Semantics with Rowan.
We walked, went on a word share adventure.
He played his own game.
Word linking, the subconscious.
Freud. “read these books”.
Analysing dreams. -bullshit.
The freedom of death.
When you die, what happens to your mind?
“JUST BLACK”
-What happens? What is you?

Patrick made it to the top of Lynton Ave. He was talking to his friend. Arriving at the turning circle he was distracted by the ongoing tangent that spun off-of the nature-nurture debate. He stepped out infront of a car and was killed.
Guilt flooded from his every pore. Poor Patrick. Blood poured from his nose, mouth, ears and eyes.
He’d bitten off his own tongue, back-flipping through the air, clipping a stop sign, that was red, set upon a backdrop of blue-black night sky. Clear. He’d never had such clarity of thought, he’d nearly died. He was dying, but not instantly. His vision blurred. Sluggish, sloppy breathing. He kept feeling the need to spit but it just came out in a wheeze. What were we talking about, he wondered.
The woman in the car had stopped a few meters on. The radio still played.
“do, do, do, do, do”. It was the soundtrack to an old Australian drama called heart beat. The irony was lost on her. She’d screamed herself mute in the small cabin of her car. She’d travelled through the turning circle at speed after a long day at work. She was a fit young business woman with dyed orange hair. She wore a pencil skirt most days, regardless of the weather and was never late.
Today she was thinking about her weekend when Patrick had done his aerial dance.
All she could hear was a high pitched, static of white noise.

Did Patrick’s soul leave his body? Rowan couldn’t be sure. His breathing had stopped. Watching his colour fade, his life force and energy bleach… Seeping into the gutter. Rowan wondered at the angle of Patrick’s broken wrist. Unnatural. He cupped the back of his head and rocked back and forwards.

Patrick saw pokies and the strips of light flashing in his creative minds eye. Cherries and dollar bills and stars were what he kept landing on. Cold. But not unpleasant. Some kind of long accustomed freeze had set in, somehow he couldn’t move. Patrick was too despondent to complain, sit up or move. Rowan would look after him. It was a claustrophobic feeling.

We had played the word game.
I had told him why I got out of bed each and every day.
People were driven by all sorts of things.
Motivations changed.
People were at different understandings in their individual lives.
Fluctuating people, means that philosophies changes over time.
There are so many to learn.
Each person with their own experience and ideas.
The lexicon, shared understanding, culture helped us shape ourselves.
But our decisions and directions come from within.
Take time.
Try to learn it all.

I’ve been in melbourne this weekend passed.
My brother and his Ex are building bridges.
I didn’t sleep that much.
I didn’t eat that much.
I caught up with the guys.
I partied.
I slept on Declan’s bed with him and his girlfriend.

I was feeling pretty vile.
I felt strange.
Sensation.
Flexible.
Wasted.
Shirt off.
Only a jacket and my skin.

To feel cold.
Where does heat go?
Your body, feeling cold?
What does that mean?
Do you heat up the room?
Is “cold” a deep-lying slowing of circulation?
where does your body heat go?

Heat is a strange idea.
For sound to be a facet force of light.
For forces to be organised by our minds.
Our survival.
What IS that?
Our survival.
What is our cognition?
Why do so many people buy coffee in the mornings?
What does that achieve?
Where is our bloodthirsty inspiration?
Our dangerous edge?
What boils our blood? And curdles our skin.
What makes up presence.
Where do I begin.
How can we understand?
The way we move, sit, opperate, lay or lie.
Lie to ourselves.
Spend eternity in bed.
Spelling.
Memory.
Remembered.
Hurt feelings.
Social beings.
Asking the right questions.

ASK THE CORRECT QUESTIONS.
“crack people” – get them to open up.
Find out about them.

Do you thing people like the people around them because of the amount of time that they spend with them>?

When you first hear a song, you aren’t sure if you like the tune, or the singers voice. But then you learn to love all the aspects of a band’s music. You follow them, buy the album, connect, enjoy and explore.

Could this be the same with people? Do people just take time to warm to others?

The classic story-teller. A person, tells of their dark past. Others sit and soak up the story.

I am ungreatful. oooops.

Lindsay bought be lunch and I didn’t say thankyou. The chocolate-coconut cookie and an orange juice.

I want to buy a rocking chair.
A magic 8-ball.
A go-pro.
Gold ear-ring.

Strange what makes up our bodies.
I sat. Stared at the wobbling curtains.
Out of my brain.
Wondering what makes up sleep.
Wondering why we need to eat.
Why we need to drink.

