Dying of a breakage.
Suffering from a leakage.
Hurting from the top-
down. It wont stop.

I rock and feel.
Ill rail until sick.
I fell, like you.
and tore my shoe.

Avoiding people. Painting bliss.
Its you we miss.
And they’re ringing. ringing.
All we shared. Games.

You just sitting there,
waiting for us. “FAROUT”
That’s what you’d say.
Sitting round just talking.

Thats what you say.
It sound horrible. Horror.
Sharing secrets, the special.
My broken heart, anger.

Fury, feet just running.
Running from it all.
Until my soul wearies.
Snot running, rivers dripping.

My schooling life, me.
And all of us,
You contributed, giving always.
Always had time, worried.

I rememeber when, when…
When you ran. Remember?
At the botanical gardens.
I hid, you fretted.

Anything could have happened.
And when I left!
When I went away.
This year, I said.

And I said, and…
I said so much.
You cried to see.
To see me go.

I’m guilty, so sorry.
I promised, you “again”
You’ll see me again.
Can you promise dead?

What are you doing?
I ache, cry, throb.
Agony? No, not really.
I have a void.

A mistake was made,
Like slipping, a noose.
A perfect circle there.
Hanging, ink, plugs, pins.

Pins and needles, Crikey.
Alriiiight. Whack-a-doo.
you never liked tea.
“wanna play a game”

Everything made you cry.
Awkward, and in-touch.
Drinking like a ship.
Smoking like a chimney.

You always stayed afloat.
You and I talked.
Those late nights, awake.
Chatting, glinting eyes, static.

Gardening tomatoes, the chicken.
The cat. What happened?
And therapy, we together.
The meaning, and connection.

A cry for help,
not enough, and me?
Shallow, push and pull.
Said: The special one.

More cliches than sport.
I will run. Chew.
Spit, bite, regret, wish.
Wonder at why why cant you just leave me alone.
you have a big mouth.
I’m a piss head.
I’m a drunk.
Fuck you.
Leave me alone.
Shut up.
How are you going?
Di the pie.
Jedi!
I reckon.
True.
And its all gone.
And I’m just here fucking numb, useless running coward that always wondered at the possiblility of easing and enjoying and making the continuation possible.
I didn’t.
I left.
I ran. And you didn’t have the foundations, my support.
Your job was done and now you’re a tragedy.
Another, a gonner. A statistic, my only one.
My anger and resolve and my regrets and sadness and fury and fears.
A pressure point of my mind, resounding, yellow like the blossoming sunflower.
Pulsing with hurt.
A seeded thought am I.
Distrupted and disturbed.
And I don’t want to do anything.
I don’t want to share.
I don’t want to talk,
or eat, or smile, or cheer up,
or get on with it.
This awareness, this dread is hell.
And the connections.
The sadness, the leanness.
The simple minded,
I know more,
I have had and known more than so many.
And less that far more.
In the middle of a dream,
a nightmare, a moment.
Freedom, resign.
Pointed hurting- and you said you wanted me to do this, and that, and now I will.
I’ll do them for you.
and nobody will know. This will be be the thing, deeply seeded, dark purple and green.
I’ll be greedy with this feeling, numb to the rest.
I will armour you where you couldn’t.
And I will grow, and I will spread and I will be OK.
I will break your father’s cycle.
I will look after myself and others.
Preach and love and share.
But not all.
My big mouth, my regrets I will hold.
Scar tissue.
Feelings of midnight-
oil for the lamps.
Red hot, chilli peppers rub on my eyes.
And that woman, who was she?
The singer.
K D LANG.
I’ll listen to K D Lang.
And every time you listened to her, we knew.
I remember dad shouting “you think they don’t know”
And the secrets, and the shame,
and the tipping, and the hide and seek.
And now its all over.
Its all over everything.
And I don’t know what to say.
I’m still.
Shocked still.
There is no regeneration.
Raw and painful.
Stunned to silence.
And everyone is so genuine, and alien.
And I’m mute.
And and alone. As I want.
And I remember mum saying “you’re not going to marry her at Nigara falls are you”.
And I laughed.
Oh yes, she made me laugh more than she made me cry.

