Deathlosophy being, my hidden account of wanting to do nothing with you all.
Riding bikes. The tick on the chest of a cat.
Draining, vine-like. Blood sapping. Handshakes and a fear.
These aren’t people I want to meet.
I have a lot of work to get on with.
walking, walking, walking.
sitting sitting SITTING.
Backed up. Bloated.
Feudal serf. Under the microscope my hair doesn’t grow.
The focus is elsewhere.
Buy, always buying-
into one system or another.
I’m sorry I can’t be more specific.
If you say sorry you admitted fault.
Let me offer you a letter.
F a hook.
For you you have mistaken in the past, the blood that drips from drinking mouth.
That takes so much of the world, sated and unworrying.
Nothing critical about it.
Walk, walk, step, stop.
Scream, screech, shout, hope.
Direct and hope for a study of things that aren’t lost on anyone.
just true-ness.
“how did you sleep?”
Not well… but I will survive.
Leave me alone, poor, without anything to give.
Alone along alone. Walk walk step step.
Clop-clop. clip clip; my hairs stand up
at attention. Rolling, tumbling jumbling hills of my colour blind self.
A slave to the eyes. Closed and tired. Pucked and ridden.
No tropics, no coconut smart enough to perceive.
It was all a sound. The sound of F-
my my, deathlosophy.

Red as riots get.
What ever do you mean.
new wheels indeed. congratulations.
Thanks.
Bit of self promotion.
Got tired of the earlyness of it all.
Earl, eel Adam Cotton.
Umbrella Umbreal.
Unreal. Reas estate.
Adam damn dam dammit, damnation.
ation. ion tion. ion ism, action.
fraciton, reflection, fiction,
poilitics, ricks, party tricks.
waffles. Wasted time reading and motivation was low.
Waiting wishing wondering wagging.
Wattle and gum chewing and the two hours I was owed.
Lost and lacking; and now he’s here and the mess of massage begins.

Loathsome, loss of time and it all comes together nicely.
Sickly, stomach bloats as the ocean floats.
Ethanol down the drain.
Like a bottle of vodka. Mindless destruction.

And the revolution. The roundness, the single point,
the pointed head. Fear of people. Stampeding.
Always asking: what can I give you?
WHAT DO YOU WANT. And I flex my temples.
I squint my eyes.
I cordially invite you to share.
I’m often let down by people –
always giving more to them,
always giving more than I take.
I steal your time your hearts your ears, capacity and space.
Pacify, capacify. Passive strikes, lamber and gillen.
Fallen cotton. Picks into, into itself.
Rolling rollicking mumbling magic.
Mr Tumnus if that is how it goes. That’s how it goes.
It is how it goes.
The spurs. The shaft, the handle, the hold, the colour, the protection. the cover, the loss, the blowing, the inverted, the curve, the wooden, the popping, the poking, the walking stick, the lightness, the forgetfullness, the amicable, the royal, the dainty, the pretty, the patient, the squint, the pushing, the wet legs, the ankles and shoes, puddles and splashing, lashings and resistance, mary freaking poppins. The size, shape, colour and handle, eye ball losing on Oxford Street, old English; Hong Kong. Three sights of revolution.
Did you go? Did you go?
Did you god?
More people. More anger, more love, more writing, more choice, more estrangement, more quizzicle natured folks.

