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.

*Curtain raises on women in a sauna.
[Silence]
*Curtain lowers.

*Curtain raises on men in a sauna.
{Silence}
*Curtain lowers.

Curtain raises on a nude man and woman.
Man: Shall we sit?
Woman: It is cold.
Man: Sit on me.
Woman: Isn’t that inappropriate.
Man: Should we go out for coffee?
Woman: Do we have the resources?
Man: Can I have a hug?
Woman: Do you need a hug?
Man: I think so.
Woman: OK. But not now.

*curtain lowers.

*Curtain raises on men and women in sauna.
Man: Why do we always sit quietly in saunas?
Woman: You can do better than a “why” question. If you keep asking why questions you’ll never be happy.

Man: I was happy asking a why question.
Woman: Were you unhappy not asking it?
Man: Yes, I told you I need a hug.

*Curtain lowers.

*Curtain raises on nude man and woman in a group of clothed extras.
Woman: We figured coffee today because its so sunny.
Man: Yesterday all I needed was a hug but I never got it
(These could be made to their separate genders as they walk to meet up)

*The gangs meet at Subway*
Man: Oh my god! These tables are molten!
Woman: I bet I can keep my hand on the table longer than you.
Man: What do you bet?
Woman: A coffee.
Man: How about a hug.
Woman: How about a hug and a coffee!
Man (raising an eyebrow): You’ve outsmarted me again

*They test their pain thresholds on the molten table*
*Curtain closes*

*Curtains raise the woman is in hospital*
Woman: I’m sorry I won that game years ago.
Man: Thats OK Cookie.
Woman: I wish I didn’t have such a pain threshold. Maybe then I wouldn’t have experience childbirth.

Crap I gotta get to class this is terrible.

Dang it. I hate the yearly password change.
Now my passwords are all new and nonsense.
Numbers and letters all in a jumble.
Even talking about it makes me nervous.

Tonight I went to a comedy event.
Talks of grape-fruits.
Divorce.
Oranges.
Bags.
Pools.
Beer.
Exchange.

We talked too much as a group and received a glare from the woman with the deep voice. I assume sh-he’s gender neutral. Which is cool, its ok, but i’m assuming; which is funny, in the spirit of comedy. The “double threat” just took on a comedic meaning for me. Leave me to it. I’ll keep digging. Shocking. Where are my manners.

That night, accessories in prime colours but everything else black.
It was then, with my growing mustache it dawned on me that my suspect looks were because I looked perverted somehow. Alas. You can’t even go for a walk without needing to put in headphones and look down. Don’t you dare go out and smile at a strange, don’t dare.

Wrote about poetry.
Probably as dry as it sounds.
Drank a shot of vodka and one beer.
See-Saw the world in great detail.

Home for a cup of tea,
A game, and bed.

“honing blades dilutes the mind” – after a conversation with father.

Define Tryst.

Quote of the night from a guy I know Armi: “Just use the fucking phone”, when a question went unanswered for too long, by his count. hahaha. I laughed like hell.

“LUKE BRYAN: Oh my god, the worst kind of music I have sat through”

Mac Miller: Rapper.

