Alphabet.

Diet. 

Your young. Sperm. Blowjobs and kissing. Sickness. Saw see sore stomach from exercises. Bound up. Restraints of sadists. Fear, safe words and dangerous acts. He broke her wrist. Dirtbags outside of work. All that drinkin and nonsense. Party, party, good-people. Bringing something. Energy tension desire lists of letters and leering internals. Asking and greedily drinking from the alphabet. Not many Words, not many words, edibles that start with X. It’s saved for the toxic, maybe only me, my thoughts- I’ll go down on an X. My how far I’ve come to this, work place. shaming. Trouble and extracted extacy. Speed is everything and the words that start with I. Edible, I sat, subtlety insinuated myself into the position: “I should try Ice”. Pocketed skin, need, feel touch, want, riddles, skivvy skin riding and folding and fucking my brains out my veins. I. I inject, in jest ingest interest; infested mind and signed signs of fine rind. Zest. For life, for lust and thrusting myself from bed to head-to-heads where pills are taken, blood is bled and racers fall into holes and then the ground swallows us whole while Dougs dig holes and complain about how dead it is. Oh Andrew, cousin.

Wobbling, hobbling, squinting language. You’d use yous, fight family fueds, call guys with cabs and car keys pakkyz, with caps and caps and busted knees these liberties, shooting breeze at refugees from seven seas of trouble. Life in rubble, no life no Liege, not leisure or our pleasure. Situated, sitting, t.v blaring hatred flarin in our lounge rooms, on our streets, street sweepers keeping garbage like fast food for wrappings off our path. Do the math, this temporality, the food, drinks and T we take. English breakfast. Over the paper, our language reinforces that which we don’t understand. Flyaway, but they can’t. Fly-swat in hand. T-intersection, no reflection. Connection: outta the ball park. Western drama, convoys and Cowboys mama… That’s where wee at, for now until it all changes; just a little, and our loved ones die and our perspectives shift. Shit.

Shot: mise en scene. right hand side of the road. The rules, order and stupidity. Zombies, the end of the world. Reductive.

Christianity’s depiction of God? Problematic in it being an ideal that transcends the human condition. Then there was “The Enlightenment”, brought about by the French (Refer to: Classic Westerners list). Enlightenment rejected the idea of God/&/Jesus as the central figure that guides human decision. Its suggested the ‘individual’ is the centre of the universal experience. This individual is a scientific, educated human at the centre of it all. This takes me to the subjective, which is slightly off topic, but makes me think of subjective categories and interpolation, which is my only defence at the moment to all negative feelings. Numbing oneself to all interactions and associations, understanding that nothing relates to me directly, allows for an autonomous existence where I am my own god, privileged and ghostly white, fearing the darkness of death that has consumed every single person before me. In the mean-time, I can make decisions that will effect my life and affect my mood.

So honest, so rotten.
When you talk over the top of someone and your ideas are shit.
and you want them to speak again, because you cut-off their beautiful talking, with your own nonsense. Reciprocation is difficult.
So is speaking your mind, sometimes your mind is rot.
Honest rot, hollow wind, psycho-babble.
Relentless. Tired tide of ill-tidings.
Rings that run runs around rings.
Wicket to wicket. Wicked, rickety, rustling, ticket.
Sticket in your window. Otherwise you’ll be fine.
Fined. Find money.
Tax and honey. Cream and jam.
Biscuits.
Dates, ham, cream, walnuts. Creckers, salt. Cherry. Straw-brerry. Liberry.
Books and Tooks and lay-low Bilbo.
Packin Bags-in, ins and a Thins, or “crisps” and it all changes with your pronounciation. Your wrapping, rapping timing rhyming flow.
Let go, roll-o.
Over, clover. Lucky to end it there. Move on to another song.

Pa = Dad.
Pat = Me.
Pat = Action
Pat = Shit
Pat = Sound
Pat = Dad + T.
Tea with Pa.
I will be your plus one. Your additional. Your follower. Extra.

Today I ran in a race.
Race race race.
Peas. Peace ‘Bromide’
Natural urges to fight,
to breed. Who’s running-
the place Pat? Think;
The pink people. ‘Paddies’
The Irish! Bigger than Ben-
evaluation. Auditors, homeless
Journals. Shout outs, sack the
lazy slags.

Spark notes from a chat with dad.

