Feeling ungreatful. Stressed anxious.
Doing things I don’t have to, when I should be bringing the joy to the hearts of people around me. I feel full, pampered, pleasured.
When really my decisions, choices, moves, and ideas should be my own.
My letters are scrambled. My ideas. Worthless, thoughless. Gunk, garbled. Its sad for me and anyone that has a string attached. I’ve been crying from lack of sleep.
Balls bleeding, sick and scared.
Food. Bread.
Yes yes yes. say yes to everything. some kind of fermented, internal struggle, dissonance and self-talking punishment of sadness and fear for the future.
What do I want. What should I do.
where should I be.
How can I save up my energy and be devicive.

Holic.
Cat-holic
Alco-holic
Alcohol-ic.
Holic or ic ending?

Band Name:
“Melbourne flaky strut sluts”
Alex on the bass.
Carl pulling the stings.
Declan looking like Grease’s very own.
Needing a plundering haircut, and restyle.
Currently defending himself of a sex case.
What a head case. Basket case. Lawyers.
Chicago “all you need is love”
Just an ordinary day for music and strutting.

Is it funny that an armoured car has valubles in it that aren’t people?
Like, they make a deposit of the goods and then by unhappy chance someone tries to rob them and they’d be like: “Nah nothing of value here, just people”.

New York
Yew Nork

Megan Jones 24th october 2016 11:51
You guys.
Your guys.
Your guyses.
“GUISES”?
Plurality gone horribly horribly wrong.

Eendraght Maakt Magt – In union there is strength.

24th october 2016 10:40
Dream.

Message dad, tell him that I saw spock.

Chicaco-
Pizza night.
Gloves on. Say nothing
Remember nothing.
Angrier, red faced. Sore toed.
Pascal; tell me you remember it.
It is it. “iti”
Toilet trip.
Pizza exhaustion.
Sex.

But at some stage I turned.
It all went wrong.
Horrible- I do recall.
I fed you, the wrong. Meat of some kind.
My mind wanted to shut down.
I didn’t think.
Couldn’t function.
I felt ill.
Oppressed.
Tired. Wasted.
Cornered. Suffocated.
I wanted to run free and explore.
Tired in mind but with a body that was ready to move.
This allegiance disturbed I hated you and everyone.

Movies:
Rainbow connection.
Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Moulin Rouge.

Limousine- yes yes, the big long stretch of things to do.
Oh my how it unravells.
How much danger could I possibly be in?

After you blow out candles, you should make a wish and keep the candles until the with comes true.

Food MILES.
Australia and the metric system.

1984.

All those double message notes. How strange.

“What do you think of Americans”
-what am I supposed to say.

You guys waffle on.
You talk too much, you’re materialistic.
you’re like Australians.
We have a lot of problems.
You enjoy the good life.
Things aren’t sustainable at the moment.
Its still the morning.
I’m not the best, and you have a very serious face.
You work too hard, you’re under a lot of stress.
Do you want me to congratulate you? Can I lend to your repose.
Solidify and nod. To agree with how you life your life?
I don’t fucking know. It’d day 5.
Customs was horrible, that was the first American in America speaking and his sarcastic tone and horrible mannerisms typified a lot of people’s feelings.
If you want my advice you guys could certainly check yourselves, and be more conscious of the people that you set as your ambassadors.
I’d go into politics, but I know nothing but what I hear other people say.
I’ve never seen Donald Trump put a foot wrong, but nobody seems to like him, what he says says he will do. That’s politics. My mind isn’t up to that sort of cycle of self destructive, mindless, underfunctioning, lie-schemed backwardness.

Ah yes, the waft of incense.
I must still be tired and dehydrated.

Synecdoche- a small part representing the whole.

Exam in 45 minutes. Chewing gum, I might go over my notes now just to get me jazzing.

I think it would be funny to print out pictures of yourself at a famous location doing something (anything). Wild, mundane, wuth a group or somewhere else- drinking tea, at the pool… And stapling it to the handrail at the lookout. That would be funny.

Jake got a nosebleed last night. Poor guy.

