Camomile.
Oolong.
Early Grey.
English Breakfast.
Lemon & Ginger.

Watched the latest Sacha Baron Cohen film.
Grimsby.
It was terrible.

But brought to light the question of valid existence for me.
How you perceive the usefuleness, the compatability and goodness of some people.
You can’t.
Morally, everyone is good.
There aren’t people that can be “put down”.

Terrorism is not O.K.
Capital punishment. Is not right.
This is because the value of human life cannot be quantified.
People are valuable.
Useful. Helpful and good.

Opportunistic- maybe?
Resourceful.

How can we keep the population at a reasonable level?
Why is education so important, and why is there a correlation between education and lower reproduction rate?

What is the globes future?

The tragedy of death is found in its occurance before its percieved “time”.
If death is expected and welcomed there is no fear.
To embrace a more permanent stage.
The transition that is life.
The change. Passing on your genes is important, for excellence in the future.

You can only create a child.
Only create a good-child if you find yourself and choose to reproduce with someone willing, that has also found them-self.
The loving, supportive family creates a child with an unbroken, wholesome soul.
That soul may excel.

But like all beautiful and loved beings.
Do not squeeze, or possess tightly so to smother.
Never asphyxiate, or become claustrophobic.
Do not inhibit, hinder or harm.
Platonicism.
Love.
Communication.
Support.

Too.
To.
Two.

Too much.
What is too much.
Too many “o”s.
Too many. Objective.
Subjective.
Obscure.
Strange.
Too hard. Too much. Too many. Too late.
Ad-verb?
Wasteful.
Very.

So the tragedy of death isn’t death.
It’s the impracticality of timing.
If you still had a big-long list of things to do and you died.
That’s horrible.
People fear that.
I fear, leaving the oven/ovan on. Ducking out to buy some yoghurt.
Boom, run over by a car.
Tragedy.

I feel my death is coming soon.
I’ve been thinking about it a little.
Day-dreaming.
I don’t know why.
I have these glossy moments, where I find small, useless moments quite beautiful.
Picturesque. Slow. Fantastic.
And I think. “This happens when you die”, “I wonder if that will be soon for me”.
Then it ends.
But it puts me in a strange mindset.
My mood shifts.

I nearly ran away today.
Mum was saying some strange stuff.
She’s going to die in one year: the doctors said.
Because of her bad liver.
That’s OK.
She’ll hopefully live longer than that.

I think I’ll quit my job in the next couple of days.
I have a lot on my plate.
Books to read.
Time to spend with mum.
I can’t be bothered with work.
It doesn’t add.
Time is more important to me at the moment.
And i’m blessed.
I’ll put my hand out if I have to.
Dad will look after me.
I won’t run away, like a coward.
I won’t be sad.
I will be proud and happy and positive.
I will move on, because that is what a son should do.
I have time for people.
Energy. Smiling.
Easy going.
Social.
To the point.
New experiences!
I will die doing what I love and that is completing the big long list of things that will never be complete.
This is my tragedy, this is my life.
I will take my time, I will smile and I will love.
In time people will make their mark.
Bad ideas and negativity, reality: both harsh and unhinged will play theirs parts and try to wear me down.
But I will fight, clown suit, make-up, smile and all for what I believe to be a beautiful, day-dream kind of life. Fleeting and financially coleslaw.

Camping.

How do you guys do it?
Such a power couple. Good looking.
Great people.
Do you enjoy what you do?
Answer me.
ANSWER ME.

I woke up at 9:07 today. 2 hours and 7 minutes after my shift at work had begun. I slept through my alarms because I was drunk the night before.
I’ve spent this morning staring at the ceiling.
Dry mouth. Map of Tasmania rippling.

I met Ali.
Again.
His group of folks.
Mobius and around.
I visited Sol and Edward.
They turned in for the evening. Sol was sick.
Taking in the fumes of his workplace.

I called work, and now I just wait by the phone.
I could have showed up. But I was in a bad state.

A girl came over and chatted to me and the guys last night.
I walked with her, I was charging.
Plopped my glass eagerly on the the table, splashing a little.
“you can go”.
She said that to me. I could have pissed all over her there and then.
marked my territory, ripped the throats out of anyone that tried to stop me and told her that it was her that could go.
But I left.
I was the burden. I don’t think I said anything valid all evening.
I said “the sew joke”. It was mean.
meanness is horrible.
I was the Kluge cube that day.

