I haven’t sat and thought.
I never stopped and wondered.
Each new year I sit, I dread.
I think and dream.
Remember.
I look for solid words to put with my year.
Music thumps towards my ears and I-
I remember.
It saddens me. Make me cry.
Reflections morose, stoic and melancholy.
I think of my choices, and wonder why.
And realize it was mostly folly.

This year was different.
Shivering and fearful.
Spending time with my sister;
Beyond what I had planned.
Afraid and jittery, tears rolling.
Her head lolling.
My arms in a cross over her prone and vomiting figure.
As she rocked and rolled, crying and confused her way into twentyseventeen.
I shook with fury. Teeth gritting and pain surging through my temples and out of my eyes. Out, out, out into the world.
And so I do not make contact with people, I look away-
I stare off into the middle space, seeking a healthy distance.
Despondent and peaceful to the outward observer.
Beneath I seethe.
I hide deep inside myself.
I am strong for others until my time comes to crack.
A full unveiling. A violent fury, that engulfs any material that comes into contact.
I will be wreckful.
There will be havoc and danger.
A whirl of the wind will die away in my presence.
Cool and grim.
Heavy like gold, stubborn as mucus.

And this time of year, the energy of others.
What are you doing.
And i’m so scattered.
My wish is to be alone.
I need to hide, such a strong network of people. Demanding entertainment.
Ideas and missions of all kinds.
Its horrible, heinous.
I am divided.
Scattered to stupidity.
And my wants fragment.
My hypocritic, monkey brain. Fractures of binary.
I say yes when I should say no.
I say yes when I have made other plans.
I say yes to challenge myself.
I say yes to make myself busy.
To make things difficult.
To double book.
To experience ritual death-
Free time, apologize, offer up nice thoughts.
Consolidate. Mourn. Time’s passing and I-
I just wait and waffle and feel the need to move.
Move yet frozen in a haze of lazy nothingness.
A perfect cube of ice with me inside.
Numb and unreflecting. Pushed from the summit of some great mountain.
Past the tower, where men and women cry out.
Every jealous language under the son rattles around the valley.
It resonates as a hum, like furious bees attacking paper thin walls.
Babes cry out, and their language of discovery, fear, hunger and exhaustion reek of the basic human connections. Signifying nothing but the reduction of our race as it continuously reforms and resets.
Good ideas and frail wants grow with language and baby steps of the many skinned locust. Rubbing together, itching legs in the muds of eternity.
But time will tell through a gentle breeze;
Easing itself gently between you and you loved ones.
This change, ongoing, spinning beyond your control.
Farther out-there than your perspective.
And the sickness that sets in with this knowledge.
The skeptisism, and vomiting when you spin as your surroundings.
When you are full.
The fuel of your own downfall.
And you pass it on, like the disgusting downtrodden dollar bill of the Americas.
You pass it on though its valued just the same.
The overall worth changes.
Ripples of greeds, of wants.
Flux. Unfixable until death did us part.
Timeliness, and flowers.
Cheap hacks of significance.
Functioning to remedy and show the fickle nature of life.
The expenses of each breath-
of comfort. The grains of wood scratch and spliter you.
Eternity has not worn this table top down.
No number of elephants scratching themselves of a tingle could rub smooth this surface.
Like the pills mother used to leave by the bench.
Unswallowable. Iron, zinc, vitamins and rainbows of nonsense.
Placebo, and the matter of ones mind.
The aging of one’s skin.
The forgetfulness of our mind.
The anger of your jawline.
The jowls of comfort.
The absent minded chomping down.
The snort and snore.
Slurping and gulping and hiding and crying.
So fragile, so resplendent in a few days of exercise.
A lifestyle, hard fought. Tanned and toned and that I envy.

