That Eureka moment.
An E day. Eggs, Ecclet, Espresso.

I wrote a poem…
She’d say that. I’m sure it was great in her head. Eyes glazed. Face drooping. So, so stuck. Sadness strikes me. I know what rain is. No wain, only pain in those eyes. Untasted salt, I hold back at the gates.
Close as I am to feeling. Sorrow and sadness. Aliteration for attention.
A ducks quack, in the storm. A cyclonic feeling inside and out. The storm dissipates, but wars within. Stillness out, turmoil in.
I’m breathing still. Beating down on the iron roof. Remembering memories. Experiencing them for longer than the moment they were. Memory over and over again. Stuck on it. Like its the same wave crashing into a barricade. And my eyes run. Because my legs can’t take me from this. The moment has passed and I have nothing to give it but my thought. My writing shows the ebbing, the wineglass- blood red, salt water. Pristine thoughts no longer.
And I wrote you a poem. And it says to keep smiling, and loving people honestly, having energy and caring and talking and sharing. But you cant. You just cant. There is nothing to give you. I am the water in a wooden coffin. A babushka, missing a vital piece. Halved and halved again. My heart, middle seams are cut.

“how can I embrace the times?” I want to be the most normal individual. But all I see are boundaries. No freedom, working only. Eating, blind and blonde. Toothless, careless post post post it all. Nothing is going in.
Not one thing is going on. Brian and I lay down together, I miss the world. Going on outside and around me. And you’ve passed, and I know what the weather is and its not event as such but the waters aren’t drunk by straw, they aren’t saved or loved anymore. My nose fills. I self harm. Swiss swiss swiss. Train tracks to no-place. And a race against time, stuck, suctioned to an instant and all of the unanswered questions. Things taken to the grave. The image of sea-sickness on the boat. The restless mornings. All the things I have to do. And me trying to escape it, trying to wreck the memory. Brian’s black eyes penetrate, menace me. Obliterate.

My rush. Eureka. E day. F day tomorrow. What will be my F word? and all this F work. all the F things that strike me at my heart. The forgotten fun, the release, “how do I do this, how do I do this, how do I do this”. And its obvious. And I can’t read the book, I can’t find the book, I can’t buy things to make it better. And the memory sticks. And i’m suctioned to the spot. Worthless metal, and medals and memories hang around my neck. Bert and Ernie fish for birds spearing fish on hooks with looks of chargrin and sadness. Only glad, moderation makes it so I don’t catch them all. “here fishy fishy fishy thoughts”. Rotten sea water swills in the bottom of the boat. And my voice is rusted. Rushide’s shadow at the oars sarcastically mouthing something. I reply: “Ark Ark”. Seals clap, thunder claps overhead and it rains again.

Its quiet again.
I told Zia what to do in Haiku. She used the word UNWIELDY, she’d had too much coffee. Comatose diagnose the gaze. The gay life of it all. Groups of friends, travelling and sharkedly following your nose. Trying on as many scents as you can. Edamame and the nudity of it. Peace cannot be attained in our current state. No darkness, nothing eternal. Not so E.
In its stead we’re stuck on decisions and thoughts and B-waves and A-waves. lapping it all in, lapping it all up, seriously considering going back on the internalized promises. “hey you walked past before and I just thought to say you’re really good looking”. The look. The two eyes. And the cyclops, single minds eye. Focus and locks. And jaws and tongues and the high bar are nothing. Olympic rings, and trinity. No testing any more, decimate, deconstruct, destroy. I esteem, estimate and fluctuate. I give my poor father nothing, and he tries. And my mood sinks into despair for everyone and everything to come. The people I surround myself with, the conversations, the shallowness, its all for nothing, I can’t pick myself up out of this. I don’t place value in it. I’m shallow, and i’m unwilling to drink myself out of this glass. Thumbnail depths, and i’d rather breath the shot in and wait for it to burn my inner lining.

We circle one another. Naval, nasal and fog. The ships. Horns blurt and echo into the night. Looking looking looking into your eye, so close. lips, breath shared. Cared for post post post. Post human, anger. Fierce individual. Callus desire. Rage and rhapsody. Tribe of past. My hairs stand on end. My tonsils require replacement. My mind is raped for consequences. If I could i’d pull down the walls, the roof, the moon and the stars. Cover me in books, and briar. Light me on fire under a twinkling bedsheet. Arms spread like the crucified. In every image: happy or sad always pretending. Wishing to just, just be entertained. Shared. Rex of fur and reciprocated. Instead failing, falling forgotten by times telling. Assassinated.

And there is no moment. Just before, during and after. Inside and outside of time. The cell, the celestial cycle. Royal and degraded. Plus or else. Otherwise – a scrambling, shambling horror. Honorary otter. Other to the humanist. Twitching twisting lyric. Music of metaphoric. DJ. Me. Meth. Metamorphic method. Loaded with thoughtfulemotions. Potions, elixirs. People together and the right mix, laying or lying in bed together listening to the people downstairs having sex. Me wanting you, sickly loving everyone attached to the moment. I comment, it was a throw away, a release that they down stairs will similarly explore and experience momentarily. I am a cyclops. Holding you as spoons do. Smelling your straw hair. I’m in a large shirt and hesitant because of the comfort. Its a basic restriction. A pushing, grating. Grinding of teeth, livable, loved un-comfort. The self oppressed. I never knew it was like this. I will do otherwise now.

