I left my bag at the Poobah.
I saw a lot of people that I thought I knew but didn’t.
The bag contained my favourite pair of bed socks.
They are for winter.
Yellow in colour, I hope I never lose them.
I drank a dark ale.

That girl was there.
I forget her name.
my god though. She cuts through to me.
Her eyes. Her cheekbones.
Chin, smiling lips.
Glitter. Cordially I asked.
Please. I beg of you.
Get me out of here, you under my arm.

A woollen jacket.
Money to spend.
You and I.
Travelling, on foot.
Laughing and joking. Having a ball.
Rolling with the punches. Sleeping under trees.
If you can dream better your physical self can suffer.
The mind’s limiting chemicals.
Lonely.
God dammit.

Nobody’s coming out?
I guess its up to me to dance.
It was lovely to meet you Sue.
“you both obviously didn’t grow up in Hobart”.
Or maybe we did and we got away, and that’s why we’re dancing.

But how far did I get really.
Tonight. Tucked up, lost bag.
Fuck.

Romance though.
Something gone awry. “the magic”.
Gone. Two high-minded individuals.
DEEP.
They talk.

One says. “how long should we spend apart?”

The other says: “as long as it takes”

So she leaves.
She departs and she has and adventure,
Falls in love. Is attacked. Kills someone homeless.
flees to new persia. Contracts malaria.
Sick, shuddering and shaking in a room.
She is rescued by a man selling icecreams.
Door to door. He lets himself in, hoping to steal her watch.
He sees her shuddering.
He takes the watch, then he takes pity.

She has a fever. In a large shirt of some kind, completely damp, and business pants. She is thin, and terribly unwell. Curled into an unfathomable position.
Wretched. Shaking, boiling. Streams of sweat pour out of her, through her sodden clothes and into the thin mattress.

He walks to her, takes in the surroundings.
Then he fills a glass and kneels at the edge of the bed.

His mind if filled, blank.
How has he stumbled into such a truncated world.
He remember’s his mother, she passed away moons ago.
Raajan, his father would be alone at home tonight.
Giant globe eyes, reflecting in the darkness. Somehow finding a twinkle from the lights outside, and above in the heavens. He should visit them.

He reaches out to pat her.
She isn’t present.
No, she might register.
He clasps her shoulder.
Gives her a hug with his hand.
He doesn’t know.
Just doesn’t.
Why is he here, going this far.
Who is this woman.

So he crosses his legs and whispers to her softly.
An indian story, told to each child in the cot.
It speaks of the importance of feeding the child.
Growing strong, running free and laughing.
Then a child from the far cities comes into town;
He is blind.
The healer of the city, greets the boy like a dog infested with rabies.

He is strung up. -the boy-
He is washed. Whipped. then a fire is lit.
The old healer. Steps up onto the dais.
Ruffles the boys hair and steps into the newly lit fire.
There is a flash, blinding to all. Except the boy.
He sees the man, step through and ebony coloured rift,
It closes in a brilliant hue of azure and green.
The new colour of the boys eyes.

In the sect of punjab, where language tends to flow and rhyme in its own way,
this rattle and hum of language, settles the woman from her quaking.
In her mind she was swimming in a forest river.
But the rushing around has stopped.
She sees a lake before her.
She opens her yellow eyes,
Dehydrated, sunken.
And there is a man. Squat and smiling.
He bows with his eyes.
Dramatically he nods his head and she feels a connection.

She doesn’t ask who, why or where they are.
She just smiles her split lips sleepily and stretches into a soaking, slumber.

He admonished her with his eyes.
This exalted beauty.
Figure hugging shirt, he covers with a sarong like fabric.
That rested over a nearby chair back.
He reaches into his pocket.
Withdrawing a clove, it passes his lips and rests in the bottom corner of his mouth, between lips and teeth. The sensation and smell are subtle and reminiscent of other times.
She breaths heavily now.

Water resting between his knees.
He kneels.
Wondering.
Turing the weight of time over in his mind.
He wonders at her story; what is next for her.
How is it that she will end up.
Why was he chosen for this.

He stands, shaken.
Abruptly has pats his knees, puts back the watch and vacates the hotel room.
On his way to see his father, he catches his bluey green eyes in a reflection of a parking meter top. He squints and smiles at himself and his thoughts of the day.
What a pretty lady.

My dad.
Is dada.
He is my protector.
He is my teacher.
He is no artist.
What he does is-
is important.

Housing, not drawing.
Following, leading, managing.
Learning, appraising, watching.
He is a watchful man.