Pumpkin seeds aren’t bad when roasted.
My Canadian adventure continues! Today I downloaded an online game, to play with my housemate. I’m currently caught in two minds about going to the pool and buying some chocolate and visiting the pool. I’d like to swim some laps at 7.30 and spend 30 minutes in the steam room.
So there I was eating dinner, a hearty vegetable soup with some toasted bread that I made and the pumpkin seeds that I roasted, courtesy of the Halloween spirit. I added some salted sunflower seeds and used capsicum as a spoon. The taste had vim and agreed with my mood, needs and wants. I ate half the bowl, as well as all the rest-afore mentioned. Too much perhaps. I hadn’t eaten a lot that day, courtesy of study and the gym and my adventure to a new cafe – actually I had a biscuit at the cafe so maybe i’m ok. Yeah… spot on. Good. What a lovely ginger biscuit it was. A woman sat next to me and watched me read. It was strange.
I juggled the soccer ball, it was a good form day. That’s for sure.
I wonder what Megan’s younger brother’s favourite colour is.
And what would be a nice gift for her parents- a bottle of wine perhaps.
Some kind of thankyou. New York will be my opportunity no doubt.
I should get an early night tonight to prepare for the worst tomorrow, with the bus trip and excitement of reading week just 48 hours away.
Yes yes indeed. I’ve been saving myself up recently, reading has been thoroughly engaging. I have lots of people to reply to on facebook, which is no big deal. I should more properly pack my bags I think. But that can wait just a few more minutes.
Hmmm, perhaps Law will come with me to the shops. To buy chocolate.
I wonder what he’s laughing at on the computer.
I’m now smiling in reaction to his chuckling. Strange, the many faces of people. So much depth and change, its fascinating. He was a bit down last night. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or me taking some of his cheese without asking.
Or perhaps the conversation about tattoos, where I ended up laughing at the lack of their importance, their unltimately shallow relevance to anyone. Like the writing on a T-Shirt, but more and less. Because you can’t take it off. Its an attempt at permanence. Its meaning may evolve. Its unique, sure. It hurts to have, it embelishes who you are and is supposed to have profound revelatory meaning. So deep, but I would say that its just as impermanent and important as any other thing. And like you, in death its meaning is the first to be forgotten, brushed aside, shrivel and decompose into nothing; as such tatts are meaningless and only scratch the surface of all things important. Their relevance and ability to include you is just as much seen as exclusive. Its a lifelong commitment, more fixed than a family or pet. Its a commitment to yourself, a grounding aspect that marks a milestone in your life of when you thought and felt a specific way. A reminder, because the mind is fickle, and forgets things. Just as the whole body is fickle in its gradual decline breeding disillusion with dissolution and death. Alas.
But all is not lost, I don’t think he was sad because of that, the man hardly spoke in the lead up to such a monologue by me. He was quiet before. He doesn’t even have tattoos “you don’t understand” (you aren’t part of the club they say). Exclusive with me. Let me tell you.

Well, the download is complete.
My stomach feels clawed at-
Too much to eat.
And not I feel fat.

I think the idea of the the day has to go to my negging of “doing your best” and using final fantasy X to justify it.
What’s our goal? “TO DO OUR BEST”. No, no, no. “TO WIN”.
At all costs. Because that’s the goal. That’s the aim.
And if you are aware of the continuation of the moment, and how un-sustainable the moment is if you do said “best”. What about every moment before that. Has it contributed to that moment? Or is it alone in its self as an idea.

You are fuming! Disgusting, littering, blonde, sloppy lipped mong of a man. Waste!
And you Sam, strange stuttering, unwelcome, antisocail, pinger scoffing stranger.
-nice watch, and plain maroon jumper.

Keep running up that hill.

Today- free store, shopping. My wondering if I am wholly a reaction to my environment and when moments occur that I have control.
In sport? When you amaze yourself doing something purely in the moment or thoughtful? Or is that the definition of mindless. How you are in tune with the movement of another person. You see shapes and ideas blurringly assess them. That’s why sometimes you fail to relate. Piano take it away.