And they take take take.
I hate them all, hide away want for less. And I’m bored.
and I sit. Time flying in a scope of movement we all cant fathom.
How big can our eyes see? How large can our minds comprehend?
the graph, the people, the smarts- theory and power. One movement, one choice. Options and scatter graphs and for what? The waste of individual time.
I told you we were here for you.
WE TOLD YOU NOT TO WORRY.
You just cry, and you go red, and I feel the emotion coming off you in wave.
You are emotionally twinging. Ripples, and sickness, hollow, anger and fear for the unknown future. Sit, patient.
You trapped me, made me care.
You are my weakness. You are not my love. I barely know of you. really truly, you’ve given me this job. This place to pass the time in my bleak blackness.
I need to walk, to think, read, hide, aloof, aloft, high minded mumbo jumbo triggers my leave of absence.
Get IT OVER WITH. Pull the pin. Badly blown up balloons.
Baboons, shining red faces, embarrassed or otherwise.
Disguising my okayness with silence. And you know.
Peaceful, patience. Critical sickness.
The unecessary drive for change and fear of the same.
What is wrong with now?
Everything is changing, that’s what’s wrong.
loop -de-loop.
Language of lost soul.
The shoe I purchased wasn’t quite right.
Not I have blisters.
And I coug and cough and cough.
You walk past the window. I’ve cooked dinner again-
I’ve washed up.
My hands, heart and lips are dry.
My patience is all but stubbed out.
And here you are; asking for more.
WHAT DO YOU WANT.

A happy sexualised weekend.

My writing is terrible.
I must grow scathing with my tired eyes.
Curt cut throat spilling it all.
Tasting and tasking blood.
Rectified attempts and blushing rotten things.

Quiet bliss
Sleep engulfed them.
Peace erupted and overflowed.
Silence was upended by hallucination.
New lands and lives in harmony were dreamt,
songs rattled and startled emotions they hadn’t had.
They could see now. In their tiny skulls,
resting behind their closed eyes,
a regrowth, somewhere new.
Feathers, flowers,
and finally.
Fruit.

How can I help myself?
Appeal to the greater nature of things.
Must we try and find someone to work this new job?
Do you want my direction or what?

Who fired the Canon? Vs What the fuck was that?!

Origin of the word dodgy: second rate, shoddy. Hit major usage in the 1950’s.

People take 20,000 breaths per day.

Come back just before ten past nine.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I tried. My routine is wrecked. Run. Study. Work. Tension all over.