Giles leaned in.
Lent.
I thought at first he was going for a kiss. But no, not that.
He put his hands gently on the area where arms and shoulders meet.
He squeezed ever so slightly like a hug using only his hands.
His eye line was just beyond my vision. Close to ‘the nook’, the feverish, comfort spot. I was exposed. I held my breath.

Tracing the outline of his form, so close to me that his eyes were seeing past mine.
“Help me” he said.
Not ashamed. Not a whisper like the love of mine from the bar. He stated and I was complete in my loss for words.

That night I’d asked a good friend what he was drinking, and why.
It was a test. Just make noise, ask a question. See if they’ll spend the energy on the child. Put the gloves on. Childcare.
Such willing, wilfully given opinion.

The ripples on the tasmanian map.
Like a window. Into a garden.
Faces in the land mass.
Locked into one another, joined.
All touching. Connected.
Natural order. Oyster, pearl, work, ear.

Drained. Drained and drained. Burnt out.
wrecked. In need of healing.
Spun out.
Trip while.
Let me crawl back up.
Sex.
Let me hide away, frantically inside you.
let me.
Free me from this body. Hide me.
Hug me.
Hold me. I’m poison.
poisoned.
My PH is off.
Acid in the blood. Dry mouth. Frantic gaze.
Eyes, focussed.
Sick. Thudding. Rubbing. Pulsing into you.
Frightened. Screaming. Fear and sadness.
A load bared in the base of my body.
If I could funnel myself, this essence and hide away in grief stricken anxiety for a time.

Let me go.
Let me end this thought. I don’t wish to hide away.
I will discard versions of myself.
Succumbing to the warrant of self imbued freedom.
My desires now shift.
Sated? Never.
The restorative qualities of my age.
This life force of mine.
regenerative qualities.
Passion, fighting, prime.
Fitting.

I was looking for that “monster joke”
I gave your girlfriend a backrub. I hope that’s ok.
I was ON.
Juvenile. We’ve just left the sandpit.
I think this intimacy is something we can all share.
I’m not a shaman or wise man.
But I do have time.
Time for all.
Delt these cards again.
Dealt these stars.
This handful of sand.

I’d picture the same to happen, but i’d be wrong.
With this knowledge enduring?
Would I sate so easily?

The drive by shooting of hallucenagenics.
Illusions, dark shadows inside me.
Three of a kind.
Pairing off, may I join and be a useless spoke in your wheel?
Would you like to be on top?

I put my hand out to you.
Palm turned up, touch.
Don’t shake hands so much, let me feel the touch of your hand.
I will carry the weight of your hand, arm, everything that you can put into that gesture I will take from you. I will bare, I will be a bear.
I wish to hibernate.
Hide away.
Heat coming off me in waves.

Driven by the animalistic urges of hunger.
find me a bin.
Watch me revert and lower myself.
Thin, my mind frame, ravenous after such a fast.
A quicky? Hardly.
I am a mutant.
Self actualising.
Let me become beautiful.
If only my mind would let me.
Let me go.

DO VERSUS THINK – AND HOW THEY ARE THE SAME THING.

Again.

Dip. Down. Sad. Gloomy.
Spent. Poorly.

I don’t know why,
I can’t look anyone.
In their eye.

I fear their look.
They’ll see my sadness.
Don’t read THAT book.

There is only sorrow.
This flesh soaked in melancholic.
I hold, I borrow..

A shallow depression runs-deep.
I drink with gourd.
And cycle and sleep.

My own crying.
It sounds strange to me.
Am I dying-

Have I done enough?
Tomorrow I’m afraid.
Chipped away at, into the rough.

Push and pull.
Tug of loss.
Had my full.

Evening dross.
Death, dirt “back to the mud”.
All blood and new green moss.

Chicken. cat.
Pray, ALL hunters.
I don’t know where i’m at.

A simple day,
That asked so little.
I hide away,
And feel so brittle.
My mind a tank.
Half full of brine.
I blame everyone,
and lack sun-shine.
I mellow at lunch,
and roll into dinner.
And fear for my girth.
Wishing to be thinner.

I think of words,
I’ve read and writ on page.
I fear the glory of life and its stage.
I can’t look,
I can’t look the audience in their eyes.
I fear,
I fear and feed
My own despise.

