Do you believe things can be infinite? Infinite largeness, Infinite smallness.

Therefore nothing ever touches. There is only spaces that can be quantified on a silly scale. 

Apricot flipping.

Mie- pose

T-rex Philosopher.

The unfinished text then imbibes from the library of all works, robs the graves of the greats, crosses thresholds with a piercing vision, stops to smell the roses in their thousands, looks death in the face, depicts land, sky and sea, loses the reader and then puts a map in their hand, plays the role of lover, then runs away, hiding in caves to then cross mountaintops spanning miles and miles. A text must reach out, it is the incarnation of children, family, nature, and humour, from the clouded and clear sky to the rivers and arid plains. It’s the ability to know, to climb with courage, swim or sometimes excavate. Texts form the embalmed relics of minds in writing, they are the eternal search for lostness through learning and love.

Sitting thinking-Of you, about you. 

Wanting you, all of you. 

Impatience with myself. Airhead that I am. 

I got a job today. 

The future looks bright.

Sunshine and work. 

Three days on.

Money, people, friends.

Time and trading.

All dribble. 

A drop 

Followed by a drip.

That I am. 

Always running, 

Trying too hard.

Wanting something real

And only blooming as something really,

Really unpleasant.

Your warm, smooth weirdness. In the morning comfort. 

Pressed between my arms, between the sheets. Uncrusted, listed, lusted love.

Holding off,

And holding on- 

Hearts in twine

Nothing going wrong. And we click.

Fingers, tongues: at one another. Beautiful pink flowers, folded to reveal the deadwoods and thin veneer of reality transposed upon something else. True detail in an image escapes me as I go blank. 

Staring into the light of your face. Seeing the space between your eyes. The smile revealing your way and the ghost of death that fades in and out. I catch it just, sometimes. A fleeting worry in the back of my mind. I see your skeleton. Not unlike those of the carnival, but your blue eyes, jar me. My desires fold like the leaf. Details shown, a mingled passage of time. Trusting me. Respecting me.

You know how to turn me: on on on. More, please. Wanting loving. And the sweat speaks, and frantic rubbing. Possessed absence in one another. Arms burning, backs frigid. Pouring down. Knees hot, more more more-please. 

Oh my god..

Liking lends loving, leading lives like lush lunatics, limply loosening lapels, labelling liquid lost, lisping lurching lilting lithe lollies. Lupin lesbian, lassoed lassie, leg-less liable lymph licking lady. Mmmmm.

Silence is my own special kind of violence sometimes.
It grates at me, and like a heart on a sleeve-
the cutting begins. Thin skin peels, pastes, reddening rind.

A Chinese burn, as I explore other paths.
Void void void.
A void opens up, a rent in my space and time.
relations to myself. Deadening.
A cost of a plaque and an unfathomable hurt.
Thanks.
you’re welcome.
And I’ve been pioneering you say.
Trying to explore new paths into conversation.
Thanks for that.
you’re welcome.
And we’re all so obliged.
and my eyes look down as you talk of me.
And the pants that were handed down from Coriolanus makes me step.
It makes me stop. Sick, both welcome and unwelcome relief that you have painted.
Painted in your words. Cosplay. Neither true nor equipped for being-ness.

The coffee is as potent as I am fidgety. Digits scroll in a matrix.
Fingers count. Both hands scrolling a stalling.
Battery less cars spit volumes of a words ending.
Strangers look on in obvious aware disgust.
Their break disturbed. A break, respite broken.
My stomach is full again.
Unwelcome erections plague this month.
A haze and laze of unwant.
Closeness and pleasure and elevation make for a daily distance.
I am numb for all things because of your company.
Nothing else matters.
I’m so hungry. Famished. Fallen and worried.
Lazy and impotent. Empty, fucked.
And the void, to avoid it I eat-
no I gorge. A great crevasse of hunger creases my brow.
It makes me shuffle my feet, wink both my eyes and fall.
I wake early, sad and dismissed with the day.
If I just get through today and start again.
“If I”
All I need to do it get out the door and start the day, some other way.
Hiding from people.
Sunshine.
A rest, a walk, a run, yoga, action action action.
Cut cut cut.
The choice we all face, sweet relief from the self inflicted.
Plain stupid. Pain, pleasure tastes and wonderful closeness.
A warmth runs through me, or over me?
As water. Blood, think with worry seeping into my whites.
A final resting place.
Bed and all, upturned in my crying.
This hose, tap turned all the way up.
Close-wize. Natural metaphors not working their magic on me anymore.
No distinctions. Just a bad brain and loss of topic.
My category. Human, sharing so much in common with the rest.
But i’ve lost myself. And the mirror tells me how I look.
While I feel busted, leaking and frail.
Jesting disjointed meaning rests malign in its definition.
Here is where I stand, while you see me white and sitting.
I am covered, full of blood. Weeping the only water that doesn’t matter.
If I tell you this story you will hear different to what I speak.
You will remember listingly a group of things that you expected.
If I may impart one unexpected thing then there it is, my one gem of today.
Winking one eye, a half-seen vision of a perspective truth.
Outside of yourself, a meeting of you and I.
In this inherited world, it’s not the voice that commands the story but the ear.