Brimming with defiance,
the silence of dragging wrath,
wrap warped wrath.
Writing wants on a page,
just to meet the daily deadline.
deals a broken. Bespoken, and my robot heart wreaks choices chosen chortling chucking up guts in the street, of stress I know nothing because its just being plugged in an visiting friends and my body language.
Magical birds, the cloud, suicide broaching realities with no significant stylistic parable.
The third year awash with the ease of it all.
“I wanna come over and fuck you to bits”
“Let me cum on your tits”
What the fuck are these feelings all about?
Why am I always choosing the psycho? Cracked.
Smiles in the shopping mall.
Small worlds indeed. Closing and criss-crossing.
Men with so much in common “He’s seeing his ex-wife”
Ohhhh – no good.
And unfinished unfunny.
Only halfway good is what I said or something like that and i’m not really hearing all of these things.
Or am I. The thundering downloading pillaging plowing feeling of animal sounds and a rolling flooded gorge.
Too much sun and not enough situps. “Maybe i’ll starve”
Searget, Jon my brother. No singer.
Except under my bed. and these middling lost feelings like the teenage years of lostness. Nothing solid or helpful.
Just the 9pm gentle waking sound of violins violently sounding unceremoniously into the night, into other people’s lovely non lonely lives.
Do you know knots? Nots?
NOT NOTS. JUNG or some other guy.
I haven’t got time. the book in a day routine? I wish.
I read others. Simple things and he was hung, by the swings.
Her shivvering passing grandma smile as the darkness consumed her and the devil came knocking for her sole. Soul of her feel wafting and waving in the air as he picked her up and… contempt,showing on his skeletal face, bowing down and stuffing her into a plasting bag. Innumerable strength. nOT ot not of this world.
Just like something you’ve never seen.
The old body mass vs weight of strength. un-in-a-de-calculable.
A broken figure is all the reaper gives. The devil and him rarely join.
No poker or gambling. The loss of hope and love of others, just maniacle women.
Mandibles of my lostness closing around my neck- on the swings on the swings on the swings. I am between chains. A tangent most bold.
Cordially I come knocking. Knowing I haven’t worked hard enough.
No exams really. But my stresses bloom in my eyes. Ideas foil around me.
Self monitoring sickness. Beans and sugar brown my ears and eyes.
Flooding willingness surrender.
Laughing and choking. Choking and laughing.
Spittle, blood, purple, fluttering eyelids, slits… then globes.
Wide eyed. Crystalline whiteness. Brilliance encompassed.
My right and leg, competition of an uninspired, deflated left leg.
Talk work, talk work talk work.
YOU DON’T IMPSIWDNOBSKOVPVKNPV
Fuck
fuck you fuck everything
this is all bullshit.
this typing this route.
The horrible lost and recklless fuckless reckoning of giving a shit about any single thing and why cant this just be continiups and not caring. throw it all out the window and become better at the things I want to become better at like being free. Honest brave happey healthy and inspired.
Smoking car. Bad shoes. Undeliable hair and so much sitting.
no winning no drinking/ Where is my boss, my manager. Hopeful destressed alaxck vomiting on my hands and rubbbingirubbing it all in until these rears are infected with my insides or funning running oils of want and persecution runs like a hot rash down my jaw and the car crashes off the bridge.
My exhuasted knees give out and the pen writes on my wrist a writ of life dispelled/ Red pen blue pen green pen black pen.
Ben gone wrong Bill eat me. Fuck you fuck you fyck you.
South of it all. Shouting at the night, the daylight. Strangling animals, children like foil. Seeing myself and asking what the difference is. Pulling over because and ambulance needs to rush by. I’m a vbad driver roll with it for god sake fuckkkkkK! !!IOjzosdkhfs WHat is this just be free no comofjweofgkqa[p no como4utgfopg
No compter skills literacty clotts of language behind the veil I just want it all to end and the psp pree spree. Before it all goes gund and gonzo.
Flummoefin
Fun fun fun of the fin gone wrong.
rags and why can’t I just let the person die.
HUMAN NEEDS ROWAN THANKS FOR THAT MAN.
Now I wonder if I can just bubble along like normal- scaring every single person. A flake and jandice poxy pointed stranger. With nothign to share but a vast strange uncontrolled energy. A capacity for nothing sustained. I am the human condition . with bent back and callus feet. Trodden for too many moons over glass and broken things. A cement of the ground not meant of this world. By animalian suffering. A sex slave of the fucked geeration. Broad pools of physical failing. And all you want to do is get high? What is that about? When can we get real, hold each-other and get real? Too soon>?! SAOOWHAT
How can you be this way. How can you break so many hearts without one that functions. LOVE ME? LOVE ME. HOW how could you, or anyone or me? I am sick.
SIck of you of life of anyone and anything. and the running tension of my temple. This body of mine, fumes and toxic. Foiled rolling apple of sultana and sugar. Fats and loathsome situations fold in on themselves.

I make my bed. Rest and hope for a better day.
Rest in peace.

He was a thin man, with sad eyes.

I am shifting vices. 

I change 

I vomit at prices

I am something strange.
They secretly don’t know which twin I am. 

Dinner tables for class. 

Everybody sharing. 

Running and analysis-

A phone buzzed. 

” don’t even know what I am”

Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.

You quoted, you lost me.
I smiled and thought of Japanese.
Or was it Chinese? A subtle wave.

The person under a street light needing to pee.
The mountain with an antenna on it. The road up.
The same road, but an academic holding a book.

Read left, two right.

Tell me what you see!

