Shift.

Exhibition on guess-work and the beauty of eyes.

What is beauty?
What is form?
Function!
Curve.
Mathematics.

So much reading to do.
So many experiments.

Time, time is of the essence.
Time will heal all wounds.
Good breakfast tomorrow.
Inspire.
Learn.
Create.
Wash.
Read read read read.
Plan plan plan.

Why haven’t I been finding people attractive?
women or men?
How can I achieve my own ritual death.

Negate stimuli.
Drafts. Draughts.
Wind.

Sensory information.

Declan’s fear of being aware.
Out-of-body.
“The blackness”
Beyond death. Continued cognisance.

Two neutrons.
NEURONS.
Electro-chemicals.
Brain spec.
Rubbing together.
Body decomposed.
Gone back to the mud.
Dust to dust.
Ashes to ashes.
Circular statements.
“That’s it”
“It is what it is”
“So on and so forth”
“So and so”
“On and on”
Death. Fear not.
A change occurs.
They remain, charged.
Changed.
Disassembled.
Wrong.
Off.
Somehow you.

Your memory. Small, rebounding, redoubling, barely physical in presence.
Destroyed. Moving. Soundless. Thinking. Bat bat bat bat bat.
Black black. The darkness.
Aware. No touch, feel. Senses gone. Memory but all.
Confused.
Screaming. Bulging. Wreck-elled.
Feckless.
Freckless.
Freckles.

Self-Actualisation.

Neck pushed back. Spine massaged.

Semantics with Rowan.
We walked, went on a word share adventure.
He played his own game.
Word linking, the subconscious.
Freud. “read these books”.
Analysing dreams. -bullshit.
The freedom of death.
When you die, what happens to your mind?
“JUST BLACK”
-What happens? What is you?

Patrick made it to the top of Lynton Ave. He was talking to his friend. Arriving at the turning circle he was distracted by the ongoing tangent that spun off-of the nature-nurture debate. He stepped out infront of a car and was killed.
Guilt flooded from his every pore. Poor Patrick. Blood poured from his nose, mouth, ears and eyes.
He’d bitten off his own tongue, back-flipping through the air, clipping a stop sign, that was red, set upon a backdrop of blue-black night sky. Clear. He’d never had such clarity of thought, he’d nearly died. He was dying, but not instantly. His vision blurred. Sluggish, sloppy breathing. He kept feeling the need to spit but it just came out in a wheeze. What were we talking about, he wondered.
The woman in the car had stopped a few meters on. The radio still played.
“do, do, do, do, do”. It was the soundtrack to an old Australian drama called heart beat. The irony was lost on her. She’d screamed herself mute in the small cabin of her car. She’d travelled through the turning circle at speed after a long day at work. She was a fit young business woman with dyed orange hair. She wore a pencil skirt most days, regardless of the weather and was never late.
Today she was thinking about her weekend when Patrick had done his aerial dance.
All she could hear was a high pitched, static of white noise.

Did Patrick’s soul leave his body? Rowan couldn’t be sure. His breathing had stopped. Watching his colour fade, his life force and energy bleach… Seeping into the gutter. Rowan wondered at the angle of Patrick’s broken wrist. Unnatural. He cupped the back of his head and rocked back and forwards.

Patrick saw pokies and the strips of light flashing in his creative minds eye. Cherries and dollar bills and stars were what he kept landing on. Cold. But not unpleasant. Some kind of long accustomed freeze had set in, somehow he couldn’t move. Patrick was too despondent to complain, sit up or move. Rowan would look after him. It was a claustrophobic feeling.

We had played the word game.
I had told him why I got out of bed each and every day.
People were driven by all sorts of things.
Motivations changed.
People were at different understandings in their individual lives.
Fluctuating people, means that philosophies changes over time.
There are so many to learn.
Each person with their own experience and ideas.
The lexicon, shared understanding, culture helped us shape ourselves.
But our decisions and directions come from within.
Take time.
Try to learn it all.

I’ve been in melbourne this weekend passed.
My brother and his Ex are building bridges.
I didn’t sleep that much.
I didn’t eat that much.
I caught up with the guys.
I partied.
I slept on Declan’s bed with him and his girlfriend.

I was feeling pretty vile.
I felt strange.
Sensation.
Flexible.
Wasted.
Shirt off.
Only a jacket and my skin.

To feel cold.
Where does heat go?
Your body, feeling cold?
What does that mean?
Do you heat up the room?
Is “cold” a deep-lying slowing of circulation?
where does your body heat go?

Heat is a strange idea.
For sound to be a facet force of light.
For forces to be organised by our minds.
Our survival.
What IS that?
Our survival.
What is our cognition?
Why do so many people buy coffee in the mornings?
What does that achieve?
Where is our bloodthirsty inspiration?
Our dangerous edge?
What boils our blood? And curdles our skin.
What makes up presence.
Where do I begin.
How can we understand?
The way we move, sit, opperate, lay or lie.
Lie to ourselves.
Spend eternity in bed.
Spelling.
Memory.
Remembered.
Hurt feelings.
Social beings.
Asking the right questions.

ASK THE CORRECT QUESTIONS.
“crack people” – get them to open up.
Find out about them.

Do you thing people like the people around them because of the amount of time that they spend with them>?