Cold heart, soft gasps.
Sobs and warm skin.
Soft moist space between
sleeve and eyes. Blubbers-
Ragged moans. Rich, raw-
On my knees, salt.
Forearms and head resting
their riot on the bed.
Scrunched up to insignificance.
The silent void between
blood, action. Stationary, shivvering.
Scratching silence eat at-
my soul. Patient thought,
The difficulty doing, nothing.
And nothingness, so garbled.
Vomited and gobbled I
gasp. gasp. gasp. gasp.
Air scorching my tear
stained cheeks. Your happy
memory, the prison memory.
regret and unspoken fears.
Death doesn’t level. Revealed.
And we revel in it,
when it does not influence.
It does, its here.
She’s here now, she’s…
here now and she’s.
gone.
I grind my teeth.
Remember and remember. Remember?
Think. Ok? Think! Ok.
Everything we shared.
The skin and bones,
“oh god”
A sinking, tied feeling.
I could be laughing
if not blind with tears.
ABYSS. Tragedy and droplets.
Silent curse and break.
“oh god”
An opportunity?
Pull over, break down.

He took it pretty badly.
She took both the kids.
I’m not standing by-
to watch you slowly die.
I wish I wrote a letter.
I wish I saw you.

SECOND again. Silver lining

I’m mortal and more.
Shattered, stuck, confused, angry, so afraid, torn up, emotional, rattled, mad, sad, destroyed, scattered, frozen, isolated, alone, morbid. I am without consolation.

O mother, mother!
What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
The laugh at.

Mine eyes sweat compassion.
Be Italian peace then.

Guiltless procrastination.
Compliments comply.
Buy toilet paper.
Watch the snow.
Write a poem.
Send a few messages to people you don’t really talk too all that much.

Read a thing, write some other things.
Listen to music.

Sadnecessary
Sadnessay
Sadnest.
Sadnespas.

Words in a sense of effluvium.

SMALL FUSSES OF A CAFE DINER

When croissants are square.
When you’re given a glass and asked for a cup.

WE HAVE NO PAST,
NO PRESENT
AND NO FUTURE
WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN.

HIS WHITE ROBES STAINED YELLOW.

The small things in your day.
Are they formative?
1 step
1 pebble from everest.
1 drop of water from the ocean.

I WONDER HOW… (unfinished thought)… never to be remembered.

Morning Pattern of Routine:
Breakfast / tea
Duolingo
Teeth
–> Freedom.

What are the negative health impacts of sleeping upright?

Why don’t you sleep upside down?
-“your head would explode”

Magnetism vs gravity

Sleeping with your head facing north.
Sleeping with your feet pointing south

THE SOUTH SEEKING SPOON!

And how the is so commonly used
The this.
and the that.
80-88% of words used.
Weird, mathsy wonders.
Like shuffling a deck of cards and to possibilities.
Mind blowing.
I feel uninspired.
Tired, and dry skinned.
I should probably try and sleep this feeling off.
But ever when you feel under-it you can put your feelings to good use.
Perhaps the challenge is going to sleep.
I mean after all its getting on. The evening keeps slipping clutches.
Like me today in the snow.
Crossed the bridge and watched the elegance of ice skating.
Folks doing their merry very best.
Stops: shhh-kthhhh-tting.
Corners, speed, newbies and the pros.
Mingling, avoiding kids that have been thrown in the deep end.
I had candy today, and swam, and went to the gym, and 3 classes.
All is done for the year but for four exams.
What a marvelous time.
I should be inspired, and I am.
But not-a-body is like me.
and I feel the barrier raised this evening.
Someone told me I looked like Waldo.
I said all I needed was a stripey shirt-
Naturally I would hop to the purchase as soon as possible.
AND WHEN I DID, I GUESS THEY’D SEE ME ROUND. OR WOULD THEY.
I laughed hysterically because the feeling came naturally to me.
I will need to focus tomorrow.
People are hunkering down for this winter.
I got my book out, did some gluing and decorating of my room.
I feel full. Tight belt.
Tight lipped.
Stymie eyed.
Sweet earl grey tea with milk for dessert was my treat this evening.
Life’s grand plainities. Plainness. Austere.
Study young man.
Hit the books. No, no.
Teeth, books, bed.

T.S Eliot (who Australian’s make sound like C.S. Eliot). Strange to notice.
I will do some projects during the week, try to reign in my fountain pen.
This fountain of recorded unimport.
I’m sorry.
No i’m not. This is what I do.
Journal.
Good habits.