Names and the importance of names.
“I just like sitting”
The hodge podge.
The fat of my belly.
The slop of my arse.
The cough of my lungs.
The smear of my frowning lips.
The sweat on my brow.
The silence of my reaction.
The whites of my eyes.
My failure to disguise-
My disgust.
My rusted dehydrated mind.
My lack of strength.
My confusion.
My rudeness.
Me as a split.
Me being bent and broken.
Me in mayhem.
Me lost in reflection.
The Me,
The My.
The… The wasabi of my thoughts, in my flowing eyes. Chilled, hot tears rush and run and I read out loud upon my face my thoughts and I worry and I fear that everyone can see and they do, they really do. But they cannot meet it, or tackle it head on. No, no not at all. And what would they say.
What would they say these people?
“Don’t worry, or don’t do that, or chin-up, or better yet don’t be sad”.
And I grin my sick grin and I know I can still function for I can, I can and I am.
Ready, willing and able. Oh yes, I function well, I do my best work like this.
But you, this feeling attacks you, and i’ll let it, because my energy here is raw and chaotic and thats my rent, thats my breakage, honest leakage for everyone to deal. Because what could be more real than that? Yes, yes yes you reel.
You recoil in fright and my downcast eyes blink away tears of reality.
The biting cold,
my lost focus.
My innability to hide and mask. My honest heart.
Bleeding salted tears, rippling across my face.
Snarling across my lips.
Blowing from my nose.
Steaming from my neck.
Bulging from my jaw
Biting tension, throbbing from my temples.
The tautness of thoughts, resplendent-
unmistakable in the stretched skin of my cranium.
And this stretch makes all tune in.
The tone, its binary and vibrancy.
The song of suffering.
The focus of the bells of my mind,
ring out in theirs.
Hears and fine tuned hairs shriek.
Mood, feelings, hopes and happiness shredded.
Cure me, guillotine me, have him beheaded.
Smile, don’t worry, its OK.
Silence.

We’re all learning to live a lost thing.

And names! Who do I want to say this?

Duchcy.
Echco.

Ecco
Duchy

Duci
Echo

Echo: What’s that Duci?
Duci: Its nothing Echo.
Echo: You did it! You found it, a true nothing?
Duci: Oh, no. I was wrong its something. Grit you could call it.
Echo: Grit
Duci: Dust? Or dirt.
Echo: Oh dirt!
[silence]

Echo: Well you better throw it.
Duci: Dust to dust.
Echo: Dirt to dirt.
[silence]

Echo: Neither, its grit by my eyes. And for the taste…
(Tastes what Duci threw on the ground)
Echo: Oh yes *spits*, true grit. My teeth know the taste well.
Duci: Its a hard life we lead.
Echo: Life? Lead?
Duci: Indeed.
Echo: So how about… something.
Duci: We do that every day. Always looking for an angle. A something.
Echo: Something to do! Yes!
Duci: Can’t we agree to not encourage one another, we could be the very best of friends if you didn’t always suggest this sort of thing. Do something indeed.
[Echo fidgets]

Echo: Don’t suppose you want to do anything then.
Duci: It doesn’t matter, anything will happen. Its something I don’t like, too specific. Its like getting to the bottom of that dirty business before. Why do we need to know, why do I do it to myself?
Echo: It helps you.
Duci: Helps me? Oh god, now i’m echoing you, this is a mess. I told you something would happen.
Echo: That is something.
Duci: Its all gone to dirt.
Echo: That helps.
Duci: Oh aye, I can finally finish my book: “The finer destinctions”. Grit, dirt and dust a detailed analysis on somethings, that matter.

Echo: All things matter.
Duci: That’s what everyone else thinks. I think its all made up.
Echo: We all know it’s made up of matter!
Duci: Oh god.
Echo: Well if you think so, that’s OK too.
Duci: Oh dear.
Echo: I’m glad you think so!
Duci: Gla… Glad? Glad indeed!
Echo: You’ve said it three times now, I forget what it means, funny how that happens, don’t you think?

Duci: Quite the query Ecco! I think I do. Because I know things are always going. We talked about this. The day things stop doing, when something finally doesn’t happen then I’ll think not. If only you’d give me peace.
Echo: I don’t follow.
Duci: Tabernak!
Echo: Taxi-cab!
Duci: This is fruitless Eco!
Echo: She’ll be apples! And peeled grapes. A quander to you, a right fruit of the forest we’re in for.
[Both Duci and Echo are splashed by a passing car and soaked]

Echo: We’re in the deep end.
Duci: (sarcastically) Har-har.
Echo: Probably for the best, we can’t swim.
Duci: We? I can.
Echo: Can not.
Duci: I, not, can not.
Echo: Nobody speaks like that!
Duci: Hang it, I can.
Echo: Oh… CAN… NOT.
Duci: Not like that.
[Echo is confused and pulls an umbrella out of his sleeve but doesn’t share]

