Today I practiced french, with friendlies from my class.
Where normallemnt je flounder, m’arrete on my arse.

I try to break a smile,
Admitt struggles as they come
But truly they’re a many
Tough to struggle on just one.

Needly!
In a hay stack.
As easy as “hey I need help”
I cant progress, by myself
Can you listen.
Help?
Pathetic.

Self loating is a power,
Awareness is our sin.
Life and love deflowered
Put me in the bin

Wearing my sporting gear,
Hot girl lend an ear
The value of a beer
Away true north steers.

Milo over there
Coffee on the table
Large cups are where?
Simulants make me able

Find and each
Coloquialism
whore, reach; peach
Your realism.

Do you like sports?
Running, flirting, dancing.
How’s your bowl of cereal?
Stagnation serial stapling.

Everyone wasted.
mum, dad, my brother and sister and I.
My family, My life. The people around me.
I hide in a shell.
A tiny man. Scared and alone.
I find out where shells come from.
I google info.
I listen to the way people speak,
What they say,
I use the same language.
I am basic.
I am hunger I am sadness.
I fear. I worry. I function.
I hold my palms face up, to show everyone my presence.
I am here, and so are you.
Watch. Agree. Nod nod nod nod nod.
Posture posture posture.
I’m going to eat until I vomit.
I want to have more ideas.
I should bring to the table everything I have and search for more.
Under the shell, there is a shadow.
Above me is the sun.
I am the son.
I am wasted.
I do not understand.
I will forget until I die.
I will write until I am admitted.
My successes and failures are a stain that erode and wash away and will barely influence me while i’m alive. Hardly noticeable to other, barely mentioned by me. And in death. What? A book – no. More like an image. Hand drawn, confused with skill-less aptitude. Simple, like me. Wasted like me. A napkin, raised in the fist, clutched by the next being; just as useless.

But, but nothing goes to waste.

Stop, stop feeth.

I AM AT UNIVERSITY TO STUDY.
I LIKE THE LIFE-STYLE; SAVE MONEY, TRAVEL, BE PASSIONATE, WORK A LITTLE.
MY DEGREE WILL GIVE ME OPTIONS, FOR NOW IT GIVES ME TIME AND A TRUE NORTH.
I BELIEVE HEALTHY MIND IN TURN YIELDS A HEALTHY BODY.
LIFE WILL THROW CHALLENGES MY WAY.
PEOPLE ARE BORN: WE WERE ALL CHILDREN
PEOPLE LIVE: SOME GROW; WE ALL EXPERIENCE
PEOPLE DIE: NOBODY ESCAPES DEATH.
FIND SOLACE IN THIS;
THE MANTRA, THE CYCLE.
PEOPLE: BIRTH, LIFE, DEATH
FOCUS UPON YOUR LIFE
THOSE THAT CAME BEFORE
AND THOSE EVER AFTER:
TIME CURES ALL WOUNDS.
DEATH IS SOME CURE.
LIFE IS OUR BURDEN
BIRTH, EVOLUTION, MAGIC AND LAUGHTER.

This was my whiteboard for the past month. It did not inspire me. I was not organised. I am smack bang in the middle of a panic attack thanks to my own inability to use my mind to cut its own incurred yellow tape.
I am a capable human beingI am a capable human beingI am a capable human being.

Breath.
Sigh.
Eat.
Sleep.
Cling to this feeling.
Try harder.

Diminishing marginal utility: “you get drunk, so you wake up with a horse”. I missed that lesson in the text book. Obviously when your understaning trancendes normal thinking this is what happens. Thanks dorky asian guy.

As luck would have it.
I’ve been writing while other people have been talking today.
The result is broken words and sentances.

There was an example of META.
Inside jokes. Self awareness.
Reflexives.

I feel an over whelming urge to ask the person i’m with one on one, to try and write a poem. That will engage them, divulge deeper lying feelings.
My lack of understanding of you, may bring about anger.
Anger. Consciousness. Conscience. Ego. Violence against itself. Super-ego. Concepts. Fear. Morals. Morality. Mortality.

That feeling of drunk- to be singing quite seriously in the streets.
To think, that communication is just people nodding. When you say something, people nod, they give feedback, they recycle what you’ve said in their own words; their own personal touch and understanding. But when they don’t understand they have to act strange? “No, what? No, I don’t get it, frown”
New ideas, concepts are rare maybe. But there questions arise, and breakdowns do occur.

I remember the first time I saw the OC. I told the mundane story, it illicited very little response, but proved another colour and layer to the quilt, the knitted crochet, (all grand[respectable]-mother’s mundane stories make sense now, they were just knitting a quilt), a base, a mood.
What then bubbles to the surface?

Oh, you completed your masters of medicine. “as long as your happy”
Oh you’re working on the farm this summer? “yeah keeping busy” –
“Well… as long as you’re doing something” (economists wet dream).