He is at the front.
He is our advanced guard,
He is our eyes sometimes.
When we sleep, he has our absolute trust.
He has an edge.
Unlike every canvas that has its end,
my dad seems to go on.
Past that edge, I rarely push.
He’s already out there.

He is the scout.
He witnesses the world.
Observes it, through glasses-
and the colour-blind eyes of his.
Still the pale blue eyes,
Linked are his receptors.
The powerful brain. History!
He has a wealth few men have.
Educated, well managed, contained.
Humour. Enjoyable. Relaxed. Trusted.
Company, rife with wickedness suppressed.

He laughs at innovation,
at the proactive. He is. And he is laughing.
Self aware. Scared. Shy. Tempered.
Not so experimental.
My dada is not so keen on the abstract.
He searches, at the front.
For proof.
Smiling, with mug in hand.
“A two cups of tea day”
What a great line.

Quality.
Qualitative.
I wonder if life without you,
You-you.
Would be better.
I wonder,
Because tonight we fought.
You asked not to end the night on a sour.
I don’t get that. I’ll let you walk away from me.
You need to go and re-value yourself.
If you want someone to walk over, date a bridge.
You’ve made me cross.
You’ve crossed to the other side.
I feel like I get to choose now.
you cracked me.
If this is left.
Even a day – I will rot.

You don’t know this. But my mind,
this, relationship. Was doomed from the beginning.
You’re snipe, snide, remarks. Your neediness.
Frankly i’m worn thin. You bore me.
I’m tired of your games.
Your one eye darker than the other.
Your tone.
Somehow, I find you insufferable.
The side of me most brought out by you, is boredom with myself.

Maybe i’m hungry.
Probably just a bad day.
But I shouldn’t want to avoid you.
I like my time alone.
Maybe I’m broken.
I’d like to say it was me.
The reason relationships haven’t worked in the past, is because I wasn’t perfect.
That’s why I strive to do better.
But from the outset.
TRUST.
Did I trust you?
Could I say “I love you”.
No, I wouldn’t let myself.
I feel like that.
That has what has come between us.
We’re too protected.
In our cocoons.

But let me ask you this.
When’s the last time you had fun without me.
Dare I say, without me you are nothing.
Without me, I see nil of you.
and that bores me.
Work work work, work on yourself.
That cut me once, and i’m using it now on you.

Now is as good-of-a-time as any.
I’ve been honest with you as best, and as kindly as I can.
Now its time for me to depart this duo.

Word-Life tonight was wonderful.

Dada. And “feed the homeless to the hungry”
To finish. The energy. I was entertained. Tickled one might say.
Goodness.

I feel isolated.
I don’t feel the walls closing in.
Nothing like that.
Nothing dangerous.
A bit of dread.
A bit of lethargy.
Silence,
Thinking.
I must get myself out of this.
I need to visit a friend.
He is wizened.
Exercise too.
I’m an addict.
Just run, its that easy.
Run from your problems.
I can run.
Some people cannot.
I can. I can run.
But I don’t get anywhere anymore.
I get back here.
I’m happy.
I need to focus on these thoughts,
I should put them to good use.
Jogging, its over so fast.
My cure. Head quelled.
Legs ache.
Hands cold.
Back straight.

Until the next time I need to.
Eat, sleep, say the wrong things.

Oh honey,
that’s all you need.
Just money,
and the tobacco weed.

Also, water your plants.
and love. -yeah- you need love

My mum the crucial, cameo of hippy antics.
Class. All class.
In session.

Jack Kerouac reached someone atleast.
“Jeez I was so beat”
“yeah, beat, like beat-beat. Beatnik AF”
Walking around what… Boston and picking up cigarette butts? Strange.

EDWARD SNOWBALL: Say’s “That’s it” often. I say something, he say’s “that’s it”

Yeah man, sure. That’s just the thing, isn’t it (Great query). Round about ambiguous sentences. Message received!

Reservations:

I have my fears,
Unbeliefs,
Frightened I am.
Is she the one,
Is all this a waste.
The sticky black spot in my mind.
Old gum, trod black in the corner.
Or is it manure?
Shit, human? dog? Excrement.
Like my fears. I don’t know.
I hug and hold myself. My-
personified reservation.
Mouth; rectum.
From where?
I know not.

Cigarettes after sex – Affection.

Truncation.

I truncated.
Flunkated.
Failed,
Elaborated.

Short.
Wasted.
Wailed.
Hailed, for help.

Bailed my tears.
Bottled, bottled
In old beers
bottled.

Drink me in.
Eyes glassy.
Still full, you see.
I see double.

Knife edge, hurt.
He squeezed a nail.
Palmed it.
Focussed on the pain.