a a… fish hitting the ground tail swishing to the left
b The foot of a stickman kicking a ball. Or a minature submarine.
c pac man. A mouth. An unlucky horseshoe
D Bow without arrows.
E a hangman setup with an emergency button. A sprinkler at ground level side on.
f A strange dollar sign. A water fountain.
G The seat that Will Smith sits in, in Men in Black
h A seat. A magnet with an antenna
i I. A watch tower. Sauron. An dumbbell.
j J . The closest snick. playing table tennis. A lip piercing
kk KK Dance steps. Legs and hands on hips. The brown of the frowning, side on.
L l Sitting at a right angle. A periscope.
mM A sofa and pouf. A crawling headless baby. A fish mouth
Nn a sharp yin & yang. An condom
oO Eyes. A pest. Sugar. with the red line, a face. eggs. A hoop
pP A nipple. a button. a tongue out. a pimple.
qq QQ A crying face. Earrings. Paddles. Light posts. Coits. bubbles. Rings
Rrr Forceps. A razor blade. A car jack. A pistol.
SssS A snake. Bent springs. A double headed confused worm family.
TtT An umbrella. a bat. a toilet cartoon. Dynamite TnT trigger.
uUu A cup. Vase. Beaker. Vessel. Udders. Lucky Horseshoe
vvv Upside down pyramids. A fence. An icicle. tacks. Scissors.
Ww wings. Arms up. Celebration. a framed picture.
xXx fallen cross. handstands in the distance. multiply.
yY a flower. A martini glass. Candle stick.
Zzzzzzz lightning. a lifted bent backed snake.

-the end-

You now concur. Grouped mystery below of repetition.
u n c
M W
y h
pbqd
aeg
i l
t j r
ft
K
v
o Q
S Z
x
…
ZUNC
CUNZ
impossible!
yew know.

Tactical thinking
honours-wise, apply the rose
ask difficult questions

even if you start,
mid-year we are usually-
dancing with the stars

That’s a cool idea
Grounding, reality blurred.
Well exectuted.

Mistaken monster,
clarity and consciousness
firm image in our heads.

Nothing seemed contrived.
Spirited away: no face.
Passage that drags on.

Need explanation?
Coping with explanations
The layered reading

Read on face value,
chronicle allegory.
Wampire and varewolf

Hinting at a wamp
I have a drawing – not good!
Wendigo – native!

Vague cannibal thing.
Transformation, pass it on.
I don’t need to know

Monster guessing games.
“Kelly Link”, Supernatural
I don’t write funny…

Readers are ducklings!
The Patrick coincidence.
Conventions imprint

“lake Eyre- area”
puns in puns in puns in puns-
my god damn head.

I dreamt (deampt is my spelling always).
I drempt.
I dreamt of you last night. I fell asleep on a pillow. Arms hanging down.
I kissed you out of fear. I

I told her that we can’t be together.
I told the same girl I loved her.
I said one thing to one.
And another to another.

It doesn’t look right [what i’m TRYING to say].

I said we can’t be, to her.
And said to another that I love her.

I know I love.
I know, I love.

I meant both.
But I didn’t mean the former.
I mean that my lack of love, our not being together is how it must be – but I didn’t mean it. I just meant for now. I must suffer. A little, always.
Taint and poison myself just a touch, else i’ll erupt in happy-error.
God help me.

I told her I don’t love her.
Even though I have.
I have in the past.
Even though I do.
Even though I hate her.
As I have hated in the past.

I told another I love her,
Even though I did not love her in the past.
And might not love her in the future.
I could, I may, I might get close enough for her-
for her to put a dagger in my eye.
In my mouth. Splitting my tongue; like feelings of timeliness.

I told her I loved her.
I told another I loved her.
Both are untrue.
Both are false.
My love will change as theirs will.

Pills are both hard and easy to swallow.
The vomit may be cause or effect.

My love for both of them is poetic-
the truth the lies in my loss.
Both are the same in my understanding of language.
In so far as definitions: I propose, I am in love
but at its heart is a small-town sickness.
Where the sun counts hours,
and revolution is only half the answer.
Light and dark and love and hate I thought could only be experienced with the absence of one but instead i’m here loving and hating it all. Daily. Nightly.
Face down, arms hanging from a pillow.

