What drives me to do what i’ve done.
Use of language.
A toastie.
History of words.
Farewell to dad, chatter with mum.
Tea and tea and cups of tea.
My sister arrives home with important news,
Success and stories.
Father is pre-occupied.
Mother uses interesting language.
My sister sits.
The social positioning of the entire family is strangely off and wierd.
I laugh.
Laughing can be hard for others to hear.
The human mind, fills in the blank.
Self infecting.
Consciouss.
Selfish.
“He’s laughing at me”
We all think that.

7.45 sport.
Bottles of wine.
Meeting new people.
House parties.
Delicate glasses, changing how you are as a human being.
Fragile, small movements, precise motor functions become necessary drinking from the venetian glass.

Beauty.
Sex
Curves.
Proportions

Posturing.
Studied vs Lucky.

Banal. Success flying in the face of forthright inexhaustive enjoyment.

Big eyes.
Bracers.
Teeth shifting.
A shame, out of shape.
“The fitness, function and form are the base for the superstructure of cultural norm”.
The externally intrinsic.
Natural beauty.
Divide how you please.
You’ve lived this long and survived.
In for a penny, infor a pound.
Economics gone wrong.
This game of mine will take you for a ride.
You need to be this tall, with a life expansive time-line this wide.
Buckle up.
Knuckle down.
Take advice in your stride.
I’ll be next.
By your side.

Hold me beautiful.

The original hierarchy of needs five-stage model includes:
1. Biological and Physiological needs – air, food, drink, shelter, warmth, sex, sleep.

2. Safety needs – protection from elements, security, order, law, stability, freedom from fear.

3. Love and belongingness needs – friendship, intimacy, affection and love, – from work group, family, friends, romantic relationships.

4. Esteem needs – achievement, mastery, independence, status, dominance, prestige, self-respect, respect from others.

5. Self-Actualization needs – realizing personal potential, self-fulfillment, seeking personal growth and peak experiences.

Time ith-thought.

i-guess.
Eye-Guess.

Exhibition.
3 seconds stream.
Relaxing, immersive background music & sounds.

3 seconds of closed eyes.
Formulate, take in, guess their eye colour.
2 seconds: Eyes open. Iris reveal. Pupil Pulse.

Picture shifts.
New person. 3 seconds. Guess.
2 seconds reveal.
Pulse. Shift.

Exhibition on guess-work and the beauty of eyes.

What is beauty?
What is form?
Function!
Curve.
Mathematics.

So much reading to do.
So many experiments.

Time, time is of the essence.
Time will heal all wounds.
Good breakfast tomorrow.
Inspire.
Learn.
Create.
Wash.
Read read read read.
Plan plan plan.

Why haven’t I been finding people attractive?
women or men?
How can I achieve my own ritual death.

Negate stimuli.
Drafts. Draughts.
Wind.

Sensory information.

Declan’s fear of being aware.
Out-of-body.
“The blackness”
Beyond death. Continued cognisance.

Two neutrons.
NEURONS.
Electro-chemicals.
Brain spec.
Rubbing together.
Body decomposed.
Gone back to the mud.
Dust to dust.
Ashes to ashes.
Circular statements.
“That’s it”
“It is what it is”
“So on and so forth”
“So and so”
“On and on”
Death. Fear not.
A change occurs.
They remain, charged.
Changed.
Disassembled.
Wrong.
Off.
Somehow you.

Your memory. Small, rebounding, redoubling, barely physical in presence.
Destroyed. Moving. Soundless. Thinking. Bat bat bat bat bat.
Black black. The darkness.
Aware. No touch, feel. Senses gone. Memory but all.
Confused.
Screaming. Bulging. Wreck-elled.
Feckless.
Freckless.
Freckles.

Self-Actualisation.

Neck pushed back. Spine massaged.

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.