Run to work, always and that’s the beginning of it all.
I forgot who I was, forgive me.
patterns of life. Exercise and cycles of best fit.
Fitness for everything.

And the book I wrote? The sound it made when I opened, closed or dropped it… THUNK.

Enjoy the weekend.
Take a smile and a poncho-
wherever you go!

The night for C. As it moves into D. Chocolate, could couscous curry chicken cup of chino cashews capsicum, cheese, cucumber and chocolate. How’s that for date night, Donoghue donuts. Devices of commentary. Shift of midnight. 

I’m awake, so awake. I’m wired, so wired. I’m alive, so alive.

Imagine if you could speak every single language under the sun. “Then you could be misunderstood by everyone..”

My mind is like an octopus, squashed under an army boot. Nobody wants to deal with and of it. A slick and slimy mess under a resentful rule of primarily primitive thinking. I am forced to submit. Tentacles reaching, helplessly. 

The future lies in phones: Phone apps for blood test. 3D printing. Food sent via phone. 

Truth lies art is what you can get away with.

My question to you? – having sex. You’re trying to get ‘there’, together, but how is choking for you? Fear sexdeath & natureculture. 

Some of the things in this world were not made for me. 

Dystopia. Dyscomfortable

The dollar bill. You bill people. Why they work for it, what they owe you. What you owe humanity. Debts are constantly falling to your feet. Bowling you over. The meaning of BILL. 
Bill. It was always my goal to write

Uninhibited…

How close are we really? How privileged…
Looks like text, not you. 

Interactions in person. 

Everything is text- 

I get it. 

But I don’t see you here. 

Beside me. 

Or do I? 

Mm – in the text. 
We’re all alone in life.

No we aren’t!

Two significant women arguing their way into and out of my life.
Smells such as perfume, clean, “alive” are different. To be alive and clean, spotless, untainted, pure: White. 
I saw a guy and a young kid riding along. The kid was freely asking questions, the older guy, bearded, dark features, was telling him: “sure I do jumps, I don’t really get scared except of the ones I’m unsure about”.

Why isn’t that kids at play? Unsure of most things somehow expressing themselves through action?

Yesterday was an A day. Apple, apricot, almond.

Tomorrow will be a C day.

Pho- weddings. 

Noodle weddings. 

Dicks only?

Women, soup and juice.

Warm, hot. Renewal fresh
Faux- false. Breaking binaries. Boundaries.

Phone as portal.

Scratch and sniffs.

Physical deliveries.

Black whole. 

Toilet service. Crap into your phone.

Gas mask

Hypodermic needle

Nail file

Knife.

Needle and thread.

Today, be beside yourself.

Have broccoli. bakedbean, beef broth with basil.
Turn blue from the cold, wonder about hot water bottles. Go to work, sneak under the radar, try and do some good work. Worry about all the things that need to be done. Feel fright, torment. A tug of war. Tragedy.

Don’t receive calls. Ride your bike, run every day. Go to the toilet. Go from random house to random house. Lock your doors.
Think about the book you meant to lend.
Hide hide hide. Spend spend spend.
Wait for insurance. Share the basics.
Alphabet ingestion. Think logically.
Speak in sing and song.
But when the lights go out, and the cold sets in. When you have no heat in your heart. That’s when if flips-
To the B side.

writing as a best expression of the human mind.
writing and speech as a binary is off.

How can we get the most out of you.
What can I learn to do.

Repetition, banality.
Beige. I need to write, to read, go free, organize groups of folks.
ask honest questions. Spend time. Wonder, feel comfortable.
Lay down, eye drooping, in a dark room and just chat.
Catch up, let the tired mind unwind.
And shoot the breeze.
Worry about nothing, pamper and think and mingle and ensmesh.
Mesh minds. Matte, new bedsheets and rest.

Clean spotless. COUP.
Munchkins and younger brothers.
Good groups of people, coming together, living and loving one another.
Beers and my headache. Rocks and sock and box.
Anger, and abs and the alphabet of food and my body and my mind.
ICE.
Try ice.
ice.
Ice.
Just give up.
And looking back and linking depression with the run-on of all these other things. And what people want and expect and ask for. And I just close down everything. I hide and say and wish for nothing but to be alone, do my work.
Read. Uninterrupted. People as dangers. Event. Happenings. Thoughts and the time I will give people. Least to love. Most to shout. Want to wish. right to passage, through time. EVERY. And the whiteness of the world. And there it all is, and my radio. Radio silence. Endocrine blood of brittle brine.
Cactus wellingtons of carnal cranial punctilio. Rude solids of chaos.
From the future, dentistry’s damage. Animalia and the language of twinkle-twinkle little star. How we all wonder and work on nonsense unbounded would wind winking foundry.

Tomorrow’s a B day.
Bricher.
Beans
Bliss balls
Bananas

My Head Aches.

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.