Music music

Potato potato

Remembering the Gig at the Odeon. Remembering your love, the Cat letter. The look you gave me, the breakdown, that sickening tea. Your cigarette breath. Before you hung yourself. That song about pregnancy. The good singing, the great feeling tonight, versus the bad of the past. 

A minted audience. Munted. Gettin low, lying to one another. Sweat dripping silence. Breathe breathe in. Orononciate. IronyX

Show us your tits””

Show us your dick

Language is poison sometimes.

Kiss every girl

People suffer: keep it simple stupid. The French woman from Paris Combo said: “just go with anyone”. Think about it after. She jokingly brought up love. Her obsession with love. 

“Peace and love” – cultural shift. Language reversal. Didactic vs the synchronic. Changes occurring out and in. In and out. In and out.

And kiss. An octopus trap in Japan. The repetition of someone’s name. Exotic, illiptic. Nosebleed stuff.

Rush the biscuit

Risk the biscuit
I feel like that’s when you’ve got a cup of tea, right. Then you double dunk your cookie and it becomes dangerous trying to transport it from tea to mouth because it’s become so wobbly and soaked. It may have even broken off with the second round of saturation. Becoming dislodged from the dry bit still in your hand. Look what you the author have instigated. 

A flotsam of biscuit bits. Crummy icebergs. Clumps. Gluggy tea. Unpalatable, unstable. Dangerous liquid. The slip of pigs, orange brown. Unusual darkness. 

Cross! (Angry) cross-con-tamiNUTion.
I upended a walnut and found a cashew. I opened the cashew and fount a pea. I put it under the bed. That night I dreamt of change. My mind ached with my back the next day. The pea became a princely peanut, still in its husk. I drank water to help my voice. And Nuttelvilles butted! I nutted out thoughts of things and food stuffs.

Childhood.-

Watching a cartoon animated movie. Maybe with the cousins? The characters are in the circus, the villain is the bad guy.

I remember flying planes.

It’s like land before time.

I must ask.

Weeks apart and you ask.
I get my hair cut.
You are Peter, or Paul. I am Patrick.
We’re all saints.
My neurosis about clippers. The snapshot image of hair.
Buzz cuts, frayed hair. Split ends.
Moles. Moses. Mold. Fungus. Feet.
Cravings, cutting. Wrists Wits, angles.
up and down, sex. apple. Crayon. Pink.
Connotations. Associable. Friendships and barriers.

The memory of spooning you, of dancing with you.
Around my waist. Thighs locking. Hugging, holding. Sweating,
bouncing singing. All of that a close memory. So distant.
Dusted.

Calling people off phones. Those phone bills, unlimited access.
The briefs about the people, the strangers that people are calling.
i’m sorry I missed you party.
I’m obsessed with sex. Forgive me.
Wait, in the darkness of my room.
Listen to music, think think react. Write, think.
Avoid people; drinking and smoking.
My old bones, and ideals. Only holding and hugging.
It would be so easy to ask.
Just come over. Lay with me.
My room a mess, a meddley of colour and ideas.
Ensmeshed with poor taste and anxiety.

lets play the name game.
Everyone introduces themself.
I hand out a piece of paper.
I declare the name of the game “a miniscule mystery”.

The grey. The dying.
Jess, Patrick, Laurence, Shaun, Jacob, Mia, Trevor, Josh, Jackson, Brian (the lion), Kat, and they all write. And they all put their answers in the hat. They write down one name. And then I keep all the names.
I know the name that got written the most. That is all.
No more meaning may be read.

Another game-
Introducing other people in the group. Breaking down what you know about them. Objective, shallow. Asking for stories, asking for descriptions. Creative. Shallow, sweeping, basic, hurtful, painful, ordinary: revealing.

Coffee today with a girl, that’s a friend. and a friend of a friend. I don’t know why we met up really. I was just curious and she didn’t seem to mind.
It was all very strange. As I wondered. And asked questions. And shared and tried to help. I hope she’s ok. I’m not.

Whathave you been up to patrick> Oh not much, sacrificing sleep for partying, riding to parties in goodwood, dancing with strangers, avoiding girls I don’t know. Talking loosely, drinking heavily, feeling numb and disjoineted, jumbling words, working hard, trying at university, talking at salamanca, fasting, binge eating, wishing, waiting wanting, thinking, stalling, spending being generous, oversharing, creating ordeals. Disconnecting from conversations. Stari staring. now i’m writing with my eyes closed. I feel like i’ve got a flow. I could fall asleep i could I really could this post will ogo on. Eyes closed. Like that titcanic song. Jack. Hugo saying stuff about smoking, bongs and boring things. Facial hear. People hnging out under the hairy tree in Salamanca. Driinking beer, low socio economic. The feel of the keeps is wrong I just checked to see where i’m at.