Driving a car, reaction learnt. Its a skill.
Self defense, falling. More to learn. Unnatural- maybe.
Words that say “I think”
“maybe” “Perhaps” “I’m not sure”.
Muted. Song to say goodbye indeed.

I met the owner of a brilliant little cafe today.
His name is Gabriel, like the main character in Joyce’s “The Dead”.
Cafe Qui Pense. I thought how funny it is, that i’m Australian and like coffee certain way and drink my coffee “A long black, please”, is the one drink that isn’t a normal translated order here. An Americano, no, no, a mistake. A lot of it. Would be a better order.

I wrote some other stuff today, in amongst study and setting alarms.

Each mind is an opal
Gift a cursed hap.
Mine many rough as coal.
Unpolished crap.
Dry stones of soul-
Sets and sits untapped.
Hexagon on natural form
From wet heat, day’s night.
Shamanistic starry norm.
Medicines curing blight.
Should this ring right-
Wrong, or some-kind-other
Cured ailment of a mother.

Hanging red gloves, above the door.
Dripping sacred, holly blood.
Fogged pane-glass, snow wet floor.
Blotch on coat, think nothing more.
Until home is made,
Jams and marmalade,
Sweet the bitter.
Trusted baby sitter.

A flooded house.
Porch without chair.
Tricker treats without-
Pumpkin or fare.

And then we look upon the kitchen afresh and what did we find?
The UNDISCOVERED CUPBOARD.
And the spelling to be beyond me, for a few good tries, for wont of help, google and advice.

Why is there a T in the word Influential.
Influence. Weird.

Listened to Rhys’ album. Mr Milo, such talent. Wonderful friends.
Associates. Amaze. Good grief, gold, and quality and wonder assured.
Children for parents are the friends you do not have.

Pack bag.
Shakespeare! Aye.

I keep trying to make my own ripped jeans, and keep ending up just wearing shorts.
Never got my scissors licence.
Pens are beyond me too.
There’s not much I’m good at.
Isn’t it a shame to think of all the people who have taken their talents and skills with them to the grave. Ahhh, the transfer of skills to others is crucial and we’re getting better at it. This I know. But there are so so many of us. And so many things to learn.
So many mistakes.

What are the lyrics to Femme Libere:
Terrible upon first gloss. More on that some other time.
I gotta read some other stuff first and brush. Yeah brush.
Soft godndamn TOOThBRUshEs. Get me down. What a strange invention.
Good grief.

Worked on a secret handshake with Thomas.
Slap it,
Crack it.
Low 5,
Forearm Cross.
Hang 10

I said I was seeing a friend of a friend.
Book of Mormon.

The word “media” has many anagrams.
“Pat are you drinking wine” – no.
I’ve been at the gym, so i’m dehydrated.

Zeal without prudence is like a ship adrift.
I am, I will be yours.
Your Bipolar Lunatic.

The oscillation and interplay of thoughts.
At school you pay the teachers to listen to you and teach you-
Discipline. Not child care. Amuse and entertain you.
Enjoy the freedom.

“You don’t understand me”. And my day swing. Turned on a dime.
Nothing could go right from that point.
Other people in your life, affecting you negatively.
My armour is soft. My defenses breached so easily.
I am not steel. I am scared. Angry, un-learned. Wasteful.
But a deluded entertainer.
Angry at everyone that surrounds me.
The stage is never right, all, SO unwilling.
Be my set. Be amused. Listen, excite, feed me, give and give.
and shut up and ask and care and play and lets just play.
if only for a short while. Let me touch your hand and kiss your neck and ask deep questions. Explain to me things I know very little about. Give me your opinion. Free from judgement. Just share, lay it bare. Like a shucked oyster. Lear about yourself.
Smash yourself to pieces. Let me be your drug, we shall follow your mind until something goes wrong. Distracted. Sick.
Julliette put alarms on your iPad.
If you are going to prank, go to!
Follow through. I will allow it.
Gosh darn, blast and frig.
Placebo playlist has gone full circle.
Time to call it a night.

Playlish. Clall.