Unknown
Mobile
Home

Opened-ing the weather tab on my creditless phone.
Looking, and i’m alone, looking.
I checked-ing the outcast forecast.
Raining rain, wash my skin of colour-ing.
Spots and sports, perforated, perpetrated.
Swimming too deep, deeply and deepening.
Ears, eyes, mouthing sores. Mimicry of suffering.
Gimmick of ideas-sing.
Sign, cosign, shapes: shaping.
Categorizing. And I looked-ing at the half-cast.
Stones, and season-ing. Salt and pepper. Spores.
My reaction-ing too all this. Sing?
Singe. Monkey. Singe. Blackened-ing.
Watching the weather.
Worrying, woolgathering clouds.
Wurthering Heights, withering our collection.
With erring. Thoughtsing, conclusioning.
Drawing in charcoal.
The assumeding page of white.
paging memory, farming boys-
“as you wishing”.
The raining beginning before you checked-ing.
Checkered-ing.
Queen of multi-direction.
Full movementing, straightbackdiagonal-ing.
Checking.
Weathering wist.
Carding-
racializing rationalizing
socialinzing, norming, radicalizing.
z z z z (unnorming) – ing.
Action-ing is the new doing in business.
2, too, to. Poly.
My girl will be called Poly.
Pauline. Paulette. Paulette.
Suffragette-ing.
She willing, smarting. Triumphant rearing of Nation.
Nation- ING.
Weather shuffled-ing.
My unphoning, formless, worthless payless communing device.
Calls missed-ing. Mist.
Wifi-ing. Wild firing thought.
Destroyed-ing thinking.
As it(ing) ALL reshuffled.

As Thursday 8 and rain. Changed to 9 and sun.
Friday’s clouds became rain.
Saturday & Sunday’s rain shifted swapped.
came into being. Sprung-ing. Spring-not.
Oarsman of death’s boat.
Ferryman of biblical surveillance.
The watchful eye of death providing us our impertinent binary to life.
So the rains stopped coming down.
The black in a role of dominance over the triaged hetrosexual patriarchal reinforcement of whiteness. Passeding down. Filtering like the clarity of rain. Washing our spots. Misting. And the biblical hiddenness, hideous, hinderance to all stagnant affiliations of the subject.
Our interpollation of all of that data.
Stimuli, reactions interdependent in a network of thoughts only.
outside of a cell of thought. Our might.
Senses and view of it ALL.
At which, witching shame. Feminism cast.
Like the stones and bones and tea leaves scattered.
Dried in the Tuesday sun. Unexpected light and Sunday and Saturday are also to be warm and bright. No rain. No Noah.
no ark.
ark ark. A silence of the ocean of notions.
Potions of wish. Wish for better-ing.
Concurrently, pass, action passed.

“I don’t even need your love”

Cumming over the entirity of it.
interracial mixing, like that of Brazil.
The fear of your child not looking like you.
Minds turn to things that we haven’t understood or wanted for so long.
The continuity of something-ing. And race and women and men.
And the conflict of roles. White people as the father. Asians as the effeminate. Blacks as the children. Evolutionary, false. Broken.
The perfect family is a white father, a japanese mother and and and:
an adopted black child.
let us interbreed.
“Just one drop” – racists.
And the hiddened-ing of the Roman Empire in the church.
Poverty cure.
Original big business. Tasked with taxless, thanked
thankless. Tanks of world war two unloading.
fire that singes and sink cannon fodder into tumbling bodies,
German blood and eugenics seen in the crying blue eye of the sky.
Wash it all away.
JJ’s cousin committed a murder suicide.
Jealousy and heart-attacks.
So much passion, non-affilial with work.
Filial to so much more and we get along.
Its all triggered. Guns were the worst of it, place and the individual.
The church, the father the mother and the holy ghost.
White ghosts. Death, life heaven and the angles.
GOD.
Church’s control and cloak and daggers approach to race.
Reinforcements for the nazi regieme. Nice one Vatican.
And the Tax? The businesses like Colgate that got fined for cahoots with woolworths, and the fine? Where does the money get redistributed.
How does that fine function? Stupidity audited and reimbursement knowing no bounds.
The spirit of whiteness and the soul of blackness.
The conflict of the female role to be pure and clean.
A virgin Mary, the tempted Eve.
The radicalizing and hierarchy of race.
Civic buildings as representation of civilization.
Problematic. Civilized.
Colonized.
Empire.
White.
The body of Christ. The temptation. The holy, pure godlie.
Godliness.
Fathoming it all, with the rebirth and its representation of overcoming it all. Cumming over it all, interracially. Women and men. Hypersexualized getting together and breeding out all privvy privelidge.
Sperm donations. No sex, all birth is controlled and randomized.
Natural orders. Oral. Ordering, food for binary thoughts that don’t exist.
first and second races don’t exist.
We love complaining.
We will find a way to complain and “progress” – though TIM doesn’t like the word.
Our world singes.
Signing. Sighing. Inging.
Sign-post.
post shit, post that. Everything is post. The age of post.
Goalpost heads.
white poles. Symbols and signified.

