I was asked to do something I didn’t want to do.
I was asked politely, with a bonecrusher.
I was asked to pay.

I ate an apple from the gutter today.

“She was a poem” – Twas the most beautiful thing I heard someone say aujourd’hui.

I’ve heard pretty lousy poems.
Some fairly airy, otherwise grand!
Most of my poems aren’t really poems.
Perhaps she’s from Thailand.

Put a pen between your teeth horizontal like.
You’re body will tell you it’s smiling.
But we all know you aren’t
The same thing that makes you a poor human makes me a rich person.
Like the tongue that seeks the missing tooth.
You yearn for your extracted youth.

(I cried later) its true, its not enough for me.
So I thought.
And here it will stay
Until someone cleans & scrapes,
All these thoughts away.

“WAXY”
A word that makes me-
melt, reshape myself.
A word with knowledge that knows no bounds!
Knows intelligence!
O’Slayer explain me the difference again.
WAX!
Hot so that it burns if you touch it before it settles.
Flakes if you try to polish it.
A scab.
I! Me! I want infinitesimal know-all.
Let on; the lure of one.
WAXY
To be everything you and I need right now.
Wouldn’t that be reassuring?

Let me try and be.
Let me BE!
Let me try-
waxy..
For there isn’t time in all the swirling skies for me to know it all.

Stress. I wish I found gum before I found that block of chocolate.
Resisted obligatory facebook status.
All in passing.
Passed.
I am a grown man,
I enjoy what I do.
I make choices.
I am driven.
I need to jog

Recent wisdom to bubble to my surface:
Everyone has got to come from somewhere.

How many times can I bite my tongue before I drown.
In a mood to share, bounce with childish excitement!
If only we could brew this energy for times of need.
It is in youths energy that we hold great reverence.
Optional
My silence;
…
I can take my speech from you. You may ask, and I could choose never to respond.

That is my power
Stand spellbound!
In silence.

Men of Fiction!
Men! Of Fairytale.

Sandy Rella
– Slipped on his arse and lost his gumboot.
*For adventurous children.

Gordy Locks
– Damned the three stairs.
*For the unadventurous children.

Ray Punzel
– Let down your beard!
*For the hip children.

Hansome & Greatful
– One gets the girl
*For the romantic fat children

Joe Right
– And heaven unfurls
*Old fashioned drama children!

Toby Honest.
-He calls it how he sees it.
*Teacher of kids, children…

Bright.

Your basket of life
Can it float in an ocean
Like lockers of love.

Tonight is a strife
What a tragic commotion
The heavens above!

Goodness! Such a fuss.
Outrage and irritation
Hit me with a bus

“I’m losing the plot”
Moment of degradation
The work was forgot

Was it of import?
I guess we’ll see tomorrow
Night to bright in sort.

I felt grande today, I exercised greatly, I achieved, I was motivated and energetic and impulsive and chatty and I ran with energy like my knee had never been.
Never been an issue. Like I’d run and never slow down.
I read some philosophical nonsense and I was inspired, I wanted to write; there and then. Reply! Reply in full, until the ink in my pen dried up, the batteries of my light died, the table eroded, my ideas explained thoughts and forms and all fundamentals of any idea or ideal were rectified or shown in full. Spelling mistakes, breathless ideas that sprout further ideas. Angry arguments FEELINGS. Feelings on a page. Ask for feelings on a page and you will receive. Mumbo jumbo, waxy genius, impoverished emplore-able understated overstated gibberish, opinions, functions from maths and the tide of the ocean converging in a river of red and green and blue and black. Until the night overwhelms and humanity sleeps, truly sleeps because all ideas have been thought and there is nothing less. Only for the editors. And the editors would work around the clock to find meaning and finally when they were done they would eat. But they would be blind. Blind because I would not have stopped I would have dug myself a hole my hands bearing blisters. Rags and riches passed and present. My lips cracked bleeding should i smile. The elements rage above as humanity furthers itself in any way the elected and unelected leaders and fighters and dictators and zookeepers should see fit. And fight. Scrap battle and battle for scraps and wraps for macdonalds would have some say in something, the gluttons of the world with their energy would say something or maybe just laugh. The idea of time would be lost and dark would rule. Electricity lost, power gained through other means. Clients of giants, under rocks they look only to find briefly a new life. But it burrows and all that is left is a dry husk of an ecosystem once fertile. The survivors burrowed, borrowed time is what we are living upon and we arent giving it back! No not us. The time we have is out diamond in the rough our wheeleless skateraft that may or may not take everyting we dont care about truly to the horizon and even if it breaks down someone else will pick up the burden because our burden is the same. The vacuum continues and. I wonder from my hole if this was real and how long are my nails did i chew them absentmindedly was i writing with a pen or did i make all of that up. How do i feel? Is it gone? Am i empty now? When will my lights go out, should they go out how should we all feel. Will the earth sigh for me. I don’t think so. China may piss a river in a day but whether or not they give a squirt is entirely not my goal. I am so small.
My ideals and ideas are so tiny. How do i capture that world. Are we afraid of failure? What happens when i run out of ink. When there is nothing left to say, record. Must i go on? Must i finish. What can i feel but hollow. Unfulfilled
UNFURFILLED. Drown me in melted gold and dig me out so that three eyed monsters from space 18 years from now will look upon me and call me beautiful. Call up someone 9 degrees of separation from me and let them know i’ve passed. Away?
There must be something in these halogen lights
I feel it coming for me. I can smell it. My anxious spirit writhes. But my temperature remains, the sun in its smug blinding red jacket of feathers and sequin will rise tomorrow after a long listless night of fucking and truly we are, we like him, HIM, the sun a man… Pathetic. Size matters sun. You’re a compendium! The funkenwagnals! The font that this is written with, the cold parchment this could be written upon and i curse you. That curse is a blessing though because it just carries on. IT. It it it.
This is it. It is so many things. If i get a problem. IT. Call “I” call “T”. See who comes first. They’ll tell you to check the “O” and check the “N” and then The “o” and the “f” and the other “f”.
And you might get back to producing something. And i might clamber out of this hole. My nails are long. My point is nails. I am a nail. A nail in the coffin seems too bleak, too obvious, too cliche. Hit the nail on the head? On the contrary. Lets be contrary shall we. Nailed it. Snailed it. Stale frail gale rail revile beguile smile file for later alligator mission stater hater of my own work i hate how i’ve come to this… and china… I’m sorry i don’t know what. Tomorrow is a new day. The lights in my head still flash, this writing. the opposite to writers block.
Both are terrible. Bring me my editors. There must be some wisdom in here somewhere.