Tomorrow will be better.
make the best of a bad job.
“make the best of a bad thing”.
Jesus god.
Sausage dog.
Weak to my bones.

The romanticism.
The decline.
The denial.
The silence.
The mind games.
The wrong move.
The “you know what i’m thinking”
MY anger.
You idiot.
You fucking moron.
You could just ask normal questions.
Instead you build this hype around me.
Congrats, you made me agitated.
“people I’ve known in the past have been very blunt”
And I let you affect me.
And you were affected.
I imagine a play now.
Its exactly the relationship that happens in fight club.
My, to analyse that film.
Resentment.
Hot blooded.
Adrenaline.
Dinner.
Rest.
Fury.
Gym.
Wasted.
Talk.
Plans.
Drugs and party.
Stress. Shame, regretting- simple thinking.
Constructs, un-liked.
Sickly.
And my eyes.
My feelings.
The shock.
My blurt.
My hurt.
Your stupid, torture of me.
Thank you for reminding me how people are the most dangerous thing.
The challenge, to pit yourself against another in a fair game.
We’ll strike me.
Strike this match.
my red nail of my thumb held up to you.
Everything I create I do so with the false face.
My touch of hand.
My crease of smile.
Only holds your attention for a short while.
All things permanent recede and waste.
The bitter taste,
Immune to toothpaste.
Getting high they said,
off to smoke and chill.
Forewarned, wary asking questions.
Truth and jealousy.
Immunity and fracking.
And how my mind regrets and boils-
hot prints in the snow, backtracking.

These boils, lumps and stitches.
Knots and dryness.
Sore back.
Stretched and slack.
Put upon the rack.
And burned, oiled and foiled.
My genuine feelings, safety and awkwardness.
I’ll play the coward now.
And that hug was a mistake.
Put it on ice they said.
And there’s a rink across the bridge.
Rainbows and unicorns.
Perhaps i’ll check it out-
as you begin to moan.
One rubber glove.
My sickness.
Tormented.
Wash, soap!
Rinse toothpaste.
Cut wrists.
Hanging from the roof.
Suffocating, the heat of room unnatural.
Fearless. Fuming. Lit.
And the dregs of society spawn.
And we are all that.
Unless we somehow find a way.
look at the door, in the abandoned trunk of a tree.
And find shelter from the tempest, on the horizon you might see.

Shaking hands and making a friend.
And zones and areas that cannot bend.
If once the barrier comes down.
Like mono brow’s calamitous frown.
And nothing we can ever mend.
And garden’s dry as desert’s end.
Blind we mask and cover eyes.
And feelings we should have disguised.
And masquerading nobility-
I regretted my honesty.

Because I wanted someone, close and normal.
And now its fucked, polite and formal.

I become uncomfortable, about sense and feeling.
All these pitched battled; wheeling and dealing.
It has me reeling, riotous with anger.
And Coriolanus would shame and hang her.

I trust with wallet, sound and fury.
Headphones in, look for another story.

I break my back,
And create the din-
We all mistook, what we took in.
Because my laughter is personal,
malpractical jury.
Sentence me with syllables.
My unknowable purity.

A dirty word.
Horrible to work with-
Purity I heard.

Nasty knives sure.
Blood-letting by shiv-
Shepherd without cure.

Curious natured slave
Wonton I not believe
Welcoming my grave.

Nasal, vocal praise.
Whole full of teeth.
Now darkness raise

In this disguise.
Pyres jumping rise implies.
…Blood stained teeth, and muddied thighs and a million why and all mean, men, women are guys. Rectifying highs, I despise, you as macdonald fries, social lies and lays and ways for blue jays to betray old and new ways. First place sickness, as if a prize. Rubbing together like tortoise infected with flecked salt and peeling skin. Wrinkled, cactus of old and morbid shell. You shall not hide from the fire. Boil and become soup. You sick pill of ill will and maladjusted scheme. No fitness in my mind have you, but a despondent unwieldy flummox. You broken trampoline. Alien phallus! Wicked garbage bag. Splinter!

Oh Sisyphus, what will tomorrow bring.

That corrupt guy that explains to the woman.
Before the game and we all laughed and played valiantly.