Refuel? Our bodies. Drifting.
Unknown to us.
Our animal senses.
Vulnerable.
Sensitive.

Touch,
Taste,
Sight,
Smell,
Hearing.

I’d like a gold earring with a feather.

I’d like my acceptance letter for uOttawa.

Who invented the t-shirt?
Why are there 12 months in a year?

0- BC
0- AD

When you’re born in Korea, you are one. Was there a year called zero?

How can someone be a bad dancer?

cer?!
DAN-SER.
DAN-SIR.
SIR-DAN.

“Daneel”

IAMEH: Chai girl. “iron man”. Dancer. Blacklist. Studying to be a doctor.

If you went back in time, what would you want to see? Where would you visit?

Dinosaurs.
Shakespeare.
The Big Bang.

Tempest was a great exhibition.
Fingers thrumming on desks.
An isolated man in his mansion.
Travelled at a young age.
White devil. Pheonix, girl. Stoned to death.

At pesto.
Was proud of mother.
Black list tonight. Ticket needed.
Drive.
Party.

A man lays.
Dead on the beach.
Lump on his head.
Above high tide.
Upon inspection no foul play is presumed.
How did he die?

Coconut fell on him.

Bex and I in vietnam.
fear of coconuts.
Quaint.

Rural Australia.
We washed out bloodied hands in a rusted through bucket, turned half on its side.
Cookie and I were the only ones that made it along.
We kicked up dust, walking side by side.
Feet dragging. Lips, all but dry skin.
The countryside was harsh and stretched out either side.
All the way to the horizon.

Now we drank.
The water tasted of blood.
Murk and rust.
So sweet I could have been sick.
We both drank slow, in a daze.
Confused by sensation and exhaustion.
Rubbing at our eyes with the backs of out blackened hands.
Cookie gulped. And exhaled through her small nose.
I rocked on my feet, unsteady having finally stopped walking.

My eyes felt larger than their sockets.
And my heavy itchy lids felt like dried eucalyptus leaves.
Cookie sat down, stretched out her legs and lay back.
Her toes wriggling, reminded me of rain somehow.
I dropped to my knees and curled up, laying gently beside her.

Its amazing how isolated you can be when your car breaks down.
We’d waited for two days on a dust bowl trail.
Driving for a day to our hearts content seemed romantic.
-It was something we agreed we both wanted to do-
But distance changes, like the rules of any game when you play with children.

I suppose we were the children in this instance.
The land was ancient and had history that clashed with our own. Cars were violent and a trespass on the roads the land wore like unwanted tattoos.
The dust that clung to the air was my own reminder of that.
“Distance in dust miles”; was what Cookie had said with a smile.
It made more sense to me now.
Not ominous as such. But a regret. A punishment that we had to endure now.
All those dust miles, distances warp when you’re in a car.
Decisions that weren’t life or death. That now were.

When the car didn’t turn-on, on friday morning. Cookie looked at me.
-did one of us leave the lights on? Forget to close the boot?
It was totally dead.
We still had a spare tire.
I smiled then. (at the time). I thought we were organised.
We’d ditched our phones at the hostel.
I was a tassie boy, wanting to get away from the cold and the family and all my friends that i’d seen since I was in grade 7. Such an inbred lot.
Nothing changes. Stagnation. She was different. Cookie was a breath of fresh air. She was English and wild. Talkative and smart. We’d both had it with out lives and decided to go rogue together. Get some heat. Slum it.

“Do you know what Gaia means?” I asked her once.
She told me that she played age of empires on computer. So ofcourse she knew what Gaia meant. We both laughed.
We weren’t laughing now. Now we were fauning around in gaia’s hot bristled armpit. We weren’t going to die. It was a few days of walking.
Less if we got lucky. I’d packed light, genius that I was.
We had water for yesterday and the two days we’d waited and shagged in the car.

Now we were walking. Not the way we had come, that would be pointless.
We walked the way that we were driving. I expected something, a good story, fears, trials and tribulations. Jovially walking into the unknown.

Hey guys,

I’m just going to read you some of my diary entries. Because that’s something i’d enjoy, if I was you and you were me and did things that weren’t what I did.
So like…
What i’m saying is that I like reading other peoples diaries.
Infact rummaging though other people stuff.
Like basements.
And wardrobes.
Sock drawers (looking for money obviously)
Bookshelves, dvd collections [maybe not].

I still have a password for an ex-girlfriend’s email that I log into sometimes, just because I can.