So far so good. Continuing the cycle. Trying to stay on track, rest-relax, eat well, exercise, stretch my mind, i’ll for a walk soon.
Today’s post is just a basic update. Cleaning out my room- so there are some random sheets of paper lying around that i’ll record and discard.
Then i’ll pump up my ball and boot.

one was a list of books.
Two was a flavour of burp – capsicum.
three the common question of “what do you study”

and finally 4 had to do with baseball:

Its up its over its out,
Cap back, hock and spit
Make eyes lock and hit.
throw the bat, run a bit
He’s home. Home we scream an shout.

The batter swings- strike
The batter swings- strike
The pitcher throws – hit!
The fielder prepares – mitt
The ball, its up! Long
The batter happy, strong.
The pitcher misery struck
The fielder curse rotten luck
The fans fight and clap.
The happy, horrid hollers of hap.

I felt like a bystander,
an extra in my own life.
I don’t want to be-
involved.
“should I don this?” (justify me)
-leave me out of it-

I don’t know how I do it but I feel the compulsive need to keep creating.
Do different. For arts sake. Political or otherwise; I am torn. I am art – not god.
You may identify me by the poor fingerpaints of my parents. Mix and smeared on a blank white sheet. This is my identity. A creation of only a most basic level of understanding. Comprehension and wonder.
Good or bad or just the same. Waxing the proprietorship; kunstlerroman -I am not referring to the frontierswoman. Aye me: spiritual learned, with much further afford yet. Bildungsroman by way of bilingualism, so closely are they intertwined.
And so I grow, enfilade be my option. Creativity and choice.
Options grow like the priesthood of the eternal imagination promised.
To transmute experience, so basic and normative into gold. All that shines godly, golden locks and more. Indeed all that shines. Radiant in body. Recorded, and living. Like the sparking well worn pages of some princely text. Ever-living as fame can only provide. Valid, nominal and received by all. Taken like a stable to both page and stomach. The basic fare, of food for all on the surface of the earth. Life’s staple, enough just to satisfy and make us question. Question all. Seek, learn and grow.
Our education begins with the mythscape created in language to form our own identity. The offset of god and how we are cast from the heavens above. We represent a bathyscaphe. Our individualism yet insubstantial.
The imperial construction in conversation, our eyes and common acceptance codify our point of view in our ever-brief search towards the unknown.

Its difficult to love rap. Surely, when you’re thrust into a new environment its barren and new. This would our here is lonely and cold.
Du-du-des-des-pas.. J’ai lan.

Tonight was dinner and fajitas.
French translation, the girls and boys would get on a roll and leave me for dead.
Behind, unexplained, grasping and gasping.
I have a loose ankle, rolling wide.
And here I am on the other side.
James Bond mashups as the background.
And that isn’t the only strange sound.
And hair and hats and memory preserved.
And all us strangers games, orgies reserved.
And you can trust from the drop and tune-
the evening isn’t over, by the light of the moon.
Make it last. Lets stay keen.
Happy and bright, and light and scene.
And tell old stories, and keep our senses.
Not regretting a thing and counting our recompenses.
And your beautiful eyes and smile.
Your studies and your style.
Politics. Society.
Questioned sobriety.
French and english, that barrier profound.
Judy Dench, my single-ish life, unfound.
Damage, timing, lack of energy and direction.
Discovered in my drunken, quaker selection.
Religious belief and hand gestures,
Changing posture, and foster my destesture.
Because I hate this, this being alone-
This wait, you’re single, pick up the phone.
Because you need to put yourself out there!
Move and smile awake. So, so feeling unfair.
Despair. Putan. Because hookah pipes aren’t the release.
Not free, not out there. Not prostituted.
Blue jacket. Tell tale story.
C’est pareil.
Edoudard, strange staring.
Music plays. Vision and thoughts wrack his brain. Thrown over. The uncomfort. Where are my snuggle buddies. The familiarity. The security. The comfort.
Declan. Between my teeth, sips and questions and poor language, translations mumbo jumpo bollocks and spelling and the idea of what i’m trying to cast to everyone else. The alphabet. Gangstar. X Y Z. You’re chatter. Final. Lost, confused. Banal basic. Your cousin. Shit. True, me. It is, music. Source. Wait. Child. New. Stop. Music. Samething. On the radio. Incredible. Best.
Words that I picked up. No. Listen.