While running I abscond to my mind, accosted by trace memories.
I’m not sure if its an feeling of exercise, that causes the thought-
However its common while running to remember different, similar times and places.
These running routes that I retrace in mind.
As the rat-a-rat, strides of legs, fleet footed, punching of distance.
Energy coursing through me. And the waft of memory-
Olive oil. Pine needles. I think of Rhodes. I think of Florence.
Something sweet. Sometimes sweat. I think of the food I ate.
I think of the women I’ve known. Relationships-
Passions brief and others entirely mental.

One scent is the divergence.
A taste of the past-
leading to tangent.
My roads end coils and tangents.
Pungent; could be the divergence-
leading me into or our of the wood.
Offtrack perhaps, three options : always.
Not two roads. But more.
//////////////////////////////
You understand. We could run among the brier.
Over grass and dew. Mud slips or gravel.
Hills with sights of rainforest gullies.
Breathe in the air. Its smell.
Its unique animosity to the creature passing by.
Resistance, or blessing.
Sun beating down
Snow falling.
Sleet or rain slather the ground.
Eyes running. Snot dribbling.
Sweat stinging your eyes.
Yes, last night was a big night out.
And I skipped breakfast-
I’m so weak.
Rememeber that day, the other day.
Yesterday (but not really yesterday)
expression!
The other day, last week (a month ago) or once upon a time.
I ran on an empty stomach.
I ran immediately after eating a banana.
Thiry minutes after two weet-bix.
And the hill, the great hill of congress st.
That would always be my check.
I would assess.
“Imagine is pokemon was real”
“Parental troubles”
“Thoughts of girls I know”
“Remember when I felt great”
“I’ve done this before, this is easy”
“Wow, today i’m really struggling”
“What have I been thinking about”
“I am so out of it today, so weak”
“My sweat stings my eyes today”
“That guilty, slow, larconic, narcotic grin I bear”
I’ve grown to give other runners the thumbs up as I pass them now.
Passing others quickly as I overtake, counting them like a success.
Or if they are coming towards me, I happily make eye contact.
I feel like a shepherd. People are my cattle.
The well-to-do runner.
A paragon of good, and well expelled evil.
Unproductive caring, and reflection. That is my running.
Stolen, sickly sweet energy.
Smell. Grinning. Sweat.
The expression of self.
My fear of being run over by a bus.
headphones in, or full freedom.
Listen to my heart, my nothing.
Streaming down to road, foot-falls for company.
The briefest image of a passerby.
That comfortable eye contact, I smile and wave.
I think.
I reckon its the safest socializing strangers can partake.
I’m happy doing my own thing as I pass you by.
I cast towards you, all my hearts goodly reassurance.
Its OK. Do as you want. Life’s goodness.
But is this because of the safety of the brief?
No commitment.
Honest, uninterrupting.
Thoughtful, minor effect.
I am a ripple of a thought far off.
A decision from home has me passing you by now, and maybe never again.
You see me, I see you.
I smile. I feel great. With no plan, and my only direction is onward, forward.
Its a brilliant safe, satisfactory, needless.
I pass by, think on you for the briefest.
I let you into my life. Empathy lights up in my mind.
And then, like my passing you, the thought passes.
I have taken you into my heart and mind and I wish you all the best on your journey but I won’t take any action towards you. I can only project and mirror how I feel.
And that is an act, a well thought out bluff. I enjoy running. “I would love to stay and chat”, might be what I stay. There are different layers. Many many wings.
And these wings are my freedom.
My cure is cadence
Beat and bounce
pace of pulse
Measuring me meter.
Victory of velocity
Success of speed
Reaction and rate.
Movements momentum
Expression and energy
Free flying feeling.
Running’s revolution-
raw and real.
I am a pulse of blood under skin.
Of thoughtless floating.
Levitation, with good grounded rapport.
Sneakers soft.
Tight toes.
Lowing legs.
Cracking knees.
Popping joins.
Sighing muscles.
Spitting lips.
Wipe face.
Thoughtless arms.
Core’s push.
And once again we’re off, smiling assurance.
The grim grin.
Stark eyes tell small truths.
But I won’t stop.
Think not but long.
Nonpareil.