It takes me forever.
Forging anew.
To my surprise.
I feel untrue-
To myself I write,
so often I do.
Organise thoughts,
get them down,
“out-the-blue”.
Strange, fantasy,
ALL-OF-“IT” untrue.

Unwieldy ideas.
My duped perception.
More and more fears.
And all that reflection.

IS THIS LIVING?
I wonder and wonder.
Pretentiously ponder.
Thoughtless. I flounder.
Wound tightly around her.

Little finger.
Manipulative pinch.
She learns, she cries
Inch by inch
Situations just worsen.

I’m cordial most times.
Aware of the times,
The places. The external.
Influence me not.
ugh GARBLED.

I batter away the world.
Behind this shield I defend my own senses.

…But in doing so-
I do not experience.
I don’t learn.
I don’t ask.
People ARE moving about.

My debate for DOING versus THINKING.

Is not asking anything of anyone-
are we perceiving each other.
-If you can dream it have you already “Done” it-
**open your eyes.

LOOK AMONGST YOUR FUCKING SELVES.
Just look.
FEEL RATTLED.
PRICKLY SKIN.
GOOSE FLESH.

FEEL THE TEMPERATURE OF THIS ROOM FOR WHAT IT IS.
Cold? Alone?

Fuck that pretty girl.
Put your motivations in your back pocket and sit on them.
Take off your pants and tie them up. “lass”-oooooh-”

Better yet a noose.
Hang your pre-dispositions and fears.
They are beneath you.
kind of…
Let them hang out to dry.

Constantly rained on my Tasmanian winter…
Let them air.
Talk to someone else.

Surprise yourself with your own comforts.
Practice being genuine.
Exercise-
Exercise.
Be concise.
ANNUNCIATE!
Let your demons go.

THESE people surrounding you,
The reason you aren’t talking to them is because you don’t know them.
Let the aesthetic sink in.
Let it underpin your silence.

Chemistry!
Forget science this night.

Be wild. And… tell stories.
Adventures you’ve had!
Be happy in the plenty -of company.
Children in a sand pit.
Diapers; filled with fears, slung out, from your renewed,
your invigorated, inspired, precious flesh.

It won’t last long.
Like drugs.
Like alcohol.
It won’t last.
It will fade.
The effects.
These states. Their boarders shift.
Shrinking.
Politics.
Conflicts.
Hiding in you.
Don’t feed them if you don’t want to.
Don’t idealise.
Don’t prejudice.
Don’t condone smoking.
Don’t. DON’T

Just don’t.
Jack put down the knife.

And he did.
He put down the knife.
Into her hand.
*scissors, paper, rock with self*
He never forgot that.
She never forgot that day.
“Thanks for the memories”
Nothing a-bit-of things and stuff; can or cannot fix.

Something… (You’re lost now, look around the audience)

Was blood everywhere?
Were they family? Eh?
What did they share?
DNA?

Break your coding I say.
Put the knife into her hand.
Blade first. Cutting though bone and tendon.
The tender first touch repaid.
REPAID?
In FULL!
“Better to have never been”

Never been a mother, father, sister or brother.
The busted up, broken bindings of family.
The soul.
How you are raised and the luck of your environment.
That will depend and depress upon you how fucked up you are.
How damaged your soul is.
BULLSHIT.
EVERYTHING IS BULLSHIT.
Thankyou for that insight Robbie of Harbour lights.
You’ve got something for everyone when they need it.

Breakfast is served.
And I ACTUALLY appreciate it.

Witness now the movement of people.
Be qualitative.
Some transfixed.
Ironically, as I’ve now lost the plot.
This excuse for a stage.

LIFE as entertainment gives to us-
Gives up an opportunity to pander,
posit, donate, think and thrill.

At will we can change.
Behaviours only last as long as they are allowed.
I feel a shard of glass in my own behaviours.
*point at brain.

“On-set”, change.

Let me pull a shape.
Look at me.
LOOK AT ME.
So out of shape.

“this is something real, I had sex this morning”

Real! Really a lie.
So memorable.

—————————————————
What’s great about people.
Instant reception.
No buffering.
No loading.
Updates updates updates.
Mods.
Apps.
Versions.
Effort.
Patience.

Ahhh the sacrifices we make.

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.