Still lost. Sad. Tears sneak up on me sometimes.
That awful skinny french man.
Tyler, looking far too skinny. Not believing in god. Smoking.
Unsavable.

What’s your CREED?

I have advice to give and things to keep.
So much to share, so many secrets.
No manipulation. Out of control, animalistic, instincts. all for sex.
Kids, beautiful honest growing things. Monsters. Globe eyes.
Watching, mimic, feerful, excitement.
The next gen-
jen jen.
Gesture wildly. See a show, same shit. Life is short, so you must get away.
too long between being on the tools.
and my mind bubbles.
Too much coffee, a haircut and silence.
A change, not so dramatic.
Yoga tomorrow. Zen me out.
Breakfast of porridge or museli. I can never spell that word first time.
ASTERISK. strange.
And it all comes down.
I feel like i’m not in control of what I do.
I can stand by my self.
I think of love and its relation to betrayal.
Fuck. those close to your heart.
I am immune. I am shared, I will give.
Fuck me fuck me fuck me.
I just want to share, I want to be held. By anyone.
I am ambitious. I will share, I want to know everyone,
What makes them tick.

Drives them on. No acid in their eyes. Clear and functional.
not made up, fake or shallow.
round characters, not flat.
Humanist. Unsolvable, definable, mathematics.
Unable to define itself, using itself. Just a finely crafted point to explain other models. The stuff of physics and confused notions of brilliant organics. The systems and models that we all see in reality.
The colour t.v. the shows, the books, the nature, the popular, the culture, the abuse, the slang that jargon.
No grey. I want the mystery of grey.
Lets tap into it.
Orgasmic in the un-names.
Hyphens everywhere.
No shortening to the task.
Take it.
words running into one-another.
everything interrelated.
Injected with truth and other meaning.
Creative. Loss, lost.
six, theft. Lust of nine,
miss of eleven. chaos of twelve and the lack of luck for thirteen.
Seven brings it back and we all play honesty.
and you’ll never know.
And you don’t say the mantra so you cheat and you cheat and you cheat.
And you don’t define, so you never cheat.
You opperate in this psychotic, psychosis. No-
philanthropists will come. Nothing to be shared anymore.
Just grey mist.
Master of all scything statements.
Glinting laze. and scintillation
scathed, scyths glint.
And we rebel.
revelling. Mia! Mia,
MIANMA. Buy some clothes while you travel, I love your tripped, wripped jeans. ripper.
Jack, who’s name was Liam.
We were stoned. Sanga was confused. I was useless.
And it was all reductive and useless.
He took another hit because he was about to bottom out.
6 minutes after his last hit.
That unlucky, whitening feeling.
Wilting. Waining. Heart-fainting.
love me love me love me.
I’m thinking of you.
Thinking of you all.
Twinkling. Wine. Glitz.
The ritz and Ida Adams tits.
Your proper name isn’t that, is it?
Ellen. Smart girl, of Hong Kong.
Sick sister and I wish I knew more.
I wish I knew.
Family family.
A Type-A personality.
The jokes the jokes.
lame, flailing. Nothings.
Fuck me fuck me fuck me.
And you leave early.
and the flowers wilt.
Han’ flower.
Potato potato spud.
Tomato Tomato you’re a cunt.

Split callus.
Sore feed. Tired kidney.
Drunk, muscle relaxants.
Strange topics and dealing with grief.
A friend throwing a drink all over me.
Accidental, loss of control.
Lost.
My stomach churns.
Filled and wanting to burst.
Feeling the worst.
a thirst, seated on the beach.
The sun warming me.
Headstands, balance and bridge.
Home to an open fridge.
Mean, meat meat meat.
Too long between meeting, messages sent.
Study done, yawns and the tried and true ways and means.
So lost, with the things I wanted.
The death of the author.
As soon as its written the moment is lost.
The person is crippled, expunged.
Changed. Flux. Vacuum.
Girls adding me.
Mean mean mean, violent headbutting, star gazing.
Moment. The girl I had a crush on, went out with my friend that stole my ex, who’s best friend I slept with and spent Christmas with and broke her heart.
Writing poems, and still I see her at the airport.