You pretended to yourself that you organised things.
You hurt me beyond the grave.
You hid from the photography.
In solitude you escaped so many things.
In this sacred hermitude you reveled and revealed your artistic function.
Playing a role, eating and sleeping unrestful and ill.
But a void you did fill,
occupy with safety and love.
So much of that, which my heart would not have otherwise.
The late nights, static charging over my eyes.
Black and white with exhaustion.
Colour burnt from my retina.
Recognition and definition mingling.
Strange feelings of cold and cloud.
A mist of grey, that voidless space. Filled with nothing.
Not asking anything of emotional toil or reaction.
Just flat. Flabbergasted grey.
Not hot. A mystery of negative space.
Reviled by boatsmen.
Hearders and flock.
And we, all of us experience it.
Our bones, refrigerated. Once clean-
one defined cut.
A bleep, somewhere out there.
No true north.
Magnets eat away at our hearts.
Lungs lost to pneumonia.
Fear bespoke. Untimely, lifesupport and a haze of hateful memories.
Abortion and life.
The thin red line for everyone to read into and acknowledge.
Go out there with an energy and zest.
Or be like my english father says:
The English grew cunty.
Separated, exasperated, depressed and un-loving.
And our material worth grows.
From day one.
The ham wallet of our parental, familial bond.
The blue eyes and blonde hair of my childhood.
The snippets, cutout and scrapbooks.
They disintergrate, parting in shreds.
A heart. Red, pulsing, made out of glass.
Dropped!
And its as if in a film,
slow motion, shattering.
the whirl of the celestial being.
The nod of the planets.
And catastrophic arm of gravity.
Catapulting god and misunderstanding into our stagnant, forgetful pond.
We question the fiber of each shard.
The breakoffs,
tangents of lost times and ideas.
Our influence fades with the grip of our ageing hands.
Fettered, flaking skin.
Pockered cheeks.
Sunken eyes.
Breath of vinegar and mustard.
Salt crusted lips.
Lathered calved, knees of gold prepare us for one final jump.
Jump on plunge.
We may at any time suffocate;
drowning as I did this night gone.
We stood above the crowd.
I thought to spit.
A young woman smuggled into the auditorium upstairs,
to celebrate a birthday.
To drink under age! Such a rush I felt in this dreamstate.
Cheese dreams perhaps -dairy digestion-
But I felt attractions.
Two women.
One with amber hair. Bejeweled.
Glass of riches. My eyes screwed deep into the substance of their reality.
Impenetrable, perfection. Height of riches.
Emerald could have been here name as she wore, almost black sapphires that glittered under the chandelier.
My heart raced for her desires.
I envied those that would court her.
Then to my alarm, I awoke and sprung from bed.
As waking at a time specified is a regime that cannot be hindered or helped.
I am here.
The day has begun.
I have done it all wrong.
I fear and fear and fear-
Staying strong for others until my time comes.

That’d be my memory there.
Spread out as a mist in the breeze.
And in the murk other people waft and circle.
That’s what I recognize, and used to see anyway.

Who would have thought. All the material construction that brought about the end of the world, us as super predator could first save a life.
Its the clinging nature of our greed, my lazy and forgetful nature.
How could I forget. I often ask the people that matter most to me if they’ve ever written a message in a bottle. And the answers vary.
I stick to the message. It can sicken them, polluting their minds like the bottle that floats shamelessly through the ocean currents.
Thermohaline “motherliness”, my veins. Ripple and pulse as your spirit erodes.
As I rode home after an enormous day of exertion I contributed waste.
I felt unseemly. Sick and tired, raw and pained.
A half finished bottle of water, so much more to give. I’d run six kilmeters, mostly down hill. Sponsored by Hartz. I’d then been fighting, shadow boxing, kicking with absolute focus. Doing something, keeping busy. Moving, giving back as much energy I had borrowed from the universe.
I pulsed, I ached. My eyes squinted against the midday sun and I wondered at the lateness of the day.
There was a bump as I went over a pot-hold in the road. I was lucky to avoid a snakebite in my tire for its lack of suspension and the surprise that took me.
There was a small thud, my bottle, my Hartz, half filled dropped to the gutter.
It was a hot day, I was in the awkward position of meeting head on traffic with no time to turn.
I left the bottle, and crossed to safely thinking of the currents, pollution and the half hartz that had escaped me. And unfinished journey.
That night I dreamt of the being alone, and I thought nothing of it as I recorded it in my diary the very next morning.
And I didn’t think.
It was all going to be connected by the currents.
And the layers.
And all the wings.
Touching all the far shores.
And no matter where I journeyed that which separated me from what I knew to be true, was far less than what connected us and made us all the same without homogenizing.

A hear passed, I was present more that I had been in years. I gave so much freely.
There was danger in the alley ways and I’d taken the advice of my father to only call one person friend and she was elsewhere with her husband. Wisely choose, always wear sunscreen. Follow the summer. Meditate when you feel. What it means to be alive, meaningful(ness) is different to everyone. If you wish to deconstruct, so be it. If you wish to complicate and enshroud yourself in meaning that you and everyone else must unravel your failure is a shroud that you will wear as a coat for winter, a veil for weddings and cask for funerals. And the words of thanks, and all that people think will be mist.
The sun will rise, the stars will wobble and Africa can continue its movement north-east towards the european tectonics. And this is where I was to recognize something special. Irrefutable, repeatable and strange.

I was there, stranded of the east coast, stranded on a deserted beach of Zanzibar, dreaming of elephants in ballet slippers and giraffes flying around in handgliders when the most strange thing was to happen and it was witnessed by all the dead, so i’ll let them tell it.