Trying to log in.
Wasted in the morning.
Greek words – and the art of generals.
And my name says it all.
The middle of my name.
“my middle name”
Disconnected brain from body.
Able self I am not.
A wallowing loveablelessness.

You my facet are not worthy.
I believe we are all raised with the strangely doctoral gaze.
We are all different in seeing – as batman does in a hallucinogenic spell.
Bound up with lostness, ungrounded.
I often find peope talking about what they mean.
And its binding. Its terrifying.
Like she was terrific in bed.
My halogen mystery, ebbing-
stomach starving. Hurting, wanting, wasting.
Lusting. After loveloss, the cost of ejecting.
My churning lost daze. Mindblow.
Free folding wants and the wasted energyless closeness of everything.
Eyes that tell of my own disgust. A peasant of common ailments.
Mailmen of forbade news and cold hearted hypocrisy.
After you left, I became the cord in a propeller.
Pulling, pushing, finished finishing.
Finding a hole, curling lack and loss.
Stanger to my own body.
Loaded charge dispelled,
wrists ankles and fingernails shiver spasmodically and relentlessness.
I catch my fear and crush it between my hands as an orange,
Sun rising profanities of the easy life.
Withal forgetfulness, the superglues of society come unstuck with my fulfillment of naturally shamed simplicity. A coupling of smiles, seriousness and nourishment all taking from me nothing and everything.
What does this do for me?
What is up form here? Next?
You possess and propose to me alternative lives that I have forgotten.
A fruit basket of opportunity.
Cheese dreams of a cracker.
The fig gesture in hand.
Clutching barely to one another.
Heated as a stone.
Baked and branded.
Nothing yet built.
Only possibilities.
Joy wilts, a majestic distance of desire, success and untasted flavours.
And the lost women to age and abandon put poison in the kennels.
Animals and loved ones drop as flys, poisoned by the air we breathe.
Clutching throats and itching eyes of cancerous iron.
Coy bias of marketing allows us to walk in the yellow wafting smokes.
Immune only from practiced experience. The kids home, pockered skin of octopus. Slime and pincer. Under the sea all is blurred, blue and plastic.
A black bag over our head. Or perhaps the pervasive darkness was always there.
Now we sit, like an accepting Buddah, wise to our demise.
Drawing a line in the underwater sand.
Clouds rising, a slow dust in the rolling depths.
Deep peace sets in and still we wonder at the words for mother earth that have always escaped us.
Rest in peace. Dance between lives.
Bury me under the willow tree-
as Drummond never was.
Summon my ghost and revoke the pasts tragedy.
Your absence, my lack, here now.
Forever tied to you. Grounded and loved.
Provider and continuer.
Elixer of my eternal salvation.
Dissolution in dust.
Rolling in the deep, deep depths of our hearts.
We love and have loved.
Dearly, desperately.
Pleadingly and pledging-
hope, peace a golden fleece.
Where old is new,
trees grow.
Passions keep us from the storm.
At home in our heart you remain:
cared for, young and resilient.

This is my
–testimony.

Its here,
conversation.
and my lack of patience.
A presence of mind to think through it all.
Laden, heavy.
Weighed down with bread and all sorts.
A meal with the gods is shared.
The big toe of mine slightly sore-
dead flesh of the exterior grates as the outside of a wheel of cheese.
Hesitant.