Yesterday evening I was officially done. Put on my sporting kit at 4, lay down for a brief nap.
Blam out-cold.

I awoke at midnight only a little bit confused. “whoa, must’ve needed that”.
Thankfully I was exhausted enough to immediately fall back to sleep.

Today I tripple snoozed my alarm and arose close to 9am.
I went for a run, took some laxatives and did some french revision for an hour before my midday
lecture+tutorial combo.

So there I was, here I am, there I went.

And I was ANXIOUS.
I’ve been badly asthmatic in the past (probably misdiagnosed, you all wonder- because that so many people are- i’ve read) anyway, breathing was hard back then. I was a fat kid.

But something new, new to me that is: Anxiety. It rears its ugly head maybe once every 6 months [or not even that frequent]. Naturally i’m self diagnosing here. I feel a pressure. Somewhere between the inability to complete small jobs and activites; vast procrastination and overwhelming sense of uselessness.
I just need to scream.
To bite, punch, kick.
I don’t understand.
I feel the need to rant and rave.
But most likely what i’ll say wont be succinct.
What I describe as the problem, won’t truly relate.
The beauty of it, is I know it will pass.
A good night of sleep, the right diet, a chat with a friend.

I think this stunned feeling came about from the big weekend I had.
A lack of sleep, my brain was quivering and so my body was jangling.
I got 15 ours sleep the night before and I was slow to awaken.
And when I did I had things to do, but they weren’t needed to be done immediately:
BUT there were so many of them that I should do some of them.
And smack bang in the middle of my thoughts was:
the things I need to do most, are the things I know the least about.

I just needed a bike ride and some food. Out of the house.
Sit, study, gain some perspective.

I hate how my list of things grows. YET:

I have no debt
I have no children of my own that count on me.
My family is safe and secure.

My drive, my engine is within me.
If I go out into the world, things will be expected.
To reside, hidden under the covers would be safe.
Only to emerge to feed.
That is not the way of the Patrick.
That isn’t a human’s natural habitat anymore.
There are expectations.
There will be ups and down-down-downs.
“name a person you know that’s been GREAT for more than 2 months straight”
Name them and we’ll ask them what it’s like to have a perfect life.

“you there”

Not a worry
Not a stress.
Well be sorry
We ever asked
Perfection is unmasked.
–
Life aint perfect.
Not for anyone.
I’m better than just ok now.

What a weekend away!
Melbourne, work, friends, dinners and drinks.
I bought the birthday girl flowers, I kicked the soccer ball with my brother and did a cameo at work – giving the boss the day off. I got recreational with my pals and used my best friend as an emotional sponge, don’t worry I bought him dinner first. haha.
Returning to home more catchups are due, though its of grave import that I spend the next 6 days hunkering down and studying. There will be a balance struck. Exercise regime re-continues. Sleep will be vital to dissolve this strung out feeling.
Its good to be back.
Safe to go to ground.
Putting down my pack.
Relaxed, safe and sound.

Do we have any crackers?
No.. We’re crackalackin.

REVELATION!

I realised connect-4 is just a longer version of noughts and crosses.
And therefore should go from the premise of “if the first person isn’t retarded, they cannot lose”.

It’d be great to get some feedback. I don’t want to look into it anymore than I have to;
i’ve lost enough of my life to that shizzle.

I go to the gym so that I don’t worry about what to wear.

After that! Should I mention-

I’ll dye my hair-

white, for attention!

They’ll stop and stare.

At my lack of convention.

Though irrefutable
I wont be beautiful.

Beautiful things, don’t ask for attention.

…
I would like a cologne that smells like blackcurrants.
I would like another cup of tea.