-Interruption-
Put some pants on!
Met this guy, very handsome chap.
Know’s my heart and soul.
Humongous muffled*

Listy-Listi-Lista-Liste-Listo_rama
Lets get real.
Water. Water.
Hot wine.
Hot mess.
Exercise.
Denial of attraction.
The awkward conversation.
I’m not interested in you that way. The friendzone.
The house party setting. Girls everywhere.
Drunk people excited. Me, not drunk.
Not drinking. Chatting normal things.
Talking shnuuz! Shnoos. Snoos. Snooz.
Talking one night stands, how poor they are.
Talking language.
Speaking tongues.
Bags of tricks, drinking games.
So many blondes.
Wha-whe-why are you not attractive.
And those that are, oh those, those girls that are attractive.
Sure. To be good-looking is all well enough.
“What’s your story”
“What’s happiness to you”
“What do you do”
“What are your hobbies”
Sure, but in a party environment – its tough. To be engaged.
Attention spans. Humour, ulterior motives.

What would placebo say. Nancy Boy.
I’d go out for coffee. No expectation, strictly excitement, dancing, enjoyment, smiling eyes and skin. But no. Not that, not that at all.
Instead, sitting like happy Buddha, contented and unsharing as if to say: Its ok, don’t worry. I’m just here to be entertained. If not? I’ll just wait.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
nodding their heads in sprightly dance.

October 8th. Polaroid Camera – “Real Memories”

Roxanne- Philosophy Class.

Character:
Prospero
Marke change.

The sanctimonious charms of sliced bread have deserted.
Hindsights, comforts of my day to day with the plan in hand, has now no sweetness.
Solace tells tales of mirrored gold.
Truly time has shrunk those-
thought, for I am growing old.

The ripple, across my minds chasm.
Like a black eye. Aye.
Paints pretty pictures, imaginary and unseen by you and I.

Eggs, Bacon, Potatoes, Ham-
Things like this…

Free turkish coffee
Pastries. Chocolate.
Come again, come any time.
(Thankyou Nancy). Oh boy.

Like IS literally.
But opposite.
Like is the old.
Literally in the new.

Radshop.com
“Peanutbutter Jumper”

Antoine
Christy

Hold yourself (myself) to a lie.
-To believe oneself.
*To believe anything.
*COMMIT

You could jump the fence and throw bricks at bricks and still have fun.
17th September. 2016. 02:31

The effects of candles and cutting gemstones.
Eyes.

Victor.
Emma.

Ethical Dilemma:
Getting someone, who asks for money to do something for you.
23:34.
One handed pushups.
He did it. And got $20.

Joel- Brisbane
Santiago- Chile
Andreas- Chile
Piere- Belgium *electrical engineering
Brian- England. Nah nah it was Calum, wasn’t it?

Visit Yellowstone national park!

We measure hardness using the Mohs Scale.

Philip Dittberner -Woke40

What’s a farce? 14th September. 20:55.
A comedy! Improbable! Absurd!

TO DIE IS DUST.
NOTHING LOST TO SOMETHING MORE.

Vegan – To incorporate and idealist philosophy into ones life.
Negating your footprint.
Thems the times.

Vegetarial reception.
Vegetarian “On the cusp of being one”

Is it possible to maintain eye contact? 14th Sept, 2016, 12:51

WRITE CHARACTERS (stillhaven’tgotroundtothat)

Write Alex
Write a foreword of Lindsay
Write and Adventure for Jon
A creation of Tim (the robot)

“You just grew up, and somehow I missed a big part of it. It happened didn’t it?”

So much has changed
You look so different.
You used to be so small and thin.
Barley an influence on the world.
Your pale skin.
And way hair curled.
Rich and red, blue jeans.