Echo: Knock knock.
Duci: Umbrella…
Echo: No you say who’s there, or something like that.
[Duci ducks his head]
Duci: Don’t say that word!
Echo: Knock Kn-what word?
Duci: Umbrella.
Echo: I don’t follow.
Duci: I want the umbrella. And don’t say something to me, or anything for that matter. You said you lost that anyway, that’s mine. You should give it back.
Echo: This old thing? This is mine. Some…one gave it to me.
Duci: Be more specific! I lent it to you, and not I want it back!
Echo: We can share! Its something to do. Like I sometimes say its easier to grit than dirt.
Echo: Or was is dust? Easier to grit than dust? No… No easier to dust grit that dirt. Yes. No. That’s not right. Dirt dusting? No that’s not quite right. Dirts a chimney duster. No. Slim dusty, that can’t be right. Dust is a dirty word. Grit your dust in your dirty? I give up.
Duci: Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
Echo: No we didn’t find ash. Ash is supposed to find us. Although you do look pale.
Duci: Pale?
Echo: Yes pale, like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you OK?
Duci: Yes I’m fine.
[Echo raises his eyebrows and blows wind dramatically out of his mouth]

Echo: Fine? Fine. Fine! Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Oooooooooh! Fine!
Duci: Just stop, would you. How are you?
Echo: I’m fine toooooooooo! Ooooooooh-so-fine. My names fine. Just call me fine.
Duci: “Just fine”, your poor parents.
Echo: Sublime! There’s your humour and merits!
Duci: What’s got you so jovial in this rain anyway?
Echo: Whats there to be sad about, we aren’t here to stay.
Duci: We are for now.
Echo: But not forever. Anyhow-
Echo: Its the see-saw effect, affect as you want.
Duci: What are you talking about?
Echo: Did you not hear me? Shall I… shout?
Duci: I hear you, I didn’t understand.
Echo: Aye, maybe you’d never. What do you demand?
Duci: Go on, share. Tell me more. Go on, go on, go on.
Echo: Shall I tell you something?
Duci: Yes! GO ON.
Echo: Yes! Breakthrough. OK its like this my little Ducky. When you’re down in the dumps, I mean really in the slumps, bottom planted on the pavement, soggy both your rumps. Then I’m here to pick you up, lead by example. Show you life and happiness, your friend, follower and umbrella wielding pal.
Duci: That’s not a see-saw.
Echo: Ah you see though me!
Duci: Har-har.

Echo: You saw through me. [does the hand gesture alone his midriff]
Duci: Forget it.
Echo: Oh come now, sit.
Duci: In the wet?
Echo: Well… yes, why not, it’s not forever.
Duci: I’m more comfortable standing.
[Echo steps one to the right and sits with the umbrella and waits…]

[Duci sighs and joins him, sitting on the wet ground]
Echo: Its nice down here.
Duci: This is some kind of seesaw.
[Duci cringes]
Echo: Ah-hah! High treason, treachery you philanthropist! You cynic! You hypocrite! Not so critical now. That was my aim all along. Get you seated, get you comfortable.
Echo [Aside]: Wait for the intermission and PAH! FIE! Gotcha with the umbrella. And who’s was the murder weapon? Not I? Aye. Not me, He! Ah, he-he! Critic.

