Giving up the home-ground advantage and travelling south for the weekend to visit Megan started with a long bus trip, some poor oversights and a bit of luck on my part. Getting across the border, talking to customs and immigration at the states was nearly a disaster as I didn’t have an address for where I was staying! eeeee-gads. So be forewarned. You always need to have a place to stay, when you’re border hopping. Cripes man, they made me sweat, made the bus wait for 45 minutes.
I had to force the crocodile tears I learnt how to manipulate in highschool.
Sweaty brow, submissive and thankful tone. It makes me sick to witness people react to me how they do. But diplomacy can’t always reign supreme, sometime you have to look the lamb and but it between your legs. So I got my way, across the border and on my way. Cheers America. “Its no big deal”

Visiting Megan from then on was pretty easy dice.
She picked me up in her car and we drove to hers.
It was her birthday and she was excited, I was happy to be off the bus, exhausted but very pleased to see her. After some traumatic driving and catching up- indeed lighthearted chatter we arrived at her home in Weathersfield. A quaint and quiet little city in “connecty-cut”.
Autumn was well and truly tumbling in. The leaves everywhere, pumpkins, apples and Halloween were in full swing.
Megan and I went straight to bed and recharged to the best of our ability then showered and dolled up for the night.
A family dinner.
I met her step father, mother and flamboyantly energetic younger brother.
The dinner was pleasant, I wore simple black and white clothes, feeling underdressed among to general populace of suburban coots. Megan’s brother shouted, he father was awkward, her mother friendly but looking concerned as she chopped her youngest child’s food.
The place we went was an asian occasion sorta place, some dickhead with an attitude set fire to food in front of us and did a strange to be basically deranged show of cooking our food. Capable of only a few words and talking like the prostitutes of Thailand tourist sex strips “Where you do”, “oh you like it like dat”.
It was jarring to think about as he juggled, squirted liquids across the room and all that jizz. Lady boy weird. But the show was something different, to the point of being unique. It can still be honed, perhaps never made classy or cultured, but new and neat. Its easier to critique than compliment sometimes. Sake was nice.
A tower of onions set on fire and the gargantuan meal were all highlights.

I talked to Meegz Uncle and Aunt, they were nice. Born and raised in the quiet towns and surrounds they were friendly but I sensed a resentment of some kind. Like somehow my airs of adventure, my approach was gauged and ultimately ajar, in reference to my being foreign. My spelling is off this evening. Terrible.

Dinner was wonderous, I was just tired I think. Maybe, who knows.
The meal was the first of many. Lots of eating in the USA. Lots of food, very rich, lots of meat and bread bread bread and frying and fries and fried this and that, enough to make me fat. I forget how fussy I am on the inside and my upbringing that says as a guest you can NEVER be fussy.
I felt awkward.
I was meeting everyone for the first time.
What did I want to do?
What did I have to do.
Homework – that’s all.
But that wasn’t the reason I was there, and somehow I was suffering the overnight hangover for days to come.

A Dr Seuss book I read “oh the places you’ll go” encaptured how I was the feel quite well -visiting waiting places.
As a tourist, I ticked many boxes, ate very well to as to keep my furtive eyes from popping. I was a cow, in a line for much of my time in NewYork city.
But my doe eyes were gleaming, with the abstracted, surreal, pointed visions that manifested themselves before my eyes.
Liberty! Chicago (the show), Empire State, bustle, umbrellas, snacks, sex museums, accents, diners, performers, husslers, the lot.

I found 15 dollars and walked along the brookly bridge and didn’t need to raise my voice in anger at anyone. I was suffering a slight paralysis from venturing so far without the correct recovery, but what can you do- can’t be helped.

I’ve listened to the same song twice now, but its good stuff.
“black, noir, schwartz”.
I’ve also tuned into some random dating website that is the busses internet provider, its friggin strange and works off facebook. So anyone that has travelled like me is here. Gadz man, the internet has memory. lets play “who’s caught a Greyhound”. hhaaha

After NewYork, back to Wethersield.
I ate, chatted, sat quietly and awkwardly slowing and tryingly growing more accustomed to the people in my space as I resided within theirs.
I feel a limited freedom in such situations: imposed by myself, because I’d hate to put anyone out, ask too much, or just come across as too assertive. Here is my stuckness. A disiese of caring and being broken in my considerate nature.

I didn’t know where I stood with Megan and I felt it was hard to care and be cared for by people who I didn’t know. What am I doing here? Should I be here, do these people want me here were roadblocks in my head and dangerous hurdles for the day.

A few quiet relaxing days, homework, planning and sitting were too much for me without the release of exercise. My patience backfired and I ran my mouth which actually proved helpful for getting my feelings understood by myself and my old girlfriend. I made her cry, but only because she didn’t understand me or my concepts fully. Self talk, aggro, anger, sharing-not-bottling. It was hard, and it made me scared and regret sharing. Usually I silently fume and self immolate for the comfort of all others, but not anymore. Talk, even if its nonsense, hurt everyone around you until you are crucified or some kind of reason and sense pours out of your brain that everyone nods to. Like a sponge I rang myself dry.

We picked apples.
Carved pumpkins- tried local delicacies. “S’mores, and Cheezits”.

“let mum know that when I get home that, if you’re up a puzzle, there’s six of you… yeah bye”- the guy in front of me. Someone was in a car crash.
Talking about his other uncle, He died. This guys shares… plain talking, buck toothed. Odd, if you ask me. I should slap him, see what happens. hahah, not really just a thought that I won’t act upon.
Not a want or a need. Just a thought. A nothing.
It only matters if it matters to you.
Does it happen often? Is there an urge? Must you act?
Actions can have huge effects on people. Yes, yes they can

Then we went to Toronto.
We saw a comedy show.
Our host bought the drinks, he had strange eyes.
The house was nice. The next day we went to Niagara falls.
It was beautiful and i’m told its a natural wonder of the world.
Riding a boat near the heavy flow of water was an experience like no other you could achieve without getting fined… Such is the touristy life.
Man overboard, I saw money, but couldn’t get it. As it was over the safety barrier.
I picked yellow flowers and returned home on the bus.

That night I had Pho.
I talked some, with Megan it was nice.
We were tired and wont see eachother for a while, so we walked back and went to bed.

The next day we came home. I will return to Toronto. At the moment, I think I could live there as its a big city with a lot going on.

Now I’m heading home, I will be tactical in the food I eat and try to do a lot of exercise between now and the end of the month.
I’m making plans to visit Juan in Mexico for sunshine and beers like old times.
I’m excited.
I need to do a fair bit of reading and writing this week for university, but all will come in good time.

Champagne and Orange juice is delicious.
Mimosas .

Why do people pull faces
And why do people make shapes.
Others hide away.
For all those pictures.

Fear not the camera.
Paint yourself not.
Dress not.
Think not.
Pay it no mind.
No heed.

I think I’m in a slump.
I believe i’m afraid of myself.
I have said the wrong thing to so many people so many times.
I feel hung up.
My dial tone is a sad set of self talk and anger.
Money isn’t an issue, but my internal tick is to live as cheap as possible.
There are things i’d like to see.
I’d appreciate adventure.
What is this holding back, the silent loathing and loading and pensive struggle.
Am I in a rut as Dr. Seuss suggest?
Stuck in a waiting place. How do I cure myself.
The internet is the cure for a curious mind.
I have so little time.
And much much much to do, such procrastination.
I need a shower.
I’m hungry, yet sick.
Tired, yet itching to move.
Struggling to get out. Out of my mind.
Not mindful.
Not happy, failfull with genuine caring interaction.
Something has set in.
What I need is a ball.

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!