Today in sunlight we have basked.
And tight friends, time we’ve spent.
Questions answered, questions asked.
Beyond it all the tick-tock of rent.

Tomorrow’s dreams, bedtime avoid.
Comfort and ideas, couch and chair.
Here we lay, relaxed destroyed.
Always thinking; its to unfair.

Auto-tuned, disgrace non-comprehend.
To the candy shop, drugs, smoke, relax.
Excel, express of others defend.
Before you do, gather all the facts.

So we snuggle and hold, kiss and talk.
Tomorrow’s a new day, our memory lax let.
On and on, out long limbs stalk.
And yet, and yet. We’ve no need to fret.

Fore we are the future, like it or not.
And you are beautiful, talking with charm.
Style, sex appeal! Reality come hot.
Any advances and compliments are without harm.

Because table and beers.
Freedom of fears.
Of tears, talk and love.
Heaven’s above.

Silence.
What a waste.
all I need is silence and the ability to adjust, change, miss-motivate you.
Because you are mine. And we are germs and we don’t matter and you can just hold me because a comfort now is how I would reward myself not doing something outrageous. A reward worthy of, the new, of something personal.
Fair don’t you think? Deserved. It’s worthwhile. Touch me, hold me, swear in my ear.
Taste me. Lips, ears. Neck kissing. Taste the different temperatures of water. Hold me gently. Eat icecream and bring wine. The candy shop tomorrow, what do I buy your father and mother and young brother. Small gifts. What did her buy people in “beyond a shadow of a doubt” torture the women. Oh and they are, we all are. But beyond the norm. Ok, so we will. And torture them silly. Still, feel we will and sill.

Windows, frosted over.
Rap music, with its resonance and stories.
Bring it in.
Gang signs, sight and a pin.
Bubble popping, energy and worries.
Generous, real, genuine.
Spitting and telling how it is.
From a small city; who’s name you spell.
Late night, awareness sets in, story mode presents itself.
This bizarre moment in time. We crash,
but do we, no we avoid. Magnificent.
Powerful, moment of life, alive.
And strong. Put a hat on, take it to your breast.
Like the video, telling of the growth of a child.

Heads and tails.
Sleeping in a bed-
but the rude bits are still in the middle.
hahah- life’s little quirks.
and so estranged.
So out there, isolated.
Different, and unwelcome and banal, and basic.
And the meaning, look to the gestures, the movements.
Still the rolling ankle. And NOW.
oh now, I could write characters.

Sell, que, double.
BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Edouard. Sat with beer in hand. Making a movie, avec his phone. Talking and singing lyrics to a french song that he knows quite well. His hair has grown out, and he has a modest stubble. His hair is brown, skin tanned to olive. He talks of a person with his two friends on the couch. It’s a somber song, pensive. The narrator has heard it before. Confident and joking make-up his predominant mood and disposition, avec people taking him seriously. We wonder about the interest and the attraction people have in his company. Making chatter simple, easy and comfortable, he risks being basic but is carefree.
He sails, but not while on holidays. He has a drunk-burn. Which looks like: both sunburn when someone was wearing sunglasses and the capillaries’ colouring upon a drink beyond capacity. A cheerful mouth, with a full set of smallish white teeth. He smokes, but doesn’t smell or make a big deal of it. The time spent with others watching videos. The sickness of bodies in close contact isn’t something that effects him. He has dark eyebrows. Yawning and not covering his mouth. He is easy going, smiling and relaxed when he’s in his own home. He can sit for hours if he is given a screen and music to play with. He is easily entertained.
Wearing middle upper class clothes. Boat shoes, grey well fitted pants, and a plain shirt to fit in.
Music and movies, humor motivate him on a daily basis. He wonders to himself the meaning of the moment, late at night. What his goals are, demonstrating a restless spirit, looking up at the ceiling. He’s pensive. Tired, blabbering-no informative. Senselessly holding his phone in his left hand, his creative side, comfortably.
What is his goal this evening? His mistress to bed, what will be his move? How does he feel. He takes a drink. He looks like he’s thinking. He’s caught me watching him, another drink. An intense stare, self awareness. “bizarre”.