On that note. I think everyone should change their passwords.
That should be a continuous new-years revolution.
Trust no-one. Seriously.
People are fucked in the head.

Ok.
Here I go…

*recount*

Own.
Oan
One
Oven
Ovan.
Alone.
Woan.
Won.
Wan
One.
Sonar.
Owner
Boner.
Energy, loss, hunger flat, pat. Tired. Dinner. eat ears eat eat eat eat and eat.
And plan. And list, and complain and plan and never get anywhere. Unless you ditch everything and everyone and just run. Run from everyone. Have no relaiblility. No worries. Lose those chins. Move. Don’t have, or lend or swap or exchange time with anyone. Write freely. Think openly. Talk not, to yourself.
Speak to the centre of the earth ask for its gift of warmth.

Spelling shot. Worry not for your mother, father, sister or brother. Worry not for yourself. Get your mind, make it active. Admit your plans and you motives. You’re secrets are wasted. Write down your secrets. Make them plans. Inject joy and exhiliration into your own life. Your wild eyes. Dehydrated. Hungry always. Tired, fat, lazy. Surely, its as simple as having a bottle of water.
Headspins. Hunger. Shocking.

Travel. Plans, abash. a wash. sex. and youth. and fitness. and beauty and progress and comfort and warmth and friends and jealousy, embarrassment, impatience. Flirtatious. Fixed, free, stolen, love and hearts and blood and sideways looks of sheepish feelings. Skittish. enjoyment. Liberty.

A novel you always wanted to write.
The dreamscape you live most days.

You wonder what your bald boss would look like if he lost all of his excess weight. A goblin? The customers come in late. One has children and a wife that’s busy. They should go out. Explore the world. Move.
You know you have energy. But how is it stored?
Where is your own motivation?
You are drained.
You are in the gutter.
You need to break your chains.
Bound up and angry. Frightened.
Life is short. You’ve got to get away Patrick.
YOU have TO. Admitt to others? How could they understand or give you advice?
Look at your bus tickets. Toyed with that idea at a young age, didn’t you. Free yourself from that. Run.
RUN to where you need to be. Every day. Run.
Jog to work.
Jog you fat, lazy pathetic excuse of a young man.
Jiggle and uncontrolled.
Mind not in charge.
Drone. Moron. Animal.
Mood based.
Pathetic, frightened. Worried about scholarships and honesty and admitting and talking and telling.
SUCH DISSONANCE. Two ideas.
The spreading of legs.
Fucked by the world.
Murdered. Sperm, dried out, wasted.
Sun-bleached. Washed away. down the drain with the spiders and silver fish.
With your childhood dreams and the time you will never have to read all those books and listen to all that music.
New inventors?
Collectors?
Television and sports?
Shows? Uninspired drivvel.
The un-educated toil of claggard-society.
The glue that binds us is the shit that we all excrete and consume.
We say the many names. Joining hands. Teeth and mouth stained.
Poisoned in out circle of similarity.
Stagnant. Ideals of chipboard. Plaster over the past.
The skills we had, the many functions and curiosities that we never ask, explain or seek out. Stifling. I chase the cold. But I know my productivity and depression lays in wait, layers of weight.
My winter coat.
This peasant. ZOUNDS!
He should hibernate.
Throw your buckets to the street.
Watch the tumultuous flow of poverty and charmless activity that we call society evolved.
My my how we have changed.
I’m so full of fear i’m afraid.
So unaccepting, i’m stagnant.
So boring i’m stuck.
So stuck, i’m confused.
So startled by my lack of progress I feel to open up my own head would be the only way to find a synaps. Snap my neck and hold between thumb and forfinger what it is to be alive. Hold only, the one true thought. The go button. The start. The ignition. The circle. The vessel. The vast iris to my own conition.

“what ever is the matter”
I don’t know I need to get a lot off my chest.
I need to grieve.
Let it all go.
Shake my limbs.
Exercise. The loop isn’t being completed.
This winter is taking its toll on me.
Run- run run run run.
Into the sun sun sun sun.

Press the reset.
I need a respawn.
New fresh bars.
This bard needs a new song.
More sonnets.
Poems and music.
Drives.
Motivators.
Brain space.
Friends.
Relatives.
Acceptance, freedom, direction, autonomy.
Cognitive armageddon.
Somebody save me from myself;
what are all these cravings?
Why can’t I be on the up.
Why must I dip.

“Life is all dips and troughs” –
My own past. Shall I go & vomit?
Tragic.
Travesty.
Homebrand feelings.
Packaged like everything else.
Made in and of nothing special.
Please recycle.