Duci: Who are you talking to?
Echo: Myself.
Duci: This is the doldrums.
Echo: Not at all my friend of the dumps. Not at all, where was I?
Duci: Somewhere I’m sure of it.
Echo: Yes, small sweet victories of the see-saw. When you’re sad, i’m happy. When you’re sad i’m happy. When you’re sad… I’m happy. There’s more. ummm—
[Echo waits, thinking… then stands]
Echo: Ah yes!
Duci [uncomfortable, looking up]: Yes?
Echo: When you’re happy, I can be sad.
Duci: That’s a quite a trade off.
Echo [spins]: Yes quite, we’re so close you and I. You understand, we bleed the same blood, we’re part of a model that isn’t in existence. I know that doesn’t help you understand but its real, trust me.
Duci: A model?
Echo: Yes you are.
Duci: Go on.
Echo: Ah! And ego! I falter.
Duci: We’ve been talking again haven’t we.
Echo: The bus will come soon.
Duci: Maybe we could walk to the next stop?
Echo: Risky business!
Duci: Not really.
Echo: Gambler! Sinner! Action man! Fool!
Duci: Shall we.
Echo: Well sure, we have to do… something.
Duci: Indeed.

[They link arms and and begin to walk]
Duci: Do you think we’ll make it?
Echo: Nobody ever has.
Duci: Perhaps we should turn back?
Echo: Not a chance, that’s not how the see-saw works. I hope you’re happy.
Duci: Hope’s a dirty something.
Echo: And we grit it, grit until we’re dust.
Duci: Oh look now you’re all down.
Echo: No i’m not.
Duci: No… the umbrella. You put it down.
Echo: Ah yes. Maybe we’ll meet Ash?
Duci: He’ll be in his canoe if he is.
Echo: My ferry man is he!
Duci: It must be a dirty business.
Echo: He catches em all.
Duci: You young are all the same
Echo: We thought it was the best of games.
Duci: I can’t see where I’m going.
Echo: Close you eyes if you need showing.
Duci: You’re enjoying this.
Echo: There’s no risk for me.
Duci: Eco the waters in my boots.
Echo: So swim!
Duci: I can’t
Echo: Lies! Have you been baptized?
Duci: Ecco don’t play games, find me a raft.
Echo: Make one!
Duci: I can’t!
Echo: Well thisin’t the see-saw game.
Duci: This is real life.
Echo: Really.
Duci: I suppose this is goodbye.
Echo: How dramatic.
Duci: Dramatic is something.
Echo: You think so?
Duci: Do you?
Echo: I do.
Duci: That’s beautiful.
Echo: I’ll follow you.
Duci: Blub-blub-blub
Echo: I hope you know the way.

[They walk off stage]

I awoke to a message from my brother. He asked me if I’d come and hang out. I didn’t see him as human, barely a brother so absent that he was.
I went out, I could tell he’d been crying. Like the charge of the air before a storm. I could tell.
He was turned away from me when I pushed open his door. Towards the corner of the room, furthest from the doorway he was looking. Stretching, on one leg, putting a decorative ticket into the highest reaches of the room’s corner where the ceiling met the walls. All exposed wood, not logs like our shack all the way down south that our father had built. It was the common wooden plank. Not rich, not poor, treated and mysterious with its imperfections ingrained in the wood. He heard me come in, but continued with his one legged attempt at blue-tacking artwork into the highest reaches of his room.
I could say I wondered what had been making him cry. But I could tell, I could usually tell. We’re siblings, we know enough about each other, our lives and their inner workings. Family is secret, dad had had to tell us once upon a time. Probably over a candle lit dinner. Not for mood, or want of atmosphere but because in those days we lived at the shack. Without electricity candle wax creating molten red and grey streams. By the end of the night dad would pull out his swiss army knife and remove any wax droplettes from the table, a pointless repitition. Like a nervous tick, he would do that without fail.