Frenching. Self awareness. Danger zone. Maybe its time to brush and sleep, that’s what we’re all thinking. But his next move cannot be told. This is an endurance battle that I will not lose. Video making? I don’t feel comfortable. The mood isn’t captured. Movies in that environment are missed and strange. Can a movie capture a mood? I don’t think so. This music is unknown, but I smile knowingly. And everyone nods. Eurovision! 2016 feels like the theme for every late night with these folks.
As we head toward four after midnight, I wonder where these people get their fucking energy. I laugh in their faces. They look away. How strange. What does this hatted man desire from this situation. Bah my homework is done. And i’m lost, lost and basic.
In depth conversation with guys and girls who’s name’s I don’t even know.
Its basic and underrated. But how can I possibly do this, it wears me down.
Reckless, Wrecked. Singing, Ricky Martinesque classics.
MARTINESQUE!

Astray.
Almond drink. Real almond. Shared. Used the housemates milk.
No worries. Nobody will ever know. No stress, this is best. Creature of habit. Paradise lost. Illiterate and blind. Fruit fly. Born to die. No brains, no spine.
Commonly divine. Reflex. With each muscle a brain.
And here we are. Here we are in Ottawa. “I’m over it” I said.
Edouard looking at me with his creepy eyes.
Flushed below are his cheeks- to the bridge of his nose. Like some sort of sunglasses tan line.
Adrenaline kicks in. Stomach stretched.
music blurts. Maracas.

And the introduction to a standup show. With the etereal intro of vibing music. Ambient. Guitar, electric piano. Distorted sound. Patient and torn.
Changed in a swirl. Rising and falling away. Washing over you. Your eyes close as the audience and the recognition from the man in charge of his craft is as follows:

Hello all.
Self aware from start to finish.
And the critics would write “very amusing”.
To muse, and be interesting. to make you think, is what this person’s craft entails.
And so he would go on… after a brief pause.
-I was thinking recently, how strange it is, when you stand out… Stand out infront of people, a group or just an individual and you think to yourself: kinda quantify to yourself just how everyone else is crazy. So I tell you guys now, for safety and clapping’s sake. I AM FUNNY. but you don’t know it. And i’m only coming to terms with this myself. So don’t clap if you think a joke has happened. You have no fucking idea. No idea. I’ll tell you. I’ll laugh, you guys will just react accordingly. ok. Let that wash over you.
Like when you’ve in a group of people’s company and the conversation drys up. Isn’t that great. When there is a pause? Is it not? That’s a queer question. And aptly named a queery, buy someone, I think it was the “inventor” shall we say of gravity.
Not Albert Einstein. No. But the other guy. Adam. No standing, no sitting under a tree. For ten points.
-Isaac Newton? He’d say.
and I would point… ten times, 5 on each hand. POINT POINT POINT POINT ETC ETC.

And still I’d be thinking of the milk i’d borrowed and the interruption of this person upon my life and how I look and tight fitting clothes. Corrupt of me.
Almost broken and unhinged, sickly with desire. Which is strange for me. Out of my lowly window. Staring. Not quite agape or lolling. But noticing, surely.
that would be me. Yes. Attentive. There’s that double ‘T’
I’ve changed how I write my double T’s. But nobody really cares, and I don’t save much time. It’s just a style change.
Anyway as I was saying isn’t it great when you’re in a group and conversation dies. And then someone brings something up and you realize in that moment of CREATION.
The conversation. The vibration in that person’s neck that they THOUGHT THAT. And whether or not its politeness or curiousness, a statement, anything. Any one of those modes of conversing. They have chosen a direction. You could thank them, be surprised. The myriad of emotions, the cause and effect. And if you are affected. Your follow on thoughts from this. -are you even keeping pace?