People, dangers to one-another.
Why do we commune,
how do I leave you all alone?
I’ll jog again tomorrow, just to get some perspective.
Waving at exes in new black cars.
Walking and walking.
The beach, swimming.
Eating rosemary.
unsuggesting. Worrying over work.
Wondering. Wishing, hoping.
Being a hypocrite.
Haircuts. Splitting hairs, so hot.
warm, wrecked.
My body, growing and groaning.
Lost and typical.
work to be done.
Friends to be won.
Hidden away- opinions and connotation.

Are words in the linguistic system made up of Parole and Langue. 

If both; then the denotation, “literal meaning” goes beyond sight. The understanding aligns with the colour.

Connotation: pink.

I starts- the meowing. Not back for a party, unaware if my roster. 21cents. Who knew.

I feel like I tapped into something real tonight, something thoughtful. Thought provoking. 

How do I come across? Needle in my arm, reactions, everywhere. “No corn in there”

Joke with names. Little points, noticing things. Detailed. Examples: little grey areas, mystery and magic. Cards, games and guess work. Always knowing the bottom card. Drink, drink, drink, tea, tea drink.twelve o’clockx

Free bed for the night. Meals had. I talked about what made us all the same. Problems and games. Fonte, fabric the same. 

Kills me. You wear a suit, play the game and smear shit on the walls? Play bondage games, fuck two people in the same bed. But won’t do business with someone with pink hair?! Fuck you. 

And here I am wrapped up in the nerosis and hypocritical behaviour. Fatness, anger, tired, skinny, bored. Crashing into cars, hurting myself. Breaking down. Skipping what matters. 

It breaks my guarded hearts. Plugs my arteries. Bites my swelling wrists. Ancient enjoyment. Tired eyes, cups of fertile waters. Mosquitos, finding right. 

Me right, the blood-

The blood.

Today. In proper.
In a formal way,
G’day a wave. to him and her.
and left behind and smile and reconcile.

And write. and throb and laugh and joke and be silly and drink this and that tea. tea. tea. The things that matter such as family.
The sucking of a poison. The propping up. The comfort and caring.
The disjoint of want and need and priorities.
What I can do, what I want to feel.
Want to do.
Hope and happiness.
Regret. stuckness. signs.

I’m but a chick. A babe.
a young thing.
Silence with pa.
He knows I need to be able to hold a barrel.
Silent anger.
It must be tiredness.
Hunger.
Peace.
Fill the void, the pit, the pain.
Fill it with feelings, with wants.
With fucked up needs.
And even these you don’t.
Just give up your life.
Effect nothing.
Just brains in things you barely understand,
lets understand like me.
Oh you don’t?

No fun. Too deep.
No hatred, or prejudice;
-well thats nice.
kind of.
That’s kind.
of a sort above the sad, the shameful.
Dishonest, as I am with myself.
And the wish, the hope that i’d be helping someone out.
And in my spare time,
Not getting cooked-
Not forgetting.
I was in a mood, careful, scared. Underfed and angry.

Carrots man. Carrots.
Beer, frustration.
Chill, cans, can-can.
Dance and hang and shower and shave and wash and cut me.
Cut my hair.
my wrists, my clothes.
My guts.
Gust from their open wound.
And to my surprise, though I spill out of myself.
My mind worrying.
Trying to keep it all in, trying to stay clean.
Hygiene.
My guts fall on the floor, to the dirt.
I get a pine needle and some tiny rocks.
I lean over, feeling dizzy and faint.
Like I could vomit from the sack that hangs out and is squeezed by gravity.
My throat swallows, like a pipe, all shook up in a thunderstorm.
I taste blood, and water seems to come out my nose.

I blow the dirt from my innards.
“My gizzards are a colour i’ve never seen”- purple – I think.
Pulsingly.
I blow a rasping and spittle filled breath.
My throat is dry, like the roadsides of Australian dessert.
Clay and roadkill fill my nose.

I am a god of dray.
Dry bones can be seen. The elements have changed on this world.
I am sunken.
I am blackened.
My eyeballs are pitch and glinting and starved.
My nose is small and shrivveled back, back.
I have nothing to lick with, and my skin is scrunched up paper.

My arms (and this is truly) truly hurt.
Left, all day. Pulse, pulse.
Like i’m pulling hairs down my forearm, only not.
Not at all, not quite even.
The vein is raised.
I might be dying.
I am dying.

Delete my me.
get rid of me, of it all,
technology first.
social suicide.
killer, bland, people.
all different, I share among them the fear of other.
I will be rational only for a minute more.
and my arms!