When you first hear a song, you aren’t sure if you like the tune, or the singers voice. But then you learn to love all the aspects of a band’s music. You follow them, buy the album, connect, enjoy and explore.

Could this be the same with people? Do people just take time to warm to others?

The classic story-teller. A person, tells of their dark past. Others sit and soak up the story.

I am ungreatful. oooops.

Lindsay bought be lunch and I didn’t say thankyou. The chocolate-coconut cookie and an orange juice.

I want to buy a rocking chair.
A magic 8-ball.
A go-pro.
Gold ear-ring.

Strange what makes up our bodies.
I sat. Stared at the wobbling curtains.
Out of my brain.
Wondering what makes up sleep.
Wondering why we need to eat.
Why we need to drink.

Refuel? Our bodies. Drifting.
Unknown to us.
Our animal senses.
Vulnerable.
Sensitive.

Touch,
Taste,
Sight,
Smell,
Hearing.

I’d like a gold earring with a feather.

I’d like my acceptance letter for uOttawa.

Who invented the t-shirt?
Why are there 12 months in a year?

0- BC
0- AD

When you’re born in Korea, you are one. Was there a year called zero?

How can someone be a bad dancer?

cer?!
DAN-SER.
DAN-SIR.
SIR-DAN.

“Daneel”

IAMEH: Chai girl. “iron man”. Dancer. Blacklist. Studying to be a doctor.

If you went back in time, what would you want to see? Where would you visit?

Dinosaurs.
Shakespeare.
The Big Bang.

Tempest was a great exhibition.
Fingers thrumming on desks.
An isolated man in his mansion.
Travelled at a young age.
White devil. Pheonix, girl. Stoned to death.

At pesto.
Was proud of mother.
Black list tonight. Ticket needed.
Drive.
Party.

A man lays.
Dead on the beach.
Lump on his head.
Above high tide.
Upon inspection no foul play is presumed.
How did he die?

Coconut fell on him.

Bex and I in vietnam.
fear of coconuts.
Quaint.

Rural Australia.
We washed out bloodied hands in a rusted through bucket, turned half on its side.
Cookie and I were the only ones that made it along.
We kicked up dust, walking side by side.
Feet dragging. Lips, all but dry skin.
The countryside was harsh and stretched out either side.
All the way to the horizon.

Now we drank.
The water tasted of blood.
Murk and rust.
So sweet I could have been sick.
We both drank slow, in a daze.
Confused by sensation and exhaustion.
Rubbing at our eyes with the backs of out blackened hands.
Cookie gulped. And exhaled through her small nose.
I rocked on my feet, unsteady having finally stopped walking.

My eyes felt larger than their sockets.
And my heavy itchy lids felt like dried eucalyptus leaves.
Cookie sat down, stretched out her legs and lay back.
Her toes wriggling, reminded me of rain somehow.
I dropped to my knees and curled up, laying gently beside her.

Its amazing how isolated you can be when your car breaks down.
We’d waited for two days on a dust bowl trail.
Driving for a day to our hearts content seemed romantic.
-It was something we agreed we both wanted to do-
But distance changes, like the rules of any game when you play with children.

I suppose we were the children in this instance.
The land was ancient and had history that clashed with our own. Cars were violent and a trespass on the roads the land wore like unwanted tattoos.
The dust that clung to the air was my own reminder of that.
“Distance in dust miles”; was what Cookie had said with a smile.
It made more sense to me now.
Not ominous as such. But a regret. A punishment that we had to endure now.
All those dust miles, distances warp when you’re in a car.
Decisions that weren’t life or death. That now were.

When the car didn’t turn-on, on friday morning. Cookie looked at me.
-did one of us leave the lights on? Forget to close the boot?
It was totally dead.
We still had a spare tire.
I smiled then. (at the time). I thought we were organised.
We’d ditched our phones at the hostel.
I was a tassie boy, wanting to get away from the cold and the family and all my friends that i’d seen since I was in grade 7. Such an inbred lot.
Nothing changes. Stagnation. She was different. Cookie was a breath of fresh air. She was English and wild. Talkative and smart. We’d both had it with out lives and decided to go rogue together. Get some heat. Slum it.

“Do you know what Gaia means?” I asked her once.
She told me that she played age of empires on computer. So ofcourse she knew what Gaia meant. We both laughed.
We weren’t laughing now. Now we were fauning around in gaia’s hot bristled armpit. We weren’t going to die. It was a few days of walking.
Less if we got lucky. I’d packed light, genius that I was.
We had water for yesterday and the two days we’d waited and shagged in the car.

Now we were walking. Not the way we had come, that would be pointless.
We walked the way that we were driving. I expected something, a good story, fears, trials and tribulations. Jovially walking into the unknown.

Hey guys,

I’m just going to read you some of my diary entries. Because that’s something i’d enjoy, if I was you and you were me and did things that weren’t what I did.
So like…
What i’m saying is that I like reading other peoples diaries.
Infact rummaging though other people stuff.
Like basements.
And wardrobes.
Sock drawers (looking for money obviously)
Bookshelves, dvd collections [maybe not].

I still have a password for an ex-girlfriend’s email that I log into sometimes, just because I can.

On that note. I think everyone should change their passwords.
That should be a continuous new-years revolution.
Trust no-one. Seriously.
People are fucked in the head.

Ok.
Here I go…

*recount*