Probably not. I hear a lot of people don’t. And those that do, well they wear themselves out and in turn don’t recall what the other person said most of the time, unless there is some sort of strong resonating emotion. Alas, sandy beaches.
So, what i’m trying to say. Isn’t it great sitting silently in a group of people.
And if someone says something, then you just stay quiet. Everyone stuck in a silent loop. Just thinking, but with company. Sharing eye contact. Smiles. Gremlin like.
Google eyes. Goggles off. Obvious. Thoughtful, devilish, unveiled, vile, true, smiling, watching, intense, poignant, impressive, animal, vermin, wanting, looking, lustful.
Like me out the window, silently watching people go by. If they look good to me I stare. What denotes them looking good?> I don’t for the life of me know.
Subconsious? maybe, maybe not? Maybe we’re not honest with ourselves.
I think i’m a liar. To myself. But when I play sport I’m honest with myself.
Honest and angry. Moving, and hating and wanting. And thats me. And I don’t want to focus on anything else. I have no alterior motives. Just angry energy, and a following eye. Smiling, evil, and destructive. But not untoward. Just and honest.
Finally the veil lifts. I my own corpse bride, lifting myself from the grave, only to dance in circle. Clutching myself in the shower. Scrubbing until red, but always disgusting. Mutilated, yet somehow accepted. Looked over.

Like a groom, cum mannequin. Each and every person, beguiled. Spellstruck, down turned smiles to follow the gravity of the situation. Pulled to their graves, matching their expression. Clones. Morbid, hive mind zombification of 4pm. The cold sinks in. Sloppy, washed out souls. Upon the open seas, arms outspread upon the whitewash surf. Pushed in towards the rocks. Brains to be dashed, smashed, crushed and wrecked. Their ships, vessels betorn. Born to be poked holes in and questioned. Caught in their world that is not their own. Phones out or wayward. Starfish, no survival backstroke, or be it facedown will save you or show you favour. Nor free you from your bubbling, bubblind demise. Self despised, plucked and bleeding eyes. Limbs boil, and the sea of acid destroys every living thing. Turning brown, to yellow to green and finally evaporating leaving naught but bones and the disouraging sign of a godless, eternity of something bigger and uncomprehending of what you might call suffering, but I willingly and gaily admitt to being a moment of self aware. Instead of the basic desire of tight clothes and their happening. The need to provide, sustain and relive. To delve inside another and preceed yourself with a mixture of them. Not that but a sight of yourself. Eyeballs hanging, red reflecting the coldness of the day and your fed middle. Spicy and sick. Gullet wobbelling and your advice ringing hollow. Torture yourself, the women and children. But for what? For want of what? What control.
Beyond that there is only the pointless. So if you haven’t stood up and left which- hehe. You could and maybe should have. Oh bittersweet digress is my end.
But I jest. But do I? Indeed.
Then I know. I know this matters to you, and I can tell you I find it particularly funny. Which is grand. Oh yeas, yes yes yes, grand. Grande. Like the upsize. To escalate. Quickly. Ascend to more. And more. Because that’s what we’ve grown to want. To ask for, desire. Predict and fight over. Because of the fear of one-day/. Something will come. But don’t worry. That hopefully will be you and you into mean, with mean to little ones. With plenty comes your worth and maybe that’s the best lot you can ask. But fate and the time and culture will pray and influence. Oh yes, yes sir. Sit, look up. Look to your wife. Put out your hands. Smack.
yes turkey.
A slap.
What else goes with cranberry sauce. What a mundane question.
man. Mun. Mundance. Allow your head to balance evenly at the top of your spine.
Experience the present moment. If you find your attention has wandered off. Bring it back. I know that sounds abstract but its not. Focus.
Smell this. Do you know what this is? It’s Cloves.
CLOVES children. You don’t know the smell. You don’t remember it all.
You certainly don’t know everything, or anything. Yet. So i’ll give you some time, to muse and amuse, and rebel and refuse. And fuse thought a light a fire. Tinder and twigs. And horses and tails and pianos and sticks. And hitting and wood. And erections and hands. And plans and flans. And pancakes and milk sugar eggs. At all.
it not going on at all. What is going on is above all transformation of mental states.
Gurp hurp hurp grup.
Excel, gum chew chew chew.
I know its tough but if what you’re doing is brilliant then what i’ve put in has got to be something, doesn’t it? It’s not on a scroll or ingained or carved. Its semi permanent at best. I must print. SCARF