Soaked shirt
The full pale.
Bloody lip-bit.
Bugged, softly wail.

YOU ARE WHAT I AM.
What IS that?

Melted gumboot face.

Why is a crunchy apple more enjoyable than a floury apple?
How do we associate texture and pleasantness?
Are flavours, preferences inherent?
Innate? Do we learn and associate goodness in all things?

THINGS.

Lamingtons are better than scones. Discuss.
lamination is settled with bones.

Crockery, What a crock’a.

look,
And look,
And look again.
Do you believe in “love” at first sight?
Cliche is all dried up I suppose.
My heart’s still beating.
It won’t forever.
Hold me.
Can we least of all, explore the idea?
Pull the shades.
Flick the blinds.
Fluttering lids.
My mind a whirrr.
Mind blender.

Its a bad habit.

Flat this evening.

You’re version of romance doesn’t cut it.
My energy was way down.
What people would expect from me, off.
The expectations that I have of everyone else, troubling.
I hug you as you cry, one big red button.
Pushed to cracking point. Tears.
A shudder. Shhhh, a shudder.
Why are you so sensitive?

Tomorrow, due dates.
Many things to consider. My brain, numb.
Lacking the will, want and ability to soak up things.
Trash! Due dates. Percentages.
I need to be smart.
Lecture, recording.
If I just focus on my work. All will be ok.

Tomorrow, Pass.
Class.
Break, work, tests.
Blam.
Smart plan.
ok. I can do it.

Nice one liquorice.

“Whatnot” – Quite an funny saying.
What does it mean? Anything aforementioned, however communication recylclement in this case does not stand. We sit around, saying the same whatnot.

Assignment is going well.

Breakfast this morning was nice.

I had sex.

I ate figs.

Robot heart, burning man.

I wanted to say something, something unlike myself, share, it would have taken courage and put me on the spot; thrown me completely.
Megan laughed, and laughed.
Uncontrollably.
It was like a sign. A message. A mood. A strange conscionable psychological state, or occurrence.

Now for me polish. I’ll eat later. Work later.
Talk about Canada, Ottawa.
Plan, map, get excited.

Yes. all all all all all all all all all.

“haha I totally lied about 6.30. Haven’t even left uni to go home and get my running kit. (but lets pretend what I just wrote wasn’t in your understanding right). Instead I just said. I’m going to be 10 minutes late… RIGHT [following me so far[

And then, I leave now, hop on my bike and ride to your for some tea. I tell you literally nothing, because all i’ve been doing is uni. Then I stand around awkwardly, thinking about uni. You tell me about your day. I ask just the right amount of questions. Then you try to seduce me, I have a cup of tea and tell you I need to get back home for dinner.

But I suppose I don’t. I mean… I should, there is ALOT i should be doing, that is all well and truly in the forefront of my mind. So it takes A LOT of work by you, I say the wrong thing, often, because I have a lot on my plate and i’m doing what I shouldn’t be (by seeing you) and still having half my brain focussing on elsewhere. I think about tomorrow and how it’s really only half a day of study.

The proof reading I should be doing, the reading of a book, the french assignment, the bad news about Canada that I haven’t told you yet, the fact that I haven’t been for a run, my low phone battery, the lack of sun i’ve got today, the omega 3 tablets i’ve been taking that are 4 years out of date, my silly diet. The pressure leftovers in my fridge, and the overbearing inevitable heat death of the universe. ”

Dark Crystal.

Fence, offence. Steal a fence. Fence with bad guys. Spend money on my fiance. Finance. Sit on the fence.
“I’m worries someone will punch you”
So am I.
Everyone’s taking offence.
Taking my fence.
The fence.
I sit on it.
That’s why I build walls around myself.
Fences protect me.
That’s why I want a dog.

-DREAM-

Rock star, pale skin. jumped through time and space.
Police out the front of the house.
He jumped through a worm hole, a tear in reality.
He was on stage, about to perform, then a rent opened up behind him.
In a grate maybe, like the ones you see on the gutter.
-I saw it from my reality-
Cops out the front of the house, lots of cars.
His with the door still open, fled into the neighbours place.
The backyard was huge.
I was in the kitchen.
I looked out the window and saw him; stirring.
I took him back to my room and hid him.
He explained that we could bother travel between.
There was a special name for us.

He said his gig wouldn’t be spoilt.
It was just going to be a big publicity stunt.
He stayed in my room, I was interviewed by the police.
Dad came home and went into my room.
I finished with the cops, and when I went to my room.
He was gone.

