This snowy Sunday

Nothing had rolled in yet. Which went against what the weatherman had said. No rain, nothing. For no particular reason the clouds had held themselves at bay, swelling at the summit of Mt. Wellington.

I’d oft look up at the comfortable rock, watchful and appreciative of the every present lump. Resting like hips under snow white sheets. The Lady, surrounded by dragon’s breath. A veil of smoke and mystery, vanishing yesterday in a shroud. The horizon muddled into a grey of anticipation. This snowy Sunday, i’m going for a run.


Recently someone asked me: ‘Have you followed a servant leader?’
I answered, ‘Not that I can recall, no’
Then they asked, ‘What was effective (or not) about their approach?’ 
Then I said, ‘Are you listening to me? I said no I have not followed a servant leader’.
Then in class, coincidentally, the same question came up, and to ‘do my best’ I just made something up. 

The Itch

My birthday tomorrow.

I sit here, scratching at nasty blistering rashes that nobody else can see.
Stress? Bug bites? Lack of hygiene? Who knows – i’m unenlightened.
All I know is they appeared on Monday, Monday in bed.
I recently began catching possums, I laid traps that night. Was it that?
It could be poison on the wire or maybe something I ate? Was it the cat?
I drank lots of wine of Saturday and skipped dinner, was it that?
I keep putting alcohol on my hands, I don’t know what else is in those bottles.
I went out for lunch on Sunday, was it that?
My scalp, my pubes, my chest and stomach and arse – riddled.
I had sex, was it that? This, is my least favourite feeling.
A crawling sensation, a pinch, a fold, scuttling, invisible legs.
Spiders and crabs move faintly under the surface of my skin.
With disregard for my own future self, I gouge into my flesh and scrape away- layer after later until blood and lime fill my thoughts.
Gums leak saliva that I gulp back in pinched moments of tears and reflection.
When did this happen to me? How has it come to this.

I need to get back.
I need to get get back to it.
Get back on the horse.

Paint on a smile, all the while I crawl underneath my skin.
All red and pained. Eating all things that start with the letter C.

Symbolism of Language

Oh yeah, i’m interested. When I went to the pub, I couldn’t find the front door.
An irregular shape? It’s a cool place.

Work for pay, pay for work.

All the dogs

This is called desire. This is motivation. Sometimes it’s perverse and weird. Other times people embody and typify their national regimes or cultural epistemes. In Australia for instance, this capitalist system suggests that “we” individuals value hard work, want money, wish respect, covet power and relish prestige. I wonder how they develop their Leaders in Russia?


Perhaps it’s just a simple case of throwing a bone to a pack of hungry dogs. You watch them fight for the bone, each demonstrating their own qualities and tactics to win and eat. On second thoughts, nah. 

Hush cafe

I never spoke at the café. I couldn’t bring myself to slow down the process. I wonder if they appreciated that? Getting to know people was out of the question. Do you let them in? The human things that bring us closer together, but there’s a blind down over the light of conversation. Laughter was shared, as it helps to be closed and good natured as one could be.


Dear thumbs,

Today I give you the honoured task of contacting our friends on my behalf. Nice, good start – a bit self referential but it will do. Thumbs up from me. Good one – haha. Now that’s enough thumbs, I said enough! I’m in control here. No

Thumbs, stop it. Put

That down! No no noooooooo! ArgHhhhjaaarkh.

Dear friends of the mighty thumbs,

We have this human in our

possession and require a sacrifice.

Your life energies must be spent if he is to be released. No sooner than your full physical attendance and he will be free, relatively unharmed. At the moment we have him in shackles, hanging by his false thumbs in a dungeon we won in a game of Bejewled last Spring. But enough of that- the time has

come. Join us in selective merriment dressed as a thumb.

Neck and neck

We suffered a walk together down track. There is nothing so invasive as walking at the same speed. He’d

Turned onto the track just before

I, so I’d perched off his shoulder in unhappy pursuit. Waiting on the wings for him to politely slow down, a time in fact which never arrived. As custom I slowed for oncoming traffic and loaded

Uncomfortably behind him. The unwieldy appendage to this two person conga line. Whenever I drew up along side, he seemed to flinch and, blinking rapidly all the while, increase his old-man jangling pace. I’d slow again for oncoming traffic to avoid any upset or disaster and

ironed my malcontent with quiet frustrations towards enjoying the walk and soaking up the environment. In spite of this gentle reasoning, my work-mind persisted. Annoyed with the awkward impassable problem, we scurried on Practically besides each other.