RUN AWAY.
Stand. Mumble.
Forget. Move on.
Time ticks.
But that doesn’t matter.
What matters is my swollen ankles and that I might die soon.
You have all the time in the world.
And trust me, it will cure everything.
But first. Let me ditch my mind on this page.
Judge me not.
Watch and a write, without a noun or a verb or accurate spelling.
My wrist. My writing. Tired.
Lost.
Spilt.
Split.
Wasted.

New words.
-Dismission.
-Unmission.

What what what.
I will run away.
I’m 24. Its getting on.
Its getting to be that time.
I’ve done it once.
I need talk to noone.
My shame to bear.
My selfishness.
The bubbles.
The delay.
Pop-pop-pop.
The sarcasm.
The denial.
The “stuck”
The house. What would happen.
The waste, the curse.
The hard work, and the change.
Change change change.
I needed a change. I needed it now.
UGH UGH
ZUG ZUG

I don’t lie to you when I tell you I’m worries.
I’m honest.
I lie to myself when I do nothing.
I block it out.
Blot it out. Spill the in-well over my thoughts.
Black it out.

I can’t.
Emotional labour. What I feel when I see you.
Each and every person chooses their own future.
I don’t know how much of an effect I can have over you.
You’ve broken each and every one of us.
Like we broke you when you bore us into this world.
You didn’t stop smoking when we were in your womb.
For that I will never forgive you.
You drank as well… you said.

You said you have been abused.
You told me once that you had sex with someone you didn’t want to.
That’s rape. You told me you didn’t want to have a child and you had an abortion once. You said you ran home to Australia when you found out you were pregnant.
How is your relationship with my father?
I think you guys bicker often.
Its pointless.
It could be so fruitful.
Instead you fight eachother.
Nothing to share. Long lasting memories.
History. Clashing personalities.
I wonder. I wonder at that often.
Your father died when you were young.
He was diabetic like you are.
Too much cake, too much sugar, not enough exercise.
I wanted to take you to the hospital today.
Belly swollen and tough.
You’ve been so sick.
The runs, diarrhea, sore and swollen feet.
Vomiting. Bleeding under your big toe nails. Capillaries shot.
Spots on your hands. Discolouration. The glass doesn’t need to be wiped clear.
J.R.R said it, and I don’t need it.
There is no mist, for this to be missed is sheer and frightening, blatant, willingful, ashamed ignorance. Delay. Deny. Misinform.

You sleep sitting upright. No circulation to your body from the waist down.
“you’ll lose your fucking legs” – I said.
“you’re freaking me out” – you said.

IM FREAKING YOU OUT?! YOU! Well its mutual.
This is sitting inside me. Taking up brain space.
My feelings. My thoughts. My waking ideas. My fears.
You will die.
Should I just run away?
No matter what i’ll cling to those happy memories I suppose.
Frozen in time. Parents are meant for that. Right?
“not so bad”. Maybe I think you’re brilliant because you are so useless and shit so much of the time. That family bond, keeps tugging, asking forgiveness.
Well permission to fucking help.
How can I change this lot.
This strand.
The STUCK. that you surround yourself with.
A happy life? I’ll see your doe eyes, yellow and fearful.
I know the glint will come and it wont break me. That will just fuel a fury in me. But that fury will be nothing to the sadness and sickness that will breed in my if I think that I could have done more. Could have helped.
I will lash out at everyone.
It could tear the family apart for me.
Stress. Anger.
Alone. You need to be stronger than you are.
I can be strong for you.
I want to ask of you to stay as healthy as you can for as long as you can.
Will you do that for me?
I don’t know how people guard against this?
I fear the end.
Your demise.
Fearing other people’s deaths.
My world.
Pulled through the eye of that early morning vacuum cleaner.
What does everyone else thing?
Yes yes yes… Just go about, potter, focus on your own life maybe she’ll sort out hers. If not. That’s life.
Contrary!
That is the death of that thinking.
That person is gone. If they matter to you cling to them like a limpet.
Do not suck from the nectar that they poison themselves with.
Abstain.
Fight. Tooth and nail.
Chipped and bitter as blood and sand as the world crumbles around you.
Cling tighter than the cold the devil would bring.
These ideas, paramount you know what you are fighting for.
True is your thinking. Pure is your resolve. Selfish and heartfelt.
Wanting for the ever waning strands of time in your lovedones seeps.
Ebbs.
I will not stand. I will hold.
I will hold you until yours and my knees buckle.
Do not dare give up.
Bend to my will. If I must put on the gloves and treat you as a child, like you once had to for me. I will carry you.
Tooth and nail.
Tears streaming down my face. I will not go ashen like I have.
That cold is the death of my love.
That cold is what comes down like the veil before dawn or dusk.