The bottles that held the candles aloft like an extension of the olympic torch would be mottled with the waxen formations. Like volcanic refuse, melting, running, drying in layers. Once set, not easily removed. Like an armour, a tiny model, the bottle a mould for a strange protective casing.
Mother would teach us to make dribble castles those summer. Build your foundations with sand. Then using the wettest sand you can find, the sort that occurs at the bottom of a deep hole that you’ve dug on the beach. Then taking the wet sand, as is runs and slips through your finger, you pour it. As if it were wet cement, in need of more sand. You dribble the sand. And it piles upon itself magically. Dribbling, and defying gravity. I stood there. Looking at my brother, looking at him balancing on one leg, pushing the paper to the wall with his two thumbs, and I thought of him as a candle, I thought of him as a castle. A turret. Older than I by some four years, solidly built, isolated at this time. He was himself locked away in this tower. Alone, only to send for help, for comfort and company in the form of a sister. How could I help? I was to be the stone in the river. You see the water rush over, that is time’s destuctive errosive nature. And yes, you are rubbed smooth, rolling uncontrollably. Sometimes rapidly feeling un-grounded. But when the stream dries up, the stone remains, and for him, during this passage of time. Regardless of his emotional head over heels. I was there for him.

I said Hi.
He said nothing. But nothing does not come of nothing with loved ones. Because you choose to bring something. And you don’t need a reward or a reasoning. You bring the explainable, and you chance offense. Risk the dangers, beyond life and limb or social stigma. The basics of conversation, your expectations. You put your yardstick down, into the muddy water and you hope that there aren’t any repercussions that will be yours to suffer.

We stayed like this a while, his back to me.
I perched on the foot of his bed. There were fishes on the covers. Blue and black streaks were the water. And the fish, large and tropical. All staring back with un-comprehending eyes. Judging. Looking out at the world as if it were a morsel. Darkness in those eyes, were mirrored i’m sure in my brothers. Dark rings of anguish that ebbed from his faces features. Poor guy, I really am afraid to get to know him.

He tired after twenty minutes. I wore him down with my silent good intentions.
We talked and I told him a story of work. I’d been called that day by Jen. Jen was the morning receptionist and I came in usually just after midday to replace her. So she called at 11 and said in a perplexed tone.
“Hey… So you know the bucket that catches the run off water from the air-con”
“Yeah” I said.
“Well the bucket is full, and it stinks and I think there’s an octopus in there, I’m going to put the bucket out the back, can you throw it away?”
I laughed and said “What?!” and “OK…”
The line went dead.
Sure enough when I arrived at work and relieved Jen, she took me out the back and pointed to the murky bucket.
“I just didn’t know what to do” she said.
I looked over the bucket, it was full and it reeked.
The water was a murky grey.
I got a stick and tried to swirl the water around and get a better look.
It wasn’t an octopus it was a squid. A bit larger than i’d seen in whole-sale fish stores but my mind began working out reasons for this circumstance to have occured.
My brother interrupted the retelling.
“The people, the patrons of your gym are psychotic, rich elitists. Everyone’s crazy and hides it but these guys get a kick out of pranks like this” He was shaking his head.
“The same guy that deals with million dollar investments is the same guy that does a shit in the shower room I bet, and he thinks its funny. Honestly I’m worried for you working in a place like that, people are unhinged maniacs”.
He felt like he’d already cracked it.
Jen at the time asked me if I thought the “octopus” had come out of one of the pipes, or crawled into the bucket from the ocean. I wondered what kind of fabulously augmented version of reality this blonde bimbo hailed from. But I suppose she was in a mild state of nonsensical shock.
“No, I think someone put it there Jen, you know… As a joke”. I said laughing.
“Oh, yeah. But who”.

Who indeed I thought to myself. There were only maybe 15 people that had come in that day. There were no cameras in this part of the gym, its close to the change rooms and everyone that’s a member we know well enough to be on a first name basis.
The smell of the squid, made me think it’d been there for a day or two. So that opened up the possibilites somewhat.
All of this I told my brother, and he got to work trying to crack the case. Mystery solver, complex problems of the classic who-done-it. His eyes had lightened by now, and they smiled with his lips pursed into a confused contorted a half smile.