I must have slept.
And walked.
“sleep-walked”.
I remember waking up in a field,
it was dewwey, I was tired and freezing cold were my feet.
But everyting else was ok.

My right arm hurts. But closer to the elbow.
My left shin.
My breath is ok.
Appetite is fine I suppose.
Phone buzz, phone buzz.
Fuck off.
I’m dying can’t you see? This is IT.
I ate all the chicken.
With garlic.
and the curry was poor.
I tried, try to do it all for everyone.
But I try too much, too hard.
give and give and give.
well fuck all of you.
There is no rush, no race.
Timing and all that.
I will revolt you.

There is options, I sweat.
shins and forearms sore.
And I swear, as my insides tear, and
my ears and eyes tear up at the senses.
The numbness and bone deep tiredness.

I take one thing away.

I blow upon my intestines,
to clean.
But to my surprise,
unrecognised by you in my eyes-
as a surprise.
But my guts dry.
I mean shrivvel.
Like cat-gut.
Like old ferns with ropes tied around and around.
Bulbs and knots and dry.
So dry.
My breath is so dry I could exhale forever. My lungs with punctures.
Ears dripping, punctures.
Nose dripping, wheezing.
Eyebrows twitching over pits.
The nose, pointed, sharp to cut apples.

And I fashion a noose.
Two rings, I saw on youtube.
Joined at the middle and round and round and round.
Wrapped up.
Arms burning now.
Legs heavy.
Tired from the dripping.
The loss, the moss under my feet.
Overmy- head.
and always thinking.
the loss, the pain of loss.
The pain and the pleasure of pain.
and one and the other.
And my needless god-damn-wants.
I want it all to end.
I want comfort.
I want what I want,
I want time.
I need to think, and be loved.
I need time, and context
conversationg accost me.
I stole your compliments,
I stood on my head.
I fed myself well.
I held it together,
in my right arm a noose,
held loosely-
The cachophony of my mind.
The phoney feelings.
The reeling of cat-gut.
The smut and smell.
My sharp nose.
My beady eyes.
Singlemindedness.
No more distraction.
I strangle myself that night, and all the next day with my own intestines.
Dried out by my own meaningless breath.

Cut him down.
Throw him among the pillows.
Roi- ROI- ROI.

Are colours consistent? Do you always see the same colour or do they change depending on your mood. I’m feeling bad, i’m feeling jealous, I’m feeling yellow, seeing green, overcome with red. But the shades are changed.

“Well use these as proof, that you’re slowing losing your mind Patrick” – Thanks Rhys.

Friends, that see you that sculpt and contribute to you, they all have a shard.
They are sharks. Parks of green. Feelings, moods assumptions.
I dress how I feel.
“confused, colourful, wild, crazy”.
What impoverished, shallow and reactionary things to re-butt.

Checking phones, getting messages.
Needing to be the recluse.
Leaving early, fearing the future.
caught up with ideas.
assumptions.

Kissing the head of the nuns.
Poppy Seeds.
Lost Child.
Betrayal Bonding.

Meaning, interpretation, perspective and importance.
They aren’t shared always. Not thought words.
What’s the significance of the back of the parking ticket.

Sos- oh much to read.

And the tea is strong.
And the peppermint is false.
Third grade. Toilet trained skerricks of flavour.
No trust in my own spelling. What is wrong with me.

And the tea is false, and the glue that holds the tag to the bag is too strong, just,
so the bag always rips and suddenly the t-bag has become loose leaf tea. And the cup is chaos and it rages and storms. Choking me.
Strangulation,
try everything once.
And that conversation topic died.
And seeing people I didn’t want to see..
And getting drunk and forgetting names.
And laughing and running and not burning out so to speak but having the time and the energy and the motivation and the lights and the bulbs and the signifyer and the signified. and meaning and defining a word and the creation process.
Its all a bit complex and heady.
like a beer.
I say beer and its a triangle of information, or a circular flow.
I say a word, you think a similar word, we keep thinking similar words.
We should be able to bounce back to similar things quickly.
That would be an interesting rule. Every fifth or seventh we have to revert back to a word.

Black,
jet,
boy,
girl
black

Blue
sea
water
drop
drip
clean
Blue.

The word game.

We played punderdome.

I my have truly lost my mind.
See-Sawing with father.
Guinness advice. Loud talking and stupidity.
Let downs.
Impossible smarts, poor introductions.
Wasted time, effort and time and effort and time and effort and time and effort and time and effort and time and efffort and frrtime and effort and time and effort and timed.