Ma tasse de/du *teh
Ce n’est pas ma tasse de *teh

Raising our children makes us human.
Your very own children.
Be shameless.
Sacrifice yourself, your dreams.
Work, earn, protect. Make it.
They won’t realize what you’ve done.
All that love, soaked into the fibre of your being.
Made, mended. Man…
and the see-saw is way way-
up, up! Up. There, and it will come crashing down.
I foresee it. I’m an agent perhaps. A herald.
I’m a worrier, not a warrior.
I fear when people look after themselves,
rioted with guilt and fear.
Self-destructive. A time of plenty:
Fueled by the love, attractions and affections of family.
We have been to war, and I see it again.
But it will be us, that reign down.
How could we possibly.
With each laugh that begins, another somewhere ends.
So to, it is with tears.
Yes, experience the terse bedragglement-
aye me, sodden slop-like pull.
Wrist bound experience of the sadomasochistic.
No escape, a faltering hope.
Divided and temporal.
I wish not to be offputting,
Nor fatal, or fatalistic.
That’s not pessimism they say.
Cry me! Its the personification, pray faith!
Have you no belief in yourself?
What is it you do? To unmake in stillness-
see yourself in these eyes of mine?
Disgust discussed. Please.
Why do you not full-fill your bucket.
Kick yourself. Before its even at its half.
I will not threaten you empty.
Grey days, and plastic bottles.
What-are we to do.
I have a thirst, for I am dry to the pits.
I am the human sponge,
Dashed and wrung dry.
Conflagrations and knowledge take you!
High silver seconds pass your lips.
And prate at me like
the cheese to a grater.
And no greater sin, and my reference is dated!
But the word stands. Smarting you.
And stapling tactfully you in your tracks.
I hope. Jove!

Ad and ad!

Free in store.
Tuesday/ Wednesday / Thursday.
Fully catered we will become!

Pins.
Decor

Student Services:
Brenna + Anke

Tastes and preferences define who you are and makes for good questions.
00:30

Some people might be a bore (boar)? but they might also be good at complex algebra and/or be doing groundbreaking work in a field (farmer joke), (Gamer joke).
12th Sept. 2016. 00:29

Major Motive in life:
Self Satisfaction.
Lips.

Underpants in the freezer. 23:11, 2016, 8th Sept.

One shared language is enough. 21:52

Courts- the place that i’ll get some mileage. 12:56

Boyhood: Movie

La Bodega

Yellow Bandana

Tortiflette success, so rich.
Burp and meat’s indigestion.
Tough on me, tough on all.
Those unfed heightened senses of the heard.

Movies:
Goofy movie 2
Friday night lights.
Marley and me.

Fat suits – online

Malaa – music.

I had this feeling that people were on my level.
I had a thought, and by describing it-
by sharing it. We connected.

Cheese dreams!
Tonight I ate a lot of cheese.

Why don’t women basketballers get cheer leaders?

‘I know more than you’
29th Nov. 2016. 23:16

Vera,
Calum
Oscar
The Swedes.

Unicorn Jumper.

“what’s with the painted finger nail, do you have an explanation?”
“No…”

You talk in Haiku
“Plastic Venus”

There are over 50 types of poetry. Poetry is categorized by the number of lines in the poem, the words in the poem, whether it rhymes or not, and what it is about. Some types of poetry examples include haiku, free verse, sonnets, and name poems.

I must get around to doing this.
I had a strange day today.
Five bucks for a double espresso from a bakery that Obama visited.
Again, yes, i’m the guilty one. You go to a bakery for baked goods, I know.
Baking, roasting, coffee beans? Its a stretch. Silly.

Having a website with a white background and a white font is fucking stupid.
or is it?

Last night was nice.
The day of getting back assignments was a stress, I did far worse than I expected in one and far better in another. What a strange strange thing.

Came home late to crepes and delicious spreads.
We played cards.
I shared my days thoughts that i’d had in the sauna.
The pool was closed that day.

Today I went to my first Ice Skating lesson with Kat.
She’s a brilliant teacher.
I bought her coffee and opened doors for her to repay the favor.
We talked of all things, she’s traveled the world and would like to visit Australia.

Cass procrastinated.
Work and school.
Procrastination; involves drinking.
How did the essay, 75! Fuck.
How does, it.
Black Friday; Apocalypse.
That’s a weird, stat. “how many people died”

Grade 12 anthropology.
Passable.
Teaching is not a double blind.
Conflict of intrest.
Immoloate them.
Burn.

Triple negatives.
Oh my god.
Essay: Means try.
Between 3 topics.
Social media. US election
Watch a Doco. “Something about liberal media”
Something like Gladsotone’s Media.
Visual.
Bad news.
Narrative.

Fuck that shit.

Happy Days- T.v show?

Taxas Sharpshooters fallacy, you’re going to get some random distributions. Coincidences happen.

Ransoms.