If only I could say it all.
My emotion bubbles and I spiral in wonder.
Speaking first and experiencing later.
The import and rumination given to silence.
“yes yes of course”.
Killed dogs and talk of conversation being the same.
Samey.
I needed another angle, some additional depth.
It was mind numbing. Nothing but horror and horrible things.
My shit mind, lost in its cares.
Distracted easily.
Moving on quickly.
Joking if someone says something seriously.
Derailed.
Playful annoyances.
Guilted headaches, mark my fitness.
This unripe thought and imperfect brow. Lifted high above.
And the wholeness of the world’s catastophe.
The scope of my wonder at how bad it all as.
Shabby cheeked luxury and rotted fettid eyes cast from their sockets.
Set like fridged jelly. Brain numbed. Isolated instances of pain in my jaw.
The periods or rest and worry and work and practice.
Shallow hard-work, perhaps I should work smart and not hard.
Do your readings.
Don’t be distracted.
Love calling my name.
“I really like you”
spunk flows in our contract.
Money owing. Impatience, sickness, holding us all back.
A flipping mind of imperfection.
Infectious evils, sickness and an eternal holiday.
Working so hard that my investments might just paradox into juxtaposed ruination.
Starve yourself to success.
glee always into radical headache of lust, love, luxury and euphoria.
Lick your fingers and fuck me.

Who needs a bib?
I have a crumb catcher.
Onassis!

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
“Atoning for educability through delicate beauty”

Making amends for the ability to be educated in being intricate, fine and fragile high standard that appeases the senses aesthetically.

How are you Patrick?
“I am full of poison”
All smiles. All happy. All good.
But the context is off, is wrong, is rotten.

This mind and body look as today’s toxic puddle.

Half fill bath (warm), this means you can hop-in and slowly add hot water. Allowing for a longer and more intensely heated bath.

You never know when you’ll need an account’s manager.
YOU NEVER KNOW.
– (“wait” I thought)… yes you will.

I saw a strange woman put a cd into a buskers case.
I think it said “Earth Sheila”.
Pick-up lines and publicity.

“Cool” is the new conversation ender.

Powerfully , pouting, Putin, punchin, pleasant, protein, poutine, powder.

She said from her balcony: “Thankyou”
I waved away thinking – don’t use your language on me.

THE BIG BROWN BOWL.

A visitation of hai-kus.

A vision of horse
Blood fairies captured and killed
Nothing is resolved.

How did we get here-
Man? Woman’s tits, faces all-
joy. Issued spaces.

The arrival here.
engendered face, physically
rounded, fat smiling.

Cosmetic dicks are
grilling your expectation
Paint, plast, smoke, mirror.

What is CANIM ANNEM?
My dear mother.
MONA and the exhibition “the museum of everything”
Turkish detected, people with disabilities.
Literally insane, amateurish.

Compare and contrast = are the same things by their definition.
In A-ANG: Campara and catrast.
CAN & CAM. Saa and saa.
C as daffarant to Saa

T-ANG

“I’d love to overstay my welcome – but i’m not going to.” – Rowan Hutchison

Monochromatic is my art.
Black, white and blood.

ALL G
OG Destinations.

I have an idea!
And idea?
It’s more than some,
But less than most.

Life is fine
Enif Si Efil!

Getting to know someone from a distance.
Online dating. Shakespeare.

I dream that she comes back. Dad is a double. Short haired one and long haired other. He’s wrapping a book in blue paper, the sticky tape is jagged. Wendi asks if he needs help, he curtly responds “no.. thankyou”. I’m not sure which is the original. I think the long haired is old dad. The short haired is new dad.

Mum is by the sink, washing up a great many tools for stirring and scraping pots. I don’t really know/remember what she’d made. I’m overjoyed to see her but I don’t express this in action or word. She looks as me and tries to speak but her language is garbled, my heart leaps and she is all that I care about; smiling encouragingly and nodding. I say “its ok” and “sure, ofcourse”.
She hasn’t been able to tell me what she made. Her mind is gone, the language for what she is trying to say is gone. Simply gone.

The roof is leaking, the water is running along the flat of the roof like a gravity defying stream, down the wooden wall of the flat. I’m afraid that there will be a flood again. I remember that in the real world the drainage pipe from the gutters has been blocked for the last two big downpours. Its a real concern of mine at the time. Flooding. But then the weather dries and all concerns and the blockage remains.

Today I ate celery with peanutbutter and sultanas. “Ants on a log” Keone Dodd once told me. Its supposed to be one stalk at a time, pnb in the dip and sultanas dotten ontop. Neat and tidy. Considered. Instead I rolled all the stalks up in pnb, threw some sultanas at the mess and decided that the log was more lifelike and the ants were in disarray. Like when you place a brick infront of the runnings of the hive. The conga line of ants blew out, like a failed erruption of a volcano, blown out the bottom as the top remains the same.

Last night before bed, I heard a sound. Internal, between left and right brain. A high pitched singing snap. I had a headache, I beyond a usual switched on. I was uncomfortable and laying quietly in an angry state after an OK day with some people I know.