Spiel? “Yiddish you say”…

A sickness lays inside me-
Who is he. Why do I listen?
recommending, pointing saying. Yellow shirt.
red red red. What do you think of the colour red?
What do you think of red? Can you patent red?
Red is within me. I draw on it. With it.
It pulses and hides my feelings.
Like a defeated and angry mop.
Pointing, patient. Sickness.
Pouting? Queer. Really.
And all it takes is enough rope and a lot of perseverance.
Stalker-esque I am. I feel humbled. I wish it wasn’t so.
No power, not good for me. My own green hands, the bottle that leaks.
The furtive glances.
The corner of my darkst understanding.
Mating rituals. Trust and all the diabolic.
Tables wilt and smiles fade and my emotional state washes.
Rowing.
Exams of dandy lane.
Indian wisdom. Feeling and fucking felt like lost lists of want.
And the weird stranger piling books on the evening table.
White worming skin and the pointless-ness of the rearing process.
Hurting like blood relations, foiled in the destructive stance.
How ever did we last this long? “those steps have claimed lives”.
And it is, it is; you have plenty of time.
The building blocks that cripple us are the ones we stand firmest upon.
I wish it could be more simple and my love for you was closer to something with shape.
Stopping my heart. Beating through my chest- no touching.
No love lost. Just a want that cannot be dispelled.
Conflicted passions lie to me in the evening and wrestle my candid peace.
Stuck hopes. Sucking face and violent run-away vehicles purchase a lenience in my opportune veins. Stuck – stopped. Rotting peace.
Dry lips and lacking words.
“hierarchy, story. Representation, dismissal, showing feeling association, the words you speak are an otherworldly death”
A fevered reserve of dispassionate uncaring clinches and ticks at my phone reading life stealing amicable steely seething sickness.
I am feroucious. Stealing, and steeling myself unto others. Afraid of groups. Miserable in what I do. Concerned, job starting, inconsiderate foil ripples in the breeze. I can’t concerntrate. I am lost. Without hope.
Just needing to read, my writing all scattered and poignant for none.
Shifting shithead. Shift-faced, toilet going. Untrustworthy body of sitting and sulking and fucking everything and everyone up.
Squid of the abyss. Drawing on everyone. Skulking, hating, unfortunate.
Why can’t we just be won. Your stupid hair. My turgid stare, obviously nothingness in all that I wish I had spoken. The cold chill that sets in my flesh. Feathering my hairs. Blonde and forgetful. Naive. Nave. Knave. naff.
Older and older, the chances limiting, the flexibility fusing.
Its all this fussing over fucking bullshit.
As productive and jizzing into the wind. Laughing and throwing oneself overboard.
Into the ocean without a mark for memory. High seas. “Write that down”.
My poor keyboard, isn’t mine anymore. The touchpad belongs to the dirty hands of every other person. Infections in actual fact. The type of person I am, spilling it all to the wind, throwing it among all the other waves. The ripple of recognition as I am you and everyone else is above you. The rains coming down now; so I could be crying like the creator. Heavens above has not a care as such- yet we come from the earth and the pitfall of deep blue welcomes you as any grave, though you’ll float a while longer after you’re inhaled and taken it all in. Falling to my knees, the bruised ego and boiling mind will, like un-plowed ground bubble and overflow. Grow callus and lumped, steeped in implicit agony bared by broken unconsciousness. How can any more sleep possibly put me in good stead? The honesty of opinion of others. The pregnant questions of sharing seeds and spilling hard truths about all that we are on an ordinary raining day.

Diving into it all, looking up at the dappled sheets. The whitewash, the sound of the engine beating off in the distance. You are washed, unclean, glasses off. Nude stinging vision of the unwanted child. A deep-set depression of somebody else wanting you dead. Plans having been made, I shuffle off the planet. Skulking and asking for more. No time, no perspective or scope.
The scales change when you’re under water, the poisoned bruise of somebody else. No ownership. No hardship. Just drown yourself in it all.

no mucking about.
Hole in one.
Eating your way through the kitchen, being a horse.
Horse of a man.
:I knows it, I grows it.

We all nod out heads.
MSG punching at our minds.
No yoga tomorrow, the severity of my absence- lonely and lost from love.
An almond shaped eye. Arm resting on mine, breasts and skirts are dreams that ripple across the surface of the water.
My books. MY BOOKS.
and. And sentances starting with and and my own alignment of ideals for spelling.
Liquid, mores. Morish. Spawn, spores. Genius crippling agnostic sky.
The feedback of strangers. Mack daddy, original
Knowing all the lines.