Lunatic Bipolar.
The scatter of emotional reaction.
Everything is great. I go to university, I choose what I learn. I read all about these things, I pay you to read what I think and have to say. You pay attention to me, read critically, mark, assess, agree, disagree. My ideas.
There are other things that I do, but this is a big part of me.
I focus, read, write, focus and try. I pay for food, I am supported. My basic needs are covered. Why is everything difficult? Is it that I haven’t put my next aims and goals into place. What do I want?
I read one thing. I realize, somehow that I’ve let you down and I’ve let myself down not knowing. I’m angry. People make me angry. Influence me, and affect my emotions. I wish you weren’t around, I wish I was free of people. Nobody there to distract me.
I could do so much, free from the anger and confusion you bring me.
My jovial attitude, my enjoyment, alone but learned not to be lonely.
I could be happy like that. Why do I blame others. Why do people influence me, have sway. Why do I like being a people person. I felt like the effect of my positive nature might make brilliant and wonderful ripples. But like a functioning relationship between others, it can breed jealousy and annoyance in the casual observer. This dissonance, fall from grace must be cured somehow.
But I am lost, i’m still discovering who I am. 35 is middle aged- in the bible. I still have a long time to waste, spend, try as I see fit before then.
Life is easy. I have so many things. There shouldn’t be any stress.
I am a functioning human being, doing things should be easy.
Time slips away, I just need to make chips. Small portions, towards what I wish to achieve. Every single day.

I have returned from Montreal. A french city in Canada.
But for my fatigue I will not retell what I did.
Suffice to say, I got dehydrated. Having fun, riding around. Bed early one night, and late the other. Listening to a guy ramble on about Bollywood and his friends.
He confirmed what I study, and then actively took up a monologue. It was quite something.
I gave Bilbo my vegemite, he was the guy I couch surfed with.
Share the worldly experiences I say.

“What are you doing”
*I ignore the question*
“what are you doing”
– just this. (ask me another question)
“Fair enough”
What dullery!

Lorsque = when/during.

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

Met a german tourist called Astrid.

MPL.COM in Montreal.

Kiddir, was the guy at reception.

5016A was the password for the door.

“Mike the homeless” – ha has friends in the hood. Big guy; has a hat.
I gave him 3 dollars.

Tequila Jacks. Like Whiskey Jack.
Like the O-Bar of Ottawa. Slutty, basic, clients.
Welcome to drinking – all of you.

Is it weird or progressive when people yell “faggot” out the window of a car.

AH-AH-Ah a gift idea.
Real memories!

werewolf? Oct 8, 2016, 23:10

We Chat – app

My teacher. Lecturer uses the line “Can I get a hand on that” – to the class.

Create
Destroy
Rebuild
(logo)

Let anyone among you who is without sin, be the first to throw a stone.

Roxanne – philosophy class.

Harbinger.
Femininity
Strome – tous les même
The tree – all the same.
Charachters: (what I haven’t been motivated to do this year)
Prospero
Marke Change

Sorry I ask too many questions.
“That’s ok you have a curious mind”.

We all need an addiction. (but do we)

Ingredients for Chinese Moon Cake:
Sugar, salted yolk, flour, vegetable oil, rice flour, melon seed, walnut seed, olive seed, almond seed, sesame seed, water, egg, potassium carbonate, dehydrated sodium acetate, potassium sorbate.

Cooking in the modern worlds has transformed from cook-fire and billy, stove top-pot, to industrialised-isms.

The opposite to the hungry caterpillar.

Books you must read:
Asterix, Harry Potter.

Scholar- random letter type. (makes me think of latin)
Nooni
Michael
Sebastian – lives here.

These are a great many nonsense notes over the past month that I decided to delete.
Great…