He lauged at Jen, the character Jen. How she was unable to throw the squid away herself, the fact she called it an octopus and thought that it’d come out of one of the pipes. What did she think was in all the pipes? One day your filling your water bottle then BLAM, new pet goldfish.
“I guess it just slipped through the cracks” he mused aloud
“What an idiot”.
“and why did you have to bin it? How could she NOT do that herself?” – there was still a trace of anger or sadness in his voice from before. His frustrations were expressing themselves in his immersion.
I laughed.
“She didn’t know what to do, that’s all”.
He asked me “so what did you do? Did you just throw it into the bin, all wet and gross?” He pulled a face.

That cracked me up, remembering that poured the contents of the bucket over the grate of a drain and seeing that the squid hadn’t slipped through the small bars I got a plastic bag and put the squid in it. Then I went across the road to the park and put the squid on the ground. It was a popular dog park, and it felt funny to release the squid back into nature.
My brother looked at me, shocked.
“you’re as bad as the psychopaths of your gym” he said.
“you’re just continuing the cycle!”
“I can imagine some poor dog walker now ‘what’s this?! A squid? How did it get here… don’t eat it buddy'”.
So the plot thickened I suppose and in all of these stages you wonder how, when, where and why.
Who bought the squid and brought it in, in a gym bag.
Was there intention? Or were they just opportunistic. Sacrificing their dinner of squid rings for a cheap thrill. Murky waters of laughter.
Or was it Jen?! I mean surely she isn’t that naïve OR useless.
Why the bucket? Why the gym?
Its like shitting where you eat.
Its jarring reality. Its thought provoking. Its fear mongering, from fish mongering.
Who did it. Why. When. To what ends.

I had work early the next day, and promised my brother I’d play it deadpan until somebody brought it up. Then we’d have our suspects.
And to date there has been nothing. That was months ago and yet I remember it like it’d happened earlier today.
Me standing over the bucket. Emptying it, then going across the road with the joke and continuing the mystery.
We’re all doing this. Feeding into one another’s poor constructed perception.
I didn’t learn anything so much about my brother that day, instead I feel like I showed him a little of the humanity we all share. And maybe that helped.
Emotion like that, helps you sleep.
Let the rent open up, and the lava flow so then in the aftermath we have a comparable peace. And time will unveil in its red and grey run on. Folds, wrinkles and rivers illuminated overhead. As we burn down, the light of out lives. Cause for our own demise. Whatever you do, don’t leave a mark on the table.

Your hair, you eyes.
How you actualize.
Materialize.
Between your thighs.
Us smitten guys.
My wondering whys.
I can’t disguise-
my disgust.

At self, at you.
Everyone around.
What am I doing here.
Quit looking my way.
But don’t, don’t really.
Intentional, tension.
The drunk will throw himself down the stairs.

And you ask me.
You ask me:
“What are you thinking about”?
And I tell you, I answer.
I say:
“I’m thinking about how unimportant language is for me right now, I’m just picking up signals, looks and body language”.
Nothing you guys say to me tonight could be important.
No, not to me.
I didn’t come here for important things.
That’s not constructed, the boat floats and rocks gently.
You are gentle, simple creatures.
But we might be here for the most important thing of all.

So I look at you,
Shameless.
I’m not sure if I like your hair.
Your nose is a bit big,
you have big eyes and lovely skin.
Your form underneath.
Clothes, skin.
Your nails, and dainty wrists.
Long legs and angled arms.
Jutting elbows and elven ears.

And now I sit, just listening to tone.
watching faces. Patient and thinking.
Your words mean nothing to me.
But I am here, thankyou for that.
You’ve been more than considerate.

oh god nonsense.
Mirror, sheets.
Replicated bon chance
An end meets.

Today in Montreal, the aftermath and aftermatch feeling from football to that -of waiting for godot. My, what a win!
Biblical, baresensical. Loaded with coffee toast. The decadent, double storey complete establishment. Like prison, hospital or google; the place with all you’ll ever need.
Now for the gallery. Modern madness, as we were all born.
Truly wild, and genius.
Put on your thinking hat.