I ask you to stay with me.
Even though I have made my decision to go.
I can’t handle it anymore. Truth is, I never could.
I am a coward.
But I will spend time, willingly.
A minder, a carer, a son.
Stronger than any other damned person I know.
I will fight. Will you dig in?
Will you stand when I am gone?
Can you fight the world without me?
Are there other people you can rely?
I wish. I wish I wish I wish.
And it breaks my heart.

And so I run.
Run from it all.
Every day. I get high when I run.
And I pretend its ok.
Like we all do.
I will be strong.
Don’t break me.
Do not dare give up.
Listen to me.
Fight. And I will follow.
I will support and cheer and cherish the moments.

Survivors sickness.
Don’t.
You make me wretched.

Please, please don’t touch me.
Don’t come near me.
Don’t look at me.
I’m not in the same mood as you.
I want to be here. But give me time.
Time to adjust.
I can’t function if we’re immediately thrown into this instance.
This mood.
Mod.
Mode.
I need space and time.
I don’t know why.
I haven’t exercised.
Its raining.
I’ve eaten too much.
I need to rest.
Reset my brain.
Resent myself. Slow moving. Not dangerous.
So self reflective. Reflexive.
Sore knee. Boring.
Selfish.
Sell myself for fish.
Opportunity cost.
Terms of trade. Glaze.
Glasses, rose tinted.
Expenses. Chocolate.
Be honest to your creativity – lady gaga.
Culture.
Broader sense.
Travel. The world.
The need for money.
Shoe string budgets.
HRM.
Strategic human resource management.
Credit where credit is due.
Hard work. Studying. Food.
Shameless.
Sitting, slouching, bodies built to move.
Energy. Energy. Self start.
run and run and run and tuna.
Fish. Sellfish.
You couldn’t read, spell or pronounce sorbet.
Sure bet. Sure but.
But. Soreburt. Scoreburnt.
As I get to know you my feelings mish mash.
Mix match. Miss mash. Miss match.
I don’t know.
I don’t know
I don’t know.

What are you thinking about?
I’m thinking about justifying being a vegitarian.
This food tastes LIKE meat.
Why do you replicate it?
Why is that important?
What am I missing?
Where am I trying to posture myself here.
Intellectual dissonance.
Watching educational videos.
4-2-1.
Mathematics is not ready.
A moment in time.
Hungry for chocolate now.
Dieting another day.
Strange.
Chips. No no no.
Another time? Buy chips for all.
Want mayo. Need chilli sauce. Salt! Yes please.
We all live long enough to see ourselves become hippos.
Hippys. Hypocrites. Critics. Morons. Idiots. Stupid, dumb
daft, dreadful, wasters, poison, angry, confused, tired, fat, slobbish, narrow minded, alone, sacrificial, worthless, dying, imprints and cutouts.
Casts.
Moulds.
Mouldy.
Wretched.
Wrecked.
Wrung out.
Swinging.
Hanging. Dead.
Deathly, ghastly, mostly full, burdened, laden, wending, winding angry, painful, spitting, venomous, reliant, reptillain, coil, polio, sick, ill, will, fill, still, bill, duck, brill, drill still miss mill gill fist. gist. pissed.
Urine turbulence, turbine, natural oil and gasses. Gas like fuel for cars or cooking. Black pen. Puns. Work word jokes. Super likes. tinder feral tendancy.
More along than ever. Communication so so sos sosososososososoosoSOOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOS
ES OH ES.
S O S.! so so. save our souls. What souls? They aren’t real?
Nike advert. Its a joke about kids killing themselves. Its not funny.
I suppose its not a joke then. But it doesn’t stop it happening.
Communication is so difficult.
I find it hard to switch off. I don’t have the capacity sometimes to switch.
I’m in my world.
I have my ideas. My studies, my plans.
TIME TABLE. AGENDA. CUTE. fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou.

When is your book released? “excellent”.

So I didn’t get a parking ticket today.
I drove because I was too lazy to ask where the umbrellas were.
I got two blocks of chocolate that weren’t on special.
I defy you economics.
I defy you.

Her brain. On drugs.
Melbourne advice.
1000 pound bend. Best flatwhites on earth.