He was there, I recognize that now: my son was sitting there. He did a sand angel. Angel that he was, was what he needed also. Because he was stranded. Clinging to a hatbox from the 70’s. Circular and lines with purple satin. By Jove he was lucky to have not packed heavy books, and it remained airtight. This was after my death, but before the collapse of it all. He was travelling, running I presume – like always.
As far back as I can recall in his teenage years he ran.
Such a wonderfully angry young man. He wore a rose in his lapel and used the horned stalks of the rose as cufflinks. The barbs of his lifetime are what held him together. Prickly reminders from time to time that milked and let blood-let.
He wore a hat, no crown of briars or leaves. Simple and dark, more a cap that reviled him from the posturing minds and eyes of other simpletons. He covered his wavy hair and shaded his nose, sometimes using such a thing as a fan. He was modest, he was laying, dreaming and I floated about him like the cool breeze of the Indian ocean. Where the currents would intermingle. Gales would storm, blowing and raging as abrupt as a sneeze brought on from looking at the sun. Palm trees would bend to breaking point, and the currents would circle. redoubling, back upon themselves, crossing and shifting. Melting, mingling and saturating.
The coast was warm, but the channels and currents ran deep and powerful as arteries that course through the pumping legs of a sprinter.
Great arteries in action, the cadence that smashes into indonesian coasts, ice cold bolts from a malign and mindlessly spinning sphere; scattering islands in a road of waves. To surface, feel the damage and warm. Stagnate and flow back towards Zanzibar, which is where he lay. In my etherous mind -even now he lay.

And in his smiling daydream, a wave washed ashore a bottle. His heart lifted as something clunked against his heel. Refreshing water, and something more than a memory. Hope poked a thump. Nuzzling a bobbling question.
His eyes oped a sliver, to glisten silver in the Zanzibar sun. Tanzania across an impassible channel, where hot sand glowed white hot and water baked and washed itself in waves to keep warm.
The bottle presented itself. And the circus of his mind gathered itself. Blinking twice and sneezing he sat up and rubbed his sore shin. Looking at the bottle he wondered.
Picking it up, he wondered. A precious tear, a Tasmanian pearl, so far from home blinked to his peter pan fashioned trousers. His feet were baked prunes and his hair a mass of curls that threatedned to grown around the meger looking cap.
A sigh escaped his slightly parted lips, revealing teeth that suited his big mouth and straighly lined lips. He shook himself gently.
Did he pray? I don’t think so, as I remember him, I don’t think he prayed.
He rubbed his hands, and touched the bottle to his chin in thought, thoughts of animals forgotten. It would have been normal for him to begin sobbing.
It would have been so normal.
So normal.

Warmest, sincerest, kindest regards.
Returning home to the many things.
All of my little bugs.
Accompanies by the thoughts of Kafka’s big ones.
I read, I write, I wait and I run.
I cant believe my mother is gone.
It seems unreal.
I have dormant feelings.
Lost, fractured pieces of myself have died and await burial.
My memories scattered.
Ashen faced. Distant.
My otherness, removed, afraid and angry.
To have left a great many friends in Canada. To decide to not return, to turn my back on the cold weather that would have so-suited my icy temperament.
I see my brother and sister.
Red faces, larger than life in their emotions.
I can see them stored, suffering sadness.
My exhaustion is three fold.
My tiredness is manifold, as I resort to my recovery manifesto.
And my knee aches as my heart does.
With scars for memory.
Muted, silver grey. And I fear i’ll lose my lunch at the viewing.
It will hit. Hit home.
And I will be full of dread. Full.
Sick with it. Confronted, and torn down.
Wrecked in the storm of conflicting seas.
Where my hot blood of anger rises against my cold removal.
The forgotten tsunami, seen in the tumult that passes beneath unseen.
Waves and a frigid breeze that have clashed within me -everternal.
In this life for me, this occupational flux, where I once stood, now stands a building. Where I was on the ground at gravity’s zero.
Now resides a thing of man-made rock. Not timeless, not indestructible.
Time will turn that stone to sand.
Rubble and ruin, flakes and ashes.
All for the downstream; where I question the nature of the infinity of rocks.
Sand becomes it all where we break down-
Bust and leak, swell and groan.
Our last breaths, before we are washed away.
In a storm, a hell-kite’s memory,
Wind whipped tears.
And you pass on, despite your years.
Too soon, and sick. Afraid and broken.
Memory gone, your own that is.
I tried, I tried I tried.
But I wasn’t there.
And now I feel the turn of my stomach,
The ache of my bones. The swell of my eyes, my heart.
The blister of my lips. The jelly that resides under the lids-
cries in goodbyes as we wade through a forbade farewell.
Something we never gave up hope on, and we resolve as the circle of life.
But your own spiral is the tragedy.
We have named this circular motion of life.
And in the bigger picture we have called it zero.
This resonates oft with me these days.
It brings about a resigned and resolute sigh.
A significant vein has been tapped.
Dripping all it ever once stored.
Its ok to cry.
“Don’t listen to what they say about men crying”.
What a strange woman. What a dastardly character.
The moles on the face. The crop top.
Long lunches, lashes and lost or half formed ideas.
*awwww gawd* I say suffering my circumstance, speaking while sucking in air.
and my airs, like my hairs split.
Choosing to suffer.
Always