Waiting for god.
Oh god oh god.
Rubble, rustle.
Rocks and trees.

Time is hustles
Cups of teas.
Memory motif
Gosh what time!

Believe to vote if-
You give us a sign.
Completed loops
Not jump through hoops.

Benefactors alike.
I’ll be on my bike.

Up the ante.
Anti anti anti.
Oi oi oi.

This weekend gone by has been great.
I wondered if the more you exercise and put muscles on the outside of yourself, for others to see; if somehow you lessened your internal muscles. Your ability to voice, and adventure forth in an enjoyable verbal sense.
I feel that when I’m at the gym my self talk is very high.
I observe people, and I create in my mind what they might be thinking.
“What are they doing?” – Then I project, indeed I create and fantasize.
I’m really not sure how in tune I am with the movement of some people.
The sexiest part of a person is their back.
Their lower back.
If you can make your lower back look good, I will follow you to the depths.
Aye Inferno.
The movie.
Dante’s dirty dealings.
Fantasy, beauty, loath and love.
What an adventure.
Circles and circles.
Why not triangles; looking down from above this would almost make sense.
Semanitics, constructs. Pentagrams, shapes, codes and violence.

Yes. What lengths will these people go to, to live.
To save the lives of others.
The high horse.
The ticking clock, the forestalling of humanity’s growing poplualtion.
The scar, the stagnation. Swamped. Idyllic.
Crazed.
But humaity will survive. Even if the bad thing happens.
What will follow will be unique to the time, and will influence the once consciousness.
We can all take action.
Employ morals.
Hope for the powers we’ve leashed the control- that they will do enough right by us.
If not then we will rally. Won’t we?
The power of pain for influencing behaviour.
Morals. And women in roles of power.
The funniest moment for me was when the professor says:
“Ask that guy, and its a woman”. Trig.

So I went to a 90’s party.
There was dancing on tables, choker chains, lots of denim, spice girls, backstreet boys… the whole she-bang. It was a good old time. Danced like a mad man, with an exam the next morning. Stuck it out until 1am. Then off to bed. The girls had a sparkle in their eyes, the boys were gesticulating.
Some guys threw ice at the bar tender – it was strange, he got very angry.
Who cared? Not me, so much.
The frenchyz showed up late.
I went to my room and studied.
Everyone came by my room and caused a rucus over the next 2 hours.
I went to bed, ready for the next day.
Black + White and a grey tie. What a look.
Probably lost on everyone that day.

That afternoon I went for a heroic run, new shoes. Record times.
Then the 1xPunch Man training regime.
100
100
100
Then another party. We played the coin game.
Tooney flick.
Two finger hockey.
People were calling me “Australia”.
I didn’t really like it.
My corked wine was from Chile and disgusting.
I sat and chatted. Got comfortable.
One of the girls was in translation, and there was a girl that was struggling to get my jokes, actually a few of them really struggled. The scary vegan that looked me up and down; the hostility, the fakeness, it made me squirm. The old fight of flight.
I could have jocked her. But that’s not party vibes, somebody should have told her.
I wan’t in the mood. So I pleasantly asked her opinion. She cracked. I cracked her. It was all a big farcical mask. I didn’t appreciate it. But I wore my own well.
No cracks there, just wise-cracks.
And the jokes, oh the jokes. What came to the fore. The good the bad the ugly.
“Deep and meaningful”.
-the anime section.
-spiders.
-Hair
-Languages.
-The U.N.
-Strip clubs
-Exes
-Decoration
– there was a bit of sharing, I tried to include a lame couple; to everybody’s detriment. Why do I bother. Not to worry.

The next day it snowed.
I made a snow man.
Somebody kicked his head off, not one hour later.
Carrot and all, sprayed across the front garden.
Sick.

Forward the light brigade!
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldiers knew
Someone had blundered:
Their’s not to make reply.
There’s not to reason why.
Their’s but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.