Then I saw the dream from his perspective.
When he landed in a location, he had to bind a return key to an object.
He always bound it to a stomped on silver diet coke can,
the can had a zipper on the side that would unravel the can and turn it into a rent.

Strange.

I woke up groggy and not hungry;
That’s been happening a lot lately.

Today I met a girl named Claire at Uni.
Economics of all places.

I saw kids doing back flips in the park,
So young, gravity defying.
The kids next door are getting really into biking.
Its rad.

I went to the cafe down the rivulet track,
Guy works there. He’s a good barista.
He would have forgotten my name.
I had coffee with Megan.
Not at Hamlet. Another place.

We walked in the evening light.
I called myself Patience.
PAT for short.
“you’d have to be patient to put up with you, WAYYY BANTER”.
A classic from me.

I gave her a back rub.
Dad walked along silently.
There were no platypus.

I have an assignment due Friday.
Its stressing me out a little.
I’ll find my flow tomorrow.
French too. Eeee-gads.

My feet are cold at the moment-
I felt like I had some much more to share.
I’ve had a strange taste in my mouth recently.
Bitter, mucus, floury. odd. off.

Me-again, and I talked this evening.
Sat in bed. Shared thoughts. Bared out feelings.
Bared, funny word. All positive.
She brought up slam poetry.
I need to dig through some of my work.
It makes me nervous to think it is something i’d be interested in doing.

I cower behind the idea of not performing.
Why did you have sex with me in public?
Did I evolve your mind.

No.
How do you challenge yourself?

Meta, yourself.
Give answers you, yourself would not expect.
SURPRISE.

Self, higher self, super ego.
Constructs. Models. Theories, Ideas.
Explanations of observations.
Rose tinted glasses.
Interesting, cute, fascinating.
CURIOUS.

ZHU tickets bought.
How are zhu.
Going to the zhu.
zhu-pa-do-pa.

How does weather work?
Evaporation.
What’s the maximum travel distance of clouds before they rain?
How high up are they.
Where does rain come from?
Which direction generally?

What’s the best speech you ever saw in the flesh?
Who were some great talkers of their time.

My point was the difference between BEING somewhere, and HEARING, FEELING the speech, vs the ethereal effect of television with messages.

I wonder about mood.
Crowd feeling. Mentality.
Shared experience.
A rally. A speech. A talk. A lecture.

Skills, quirks.
Side tracked.
Real feeling-
VS Rehearsals.

Shakespeare’s sonnet 18.
Shall I compare you to a summer’s day?

Dyed my hair red.

Its Sunday night.
I felt time’s grip.
Loss of fight,
Dirt slope’s slip.

I kicked a ball,
Today, straight up.
Sunshine for all.
Half full cups.

Woke up tired,
Crammed in my car.
Bent and wired,
Seedy, curtained who-are?

You, me eyes that see.
Barely, and bleary.
Dusty, rusty, haggard and wrecked.
Feeling wasted, no self-respect.

What you put in,
Fuel and all.
It under pins
Your every call.

So spent.
Sharp pains.
Mind dents.
Tear, rains.

It was a thirtieth!
Chris. Catdog.
What a wonderful group of late 20 somethings.

Food, fire and barn dancing.

The drive was long-haul. Worth it.
I gave him wine and a bottle of fosters.
It was lame Tasmanian hookups at some stages. I danced and met lots of new people.

SPEECH, SPEACH, PEACH, APPLE FARM.

“I am what you are” & “you are what I am”.
Beautiful, simple, philosopher, poet, warrior.

Brush your teeth because, they matter.
Limit all that eating, whole platter.
The last in line, come latter.
Waist line waste or get fatter.

Today I woke,
next beautiful miss.
This no joke,
Hug and kiss.

The declaration,
I tell no lie.
First and foremost.
And I wondered why.

Tis, its because.
Everything that follows.
Could all be hung-
At tomorrow’s gallows.

So tell I the truth,
And listen close.
Next her, in youth
Is current boast.

Young and dumb
And filled with cum.
Disgusting saying,
For all our playing.

I’ve no regret,
for thinking such.
In youth, experience
Counts for much.

In age, time passed.
With time to think
From life’s tasks,
Rest and drink.

“all those girls
I used to know…
Like a fool, I
aye let them all go”

-Everybody’s gotta cut something.-

Paul Kelly. Bob Dylan.
Men, not hardly in my life,
but a life not without influences.
Poets and the lucky.

The glasses,
tinted just so.
Hold your knowledge,
experience over people.

-or under them.

She. Oh she.
She did me.
One, two, three.
Us, just… be

Just? Femme fatal.
Christ.