Waiting:
For death?
For God

Me absurd? How Absurd.
How as in how much. Like, on a scale. What a joke!

Why is poetry so unpaid?
What do people avoid up?
Publications, fame?! Only after death.

I need to reiterate my position here.
A just want. To make poetry accessible. Where my culture and education skimmed.
And the thought to milk my efforts rather than have them confronted and dashed.
Brainless oaths became my pastime and passions.
Where I could have spake adored words of d’orsay, moods, expressions of boredom.
Gone!

The communication divide.
French and English. The broken role I play. Expectations.
Language becomes unnecessary, when people become more drunk.
I arrived at the party with nothing to say.
I don’t want to influence people. And we’re all friends, but i’m not sure it will last.
So its easy for me to sit quietly and assess, be true to myself. Think my honest thoughts. Scattered and unmending. Pointless to be not abstract. Needing full explanations and history. But relax. I have time, I came here with nothing to say.
Don’t apologise for speaking your mother tongue. What you say doesn’t matter to me, and if it does, its something for me to practice, something to learn. Chip away at. It takes time.
As you become more drunk. Unending, unbending, unfriending. So many options.

“And so they spoke in french so that things were told as they should be.” And there were no interruptions. And everything was distinct and distant.
Lovely.

Listen to KUNGS.

You are to opposite of low-hanging-fruit.

By the light of the axe
in my secret life
I am with him

This language of virus
Oh heap and thrust
Nothing is decided but is told

Where paradise storms
Bones kiss sour air
And undo the folded line.

Amigo Express – for travelling on the cheap as a student, on the road.

“Spanish Spanish” – or some other kind. Like mexican, or Venezuela.

The million dollar question:
When sayings are out of their temporal reality.

PATRICK: You need to go paddle boarding!

Hipster Jesus (when dressing up for the 90’s goes wrong)

Start saying: “Toodles” more.

Are humans, HUMANITY, becoming more resilient to death with technology? And with our exended lives becoming less able to evolve. The reproduction is slower, therefore out adaptions and innovations are dawdling. Is this a possibility?
Invention vs Innovation.
Leadership or management. Similar, not the same. Fields of study?

Warrior/Poet/Philosopher.
(Historian, Futurist, Current)

“My dad wrote a porno” – watch the podcast, its supposed to be funny. He was like 60?!

The perfume she wore was soft, mellow, gentle and somehow reminded me of old times and Nintendo 64.

Define Austere:
1 Severe or strict in manner, attitude, or appearance.
2 Living conditions or a way of life that have no comforts or luxuries; harsh or ascetic.
3 Having an extremely plain and simple style or appearance; unadorned.

Listening to reggae. Robot heart.

Isn’t it conceited to think that people have a soul?
As to say you could ever know anything.
To give a deeper meaning to something that you can only hope for.
Lets all put on our white coats and find.
Not find answers. But in out coats, we could find things outside of ourselves.
Ah nudity.
Minimalist. Referential to being young, innocent, uncovered and vulnerable.
Basic, primitive, simple, honest, unadorned.

Connor
Tam
Sam
(18th nov, 2016, 17:22)

I cannot choose for you.
Ok, give me options and i’ll choose the second.

List of movies:
What dreams may come
Holes
43
Miles Ahead
Pele: Birth of a Legend
hail, Caesar.
The Daughter
Frances HA
Inside Lewyn Davis.
500 Days of Summer.
Submarine
Eternal image of the spotless mind.
Rushmore
The royal tenenbahms
Juno
Breathless
Brick
Frank
Syndoche, New York
Lost in translation.

Death is the location of all impossible signs.
“Fascinated by nothing visible”

Talking as a self gratification.
Touching and tasting oneself.

Who am i.
What are we humans
We shall not know, for we are the image of our own desire.
Too close to ourselves.
Not removed.

Not like Pickup. Not like Harry Jordan.
Black and White.

The infinite pursuit of an absent object.

OH MY GOD: Memory bank, dipping white toast vegemite, in milk.
Putting ALL the spreads in a sandwhich.
The mind rainbow.
The sensation.
The flux.
The mix
The revolt of my nerves.
The clash of enjoyment.