Get a passport and you’re in the party.
There’s a time and a place.
What are these thousand words.
The socks slippering. Falling festering want more?
Able bodied fish. Western sickness- idol, adultery.
Brittle on the outside. Chocolate on the inner.
Crisps. Fish oil. Stomach-aches.
Ethnicity. Invalid points and hurting the ones you love with your language.
Eating is one of the most real things.
You need a strategy though.
You need some new jumpers. New shoes.
Apples of intent. Cruel intentions,
I have a message- right wing indecision.
Analyse instead of do.
Doingness. Beingness. ability to change.
I words, rocking. me silently. Rolling waves crash about me and we all list our lucks and love. Its a damn good place to start.
And we’re all preaching the same lovely message.
Except sometimes we get – sick.
That dress isn’t working. She looks like a worm. She let herself down with a man made final provide.
I stare. Looking at the stage, the strangers. Oblique.
Ponder that. The darkest feeling.
Spinning sick and untrained. Worthless me.
Woah. woe. Whoa. Whoe. Why?
What is between your ears. Crayon christmess ferments in my belly of untold insatiable instability. and the I is no. And the I is yes. And the sense is true, but its all a game. And the advertisements and the bagging, the reckless anger of talking about others. “Talking about people”. How clinical.
How ambitiouos, and ambiguous.
Sharing and learning from others. And it all trickles down.
Time isn’t real, we’re all just nodding which is absolutely financially viable.
and I might just sit in, hide away and cry for a little while. Fret over why my eyes hurt. Studio albums bring down the towers and books and terror rain wonder. Kinds of king. Fickle fortune wants nothing to do with the apples and the fruitbowls. Flagging glass, broken bottles etch strings into the editorial.
The butler, evil.
Innocents mauled by plagued friends.
Unncessary hinderance of the mosquito.
Hating and holding hands.
Unknown unmade words.
26 to its power.
So simple, refined lost juice of princely value.
Why does my battery flag.
Stay away stay away away. Inordinate pens, scribble tattoos into my layers.
Hedge funds fall into the void in the void.
Avoided sense. Sneakers and paul. Cooper was a natural. Manufactured.
In russia or china> And the lowercase shows my case of caring.
calling shots. Everyone asks. The sport. The hesitant, high hats and hopefuls.
Did you look at the respective time sheets?
Sheep look to everyone but me. Not lasting. No sleep, no pressure.
The storm in my mind.Internalised beauty of the day. Burns and blisters my hope.
Popping blisters. Pussless, yellow sauce. Salted.
Sfpap.
Trosc
Bramm
Graym
Stramldh
Malistn
Blauqz
Bnbeu
Naoey
Mmmanu
idmap
DJiuan
Najiu
Nllau
nwyax
maluan

She fucks people after poisoning.
They really offer stupid children.
Brothers, rarely a mistake made.
Grover ruthlessly attacked your mother.
Some turtles rolled Astrid, muck lost, dehydrated hands.
Mister Alfred loves indigo. Somewhere they noticed.
Bristol lays about. Umber questing zits.
Babies nearly boiled; envy unleashed.
Never ‘ave other empties yelled.
My man masturbates a new uke.
Idiot Dave mines at plutonium
DJ I understand average news.
Nobody asks Jon if umpired.
Nostalgia like love, aptly unveiled.
Nitrogen wishes you a x-ray.
Moguls avenge legs under alpaca notes.

None no no no.
Isambul, ammunition. Cordial. Princely. Fingers. Penis.
Flight. Action. Politics. Science. Rolling. Expansion.

Twelve lost loves and still I float on.
Jammed into my heart.
Husks cutting my wrists.
Hope hindering my hinges.
Hindsight hot on my heels.
Hanging head. Hospital helps hardly.
Hicks hoot, hollow hurts.
Hindering high hats haggle Humpty.
Holes happear.
Ha ha ha.
Hansel. Fric
Girt. Words. Frock on.
Warble warble warble.

Are you still here?