Well i’m back in hobart. 5 months early, a semester way off and at the height of summer. Its hot and i’m feeling greasy.
On my flight over, I met a nice girl that made the first leg fly by.
On the second my flight was slow, and stopped in Pheonix.
I read a lot. Then, arriving in LAX, the weather was horrible. The flight was delayed a few hours because we were waiting for a different delayed plane.
The rain was heavy.
We got off the ground in the massive Quantas Bertha.
There was tons of turbulance and a kid half way down the aisles lost his breakfast and most recent snacks. There was drama and an exodus of people.
Terror and recycled air. Just horrible.
The transitions were pretty stream-lined into hobart.
I arrived on time, after talking with some English people on the plane: giving them advice as to where to go for Christmas.
I’m wrecked now, Christmas got me good.
“Anyways” I got home, and we all hugged and ate, there were some pensive silences and I shared my thoughts and some inner working memories.
After we ate we all shared stories. Happy Memories. Then after that we opened presents, there were a few. It was nice.
Shirts, socks, massage, beanie, etc.

Grooving.
Pool and Coup that night, I went for a jog and a run which were cleansing.
Now i’m ruined.

Mira and Mads arrived.
She early,
He right on time.
The rest, higgeldy piggeldy and out of sync.
There was an awkward mood.
Time was spent, wine was made mulled.
Cars were played.
The day was long and strange.
Energy levels up and down.
Billowing, flipping, waving and like the sheets on a bed.
A white flag over the day.
Breaking my back, slapping me on the back.
on my back on the rack.
Sweat, sodden, drained and showered.
The day begun again.
Rebirth. Re-wrecked.

I half packed my bags, much-much a do.
I pinned leaves to my wall as decorations, pulled things down you know…
prepared to leave.
Visited a cafe and drank some tea.
I felt so dry, such a dry face.
Sapped, sucked dry.
Like burnt paper.
Chaffed lips.
Lots of tea, milk and honey.
Scones, jam and chocolate brownie.
All the things to make you jolly.
Then home, change, ice skating with Megan.
A lovely clear eve.
The money is running low.
The time is running short.
I couldn’t concentrate on my school work earlier.
But I can skate backwards-
little by little, showing improvements.
And that’s great, more important.
Savoring those moments.
American Spelling?
My god i’m nervous about my flights. Philadelphia and all that.
It could all go to pants. Really, truly.
My lips are still so dry.

Dinner was skipped once we got back home.
Mira was early.
We talked chit-chat.
Played cards.
Everyone working their angle.
It was funny and nice, I made cheese and apple with sulatanas.
Then we went out to a bar and had a beer.
Smart card games, some of the other housiez lurking around asking questions.
It was nice, but distracting.
Then the bar.
I bought a shares plate, which was sub-standard.
There was the smallest bit of carrot.
So strange.
TZATZ. HUMMUS. olives, pickle, plain flat bread. Standard stuff.
We talked some more, then it was time to leave.
It was long goodbyes, but that shows the worthy-ness, and meaningful relationships that have formed. We cling to each-other in our vulnerability. Times haven’t changed all that much.
Then finally finishing on the weather, the gym, photos, travel plans and snow angels. Jockular German banter.
It was all quite a pleasure.
Home to a light snack and tea;
I couldn’t have asked for a more satisfying day, considering how I felt for the most of it. Really truly lovely.
And plans to meet them all over again.
Recapturing and remaking, reforging and reinstating, initiating and instigating, begging, hoping and wishing. To see each-other again, keep in touch and continue on in the half-light that we are now. Beautiful, helpful, clinging. Friends and family.

I had a dream about football.
Losing 1-0.
I shouted at the coach,
He said I was speaking french.
I complained about my knee,
He spoke of team morale.

I bumped into a woman with dark skin,
I didn’t apologize I just said “It takes two to tango” don’t worry about it.
She threw two 2dollar coins at me.
I picked them up, threw one onto the football field and gave the other to
a young black kid.
I started running home, and was nearly run over by an old man in a tiny black car.
He didn’t indicate he was turning.
I was edgy and angry.

I had a dream that I had cancer,
I met up with an old teacher that had cancer as well.
We consoled eachother.

Today I’ve much to do.
I need to pack my bags, go ice skating study.

Ugh when you have to share to let people know what everything has gone to shit.
And the funeral.
Spending time, a trip cut short.
Study gone wrong.
Hiding from toxic people.
My safety, and happiness compromised.
I don’t feel healthy.
I feel a wreck.
Grumps, edgy tired,
annoyed.
What is the world coming to

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.