Elizabeth: I was in Macdonalds yesterday with a friend. She was buying food and as I looked around, at all idle hungry people, yes I smiled. I thought of how you and your boyfriend met, how he chatted you up at a fast food place in great. Talk about speed dating -ha! It made me happy at the possibility of love to blossom in all sports of places. That it could be so diverse and widespread is great. Love, all around the globe, hot spots everywhere, so much potential. Virtually surrounded. Multinational, bringing love to you for such an affordable price. Like love though, i’m not sure how healthy the fries are and how trustworthy the burger, the motives of the salads or ingredients of the icecream. Too much and you get fat or sick or terrible skin. Its a beautiful temptation, love. So sweet and salty. But i’d rather drive by than drive in or drive through, i’d rather meet someone some other place.

Met at a party at party, in his apartment, (the brooks next door), and i was sitting in his spot, and thennnn…. He sat down next to me 3 person couch, which had four people already.

What, BLOORS.

Little middle.
Late laid

Contrast to Wildred Owen’s Poetry Style.
“I had mystery, I had mastery”

Mental choice between functional working words of fitness. Highlighting, lighting up a part in the brain where there is a link. -hotspot.

But sunflowers
Auntie Carol: Flowers.

THE HUB ROMANCE – Sketchy.
Macdonalds.
Take away love.

Sajura-
We need squirty bottles and drinking.

A man owns a dear with no eyes which is always trying to have sex with a sheep with no legs.
-What do people think about that?

They said it had no idea with its head in the clouds.

Wait let me get this straight:
You’re coming here from Australia, into the USA. We could just send you back, to where you come from.
And it isn’t a big deal?

We stood in line, bored as hell.
In can the grinch.
Sarcasm, voice tones swell.
Anybody in a pinch?

Weird looks and blue suits,
Suspicious people in line.
Carry any kind of vege or fruits.
Rest dis-

Remember:
Some nights alone with Megan.
Not wanting anything, but to explore her body, hands touching and mapping.
Pushing, groping and massaging. back breasts, shoulders arms hips,
Oh the hip bone, only recently trumped by lower backs for sex appeal.
Beautiful butt, back and thighs and hugging.
Holding tightly, put to need. Yet needless. Hot, lay-desiring. Frigid with wants conflicting remote and remorseful. The deed, grappling was enough barely with strokes and motions from limbs, but not what they wished to be.

Remember when Jed said that i’d done all that running to make it into the senior team.
And I told him he was wrong. I ran because I was angry and if I didn’t that I would do something I would regret.
His reaction was a storm of silent emotion and shock, visible, guttural. Almost a growl, a joining battle chant. Indirect fatherly accompaniment. I wasn’t quite afraid. I was on my own, explaining as best I could and my father matched me, willfully or in some kind of shocked reaction. There we stood. Silent for a moment. Scattered thoughts ricocheting in the pulp of my mind. I dismissed the conversation frowning and went for another run.

I think this follows from a conversation I had in the car with Dad and Garry. The told me I wasn’t fast enough, and me telling them they didn’t know what they were talking about. Then them telling me they did know what they were talking about “we’ve been there mate”, so I told them to get fucked.
Never let anyone tell you what you can and cannot do.

Jake had a dream that I took the bathroom sink with me to New York.

Oh the sick thought:
There’s always a silver lining.
Silver Medal.
Second reinforcement.
2.
Mike Fuller.
Draw
Losing.
Never winning.
Always matching.
Middling.
Even
Both shamed.
Disqualified.

Define Tryst: A private, romantic rendezvous between lovers.

Karma will get me back, bad.
Don’t worry i’ll suck off a homeless person and it will all be good.

Gabriel- owner of qui pense cafe.

Me and Thomas.
Slap it
Crack it.
Low-5
Forearm Cross.
Hang-10

Book of Mormon.

Zeal without prudence is like a ship adrift.

Bipolar lunatic.

“I best be off to class”.
haha – yeah, “You best be off to class, although you do have a lucrative career as a felon”
3 – “Do you know what lucrative means?”
2 – “No, but if I cant use words I don’t know how to use, then we’re going to have pretty short conversations”
3 – “I had planned to study all day, but I ended up just stealing this bad and listening to loud music”

4 – “people jizz in people, cum, whatever”

wilfred- Canadian Netflix (no good) Man’s dog days.

H – Tongue twisters.

Try not to do anything more morally ambiguous tonight if you can help it.