“Just somebody that I used to know”

abrupt

Chameleon heartbreker.
North peace feast.
Shower, run, stomach, guitar. Get air.
Smoke lady smoke. Such a stare.
Whiteness, non/white.
Race. Sport, Competition.
first, last. Winners losers.
power privileged
sent home early.

She only read female authors.
Why?
Not for the mystery of men.
Because she was a feminist.
She wanted to feel, to know, to hear, see women.
Around her, in her mind. Dire influence.
Limiting the shelves.
Hilariously limited suddenly. Only ideas, views, perspectives of women.
almost manageable.
Imagine, what an easy break.

And then she said to me something vast;
when I asked where I came from.

“The man ‘gives’ his penis to the woman”.
Imagine the notion I got.
And what does the woman do with it?
She probably fucks that guy…
He just gives it up?!
I suppose so..
And she’s experienced with that thing? She knows how to wield it?

What a lunatic.
Lunar.
Moon.
Cheers and cheeks in the light of the night.

I wonder if that girl is seeing some guy.
And my access is gone. But i’ll see her and have the level head to ask.
That’d be real nice.
Old fashioned.
Mummamia!

The inexperience of it all.
The idea of running, running and getting swollen hands.
And I thought, if you run, your hands are cold right.
But if you relax and get warm, if you panic and stress, they will stay cold.
But you register cold because your brain is warm.
When your brain gets cold, then we’ll see real problems.
But for now, your hands are cold, relax. Let your heart swell,
pump. relax.
Only when your mind is numb and cold do you have to worry,, but then it’ll be too late. Too soon, not enough time.
I’ll run away in August. The world is small, and I will have options by then. I’d like to help but its making me depressed.
I’ll have to run, run and run and run.
I worked a little and I lost a lot.
French with a waster, uninspiring.
No chance.
I’ll go somewhere else. That i’d like to go, to go and visit.
Travel the world. Start ticking countries.

This will get me though.
Always and forever, not that anything lasts that long.
Dual citizen, heartbreak in the cold.
Heat breaks. Dissipates.
And lunch fails to help me.
That photo of cracked skin.
puffy, scaled.
Energy sapped.
Too much masturbating.
Blood on my lips.
My index.

Reminiscent of the wombats.
Client Liaison
Talking heads.
What a name what a name.
Spitting mouths
Leaking lips.
Split teeth.
Cracked smiles.
miles of maw.
more more
Words of oh.
Shapely somethings.
Mouthing muchos.
Misrepresented.
MM
The hummings.
The strum.
Moan.
Mourn.
man.
Missed chances.
Milky treats.
Teats.
Sucker punched teething.
Brittle memories.

And its all gone and my mind needs to focus and follow a thought for longer than a minute, or ten. Follow it, think it out. Scattered.
Like pebbles, stones thrown.
One hand-full into the ocean.
ripples on waves,
impossible to process until you’re outside of the environment.
Climates change.
And happiness and sadness are only memories,
the privilege of a moments reflection.
Ramming onwards, asking nothing of the moment but to experience and hope to be able to look back on it.
Last night I looked at my hands, blinking tears from my eyes,
awake.
So awake and alive.
Draining.
Sieve.
Clouds, of flour,
memories like ghosts
wafting over me,
turning my black clothes white.
no spots to damn.
Blankets and bed. Heaving chest.
Broken arms,
of back, curled and worthless.
Spouting pissed nonsense.
and the memory shrouds me.
Look at my hands,
the sky-light lets in too much.
My skin, like fine fishnets.
Scars and caves,
gouges of hidden moments.
Lost in a sort of mist.
And I reflect.
AI copies, stores what we miss.
But we must be ourselves and reflect on all the pebbles we’ve thrown.
The balls we’ve dropped.
The nutty times,
the craze of days spent-
from awaking from sleep and dreading to face the day.
To move.
Horizontal, circulation just fine.
And hoping for change.
But wishing for nothing more.

43:00

Fun and fun.

Crystals of last night.
Ferverment.
Tie me over.
Tide me over.
Broken ideas. Loss of a face, time wasted in one book will now be spent in another. Months pass. Friendships wither. But two sided we know. Recocile.
Redeem, rejuvinatate in song and in dance.
High
re re re re re re words for positive.
Express.

Travel? But I don’t even like you. We’re changing. I’m fighting for something I don’t even want. Only because it’s good to fight for something, right? My mood, what I bring to the party. 

French next semester?

Girth and girdle.
Grind and grey and be great and unmonotonized. Feeding frenzy of my soul.
Sold, sooooooooooooo low.
lad.
laid lead leaping
Licking luck of sick fucks.
Dire time of dry wanting sitting sadness.
Options me, me me, sold sadness bike and raid and riots and blood.
Red red red wine.
whine wane wane bruce boys and girls and the rain on the roof
and the truth is. I don’t want any of this.
And the revelling and the hard work and the work,
hard or otherwise, the choices. I always wanted choices. The overstimulation of ideas and my happy thoughts and the links of dumb stuff that i’ve said.
out there forever.
And the stupid opinionated chaos of boys versus girls.
And my sick sick head.
My eyes. Perspective, limited shifting stupid. Boring basic internet writing wasted shared ideas and piss.
Water bottles for feet and hands and my cheeks, red and prunes killing my insides as I focus on all the things i’ve missed and put into the wind and my heart blends and melds and melts falling beneath me into a sea of unsaid things to people I love and care about but cant because MDMA isn’t good or cheap and nobody responds and i’m careful with myself only up until a point until honestly there’s nothing left by the rust and my heart doesn’t shift like the gears on a broken clockwork bike.
Grandfather passed away.
A stroke of luck that I can put that to the back of my mind, some times but internally, i’m sifting. Broken, sick angry and polarized.

Pole axe.
ace, heart. Speed. Club. Doom. Diamonds. Girls. Dicks.
Fucking ridiculous. OUT ousses. ROUSS.
hurt the hurt the hurt.

Originality.

You’re either the Black Wiggle or an Existentialist philosopher. 

“Why not both” I ask.

Jokingly, boyishly, charm oozing out of poor pores. Lips cracking and smiling. Blood red desire for fun only. Is it shallow? 

“I’m Asking the questions, pointing the fingers”

In life, your marks Crystallise, stay and grow. A beauty of reference and

A time of difference, frozen and welcome.

“Edgy” Examples:

A poem for mothers birthday after she has passed. A girl of good company (I mourn) gives me a cutout piece of card in the shape of a heart. The heart is blue.

Blown out use.

Brittle light fuse,

Blue heart of mine. 

Blew heart of yours.

Best shrapnel leaves 

Base- shell, seethes.

Jokes: not not my best work.
I.e : in other words. “id est” 

E.g : for example. “Exempli gratia”

Insipid voice.caliph.evacassidy.

And I don’t know how to feel or focus. Hunter raises the social bar. I stay out of bars. I lack I lack. Plans made. Wanting others, company. Lost vegetable. Blood in my brain. Tidal. Hit man- hormonal. Moaning. 

Jingle of tears. The rains came and went. Thesaurus. Cross with myself over words. You’d sit, vocabulary wilderness. Black and white. Boxed in, afraid to move out. Run, free, reach.

Overarching. Wendi- dad tells me. Walk walk walk. Sore legs. Bad knee. I worry and worry. And nobody asks me. Nobody asks if I’m ok. And I’m not and they don’t ask. They don’t ask because there are bigger things at play. And I can’t bound over these hurdles. Hurling myself at White Walls. Black tasks and ordinary deeds. Run away, run away. They cry.

I am central to your plot. Parental death is killing me and us all. Oil is our imagined darkness. Fuel for corruption. King of end. And I don’t bound thoughts, I just await a melting. A down. A depression. 

Lost work, time money. Current-currency. What will I do? You don’t ask me. Nobody asks. Good question. Blushing, over share. Fear for the bigger issue in my life. 

Yes yes yes yes people are sangerous. Dangerous.