Isn’t it great to think, that someone might pick up on one great idea during the night, it won’t just be forgotten. They think about it, pull it apart, take it home with them and explore it further. Remember it, share it with the world. Become it.
Pavlov and his dogs, he went home after and interesting chat with some buddies down at the pub, clung to an idea and blam. PROGRESS.
All his other pals went on to talk about micro-herb-gardens. [they were ahead of their time]. But it’s interesting to think that the many topics broached can easily be forgotten.

The double standard “what are you studying” -wanna talk about it? no
how about: “Where do you work” – wanna talk about it? no

Sexist mind.
Masculine man (what does that mean).
Funny woman *why was I surprised.
eftpos is slow (she pretended to finish a bottle of wine) -seamless, confident delivery.

I asked a woman quite simply if she was going to drink Baileys from a shoe.
she said “no…”
I said (deadpan) “ok then”.

Has anyone seen fifth element?
*spew white light out my mouth and stun the asteroid where I stand, sorta moment.

Its 50% luck.
“oh yeah, how do you figure? what’s the other percentage? -you fucking moron. Why not give me a fraction, can you say something else completely idiotic for me?”
Timing is everything

What can we take from that?
1: Isn’t taking people out of context great.
2: i forget the other 2 points.
3: also forgotten.

* I think your point before Patrick.
(by this stage i was in stitches)

Megan the accidental joker in the past, rowan speaking my mind – but kindly, making the joke, and me being all too aware.

Rowan, nickname Romance. haha

Talking about money can be taboo. Its a big part of self worth.
Society values your time, effort; the work you do, for the outputs.

The weather?
I’d rather not.
Is it cold outside? Don’t take my word for it.
You should check.

Lets go deeper, right now, not the weather, something deeply personal about yourself. Then we can talk weather. *does not compute.

Simple transaction conversation.
that’s why we don’t all speak in poetry.

Simple, but good.

You are the girl,
Of my dreams
Giving gifts a whirl
Belated Easter themes

Chrushed up chocolate
Wrappers shine bright
Crumbled rotted,’fetted liquid molten hate
Glow of aluminum
I feel numb
A pheonix!
Hatches from the egg,
I didn’t get you.
Until it was half price the days
Procceeding easter.
Sickness.
Imbalance. Where are my gifts? What’s wrong with me.
Why do i reflect such a tarnished view.
Today, mornings. Stoic.
Don’t, please don’t. JUST don’t talk to me.
Because i’m filled.
I’ve taken negativity inside myself and i’m ready to share.
To burst open.
The cracks appear.
My silent visage. Head lowered.
I’m sorry, why can’t you make me better?
Stir the pot. Touch. Feel. Read my mind.
Show me something, surprise me.
My mind bobs, floats, fully aware of posibilities,
Options and opportunites.
The sun, glints off the wrappers.
Like christmas lights.
The day has turned around, its still winds.
The molten chocolate sets.
No pheonix will rise from these ashes.
The chink-crinkle of wrappers.
Putty.

“As long as you’re doing something”
!what a strange saying come-philosophy.

Short term goal, get in the dictionary.
Sexual expectations;
Sexpectations.

Movie to see: The Metropolis.

A beautiful hai-ku.

My bedroom in, spring
a volcano of clothing.
What will summer bring?

Buying vinyls? That’s stupid. They don’t fit in my discman.

Buy dad a crowbar.
Why are they called crow bars?!

Mt William National Park, Poem.

Blue split green
From bearded trees
Toward other scene

Ferns with fleas
Beams and boles
Foliage scree
The plain unfolds

Soaring bird
Wheeling and waving
The message heard
Wasps, wasps raving

Harmony we relax
In nature all alone
Just us and our packs
‘Til tourist ring their phone

Imagine becoming massive
Food-fuel. Eat and eat. Grow huge
Exercise a lot,
Snap people like branches With feet, shin or over your knee.

What makes shells? Do they just grow?

What classifies a mountain?
500feet?

“Get shucked”- what’s the reference?

Ceased, siezed, creased, salad. The czar’s finger.
Caesar? July, August. Months to remember.

Smiling on a bike as you ride past walkers, is like shouting from a moving car. Cowardice trumps courage so much of the time. To say hello to someone you truly want to spend energy on and with, this is the honesty we fear.

We fear our own hairstyle (autocorrect of honesty) haha

Is the word “crazy” sexist?
The term is a simplified, putdown
Hysteria knockoff.

Treasure, treasure.
Treasure these times.
The time spent making,
cooking up clues.
Being a pirate

With Red Beards
Peg leg and parrot
No need for shoes

Scurvy and topsy turvy,
Eye patch and all.
Like humpty dumpty,
Ready to fall.

Egg here and eggs there.
Maps and stealing,
Swashbuckling flare.
All double dealing,

Asking for trouble.
Drinking all night
Rough morning stubble,
bringing fright, not delight.

Poor one eyed sight.
at the glare of the light.

Blinded was he,
ship’s sailed-
water baled
Sails fled on bold tree.

But pirates fear not,
Twinkling eyes see it all.
As clear as a shot!
Follows he to your call.

Yee safety marked cove
Was a giant black ‘X’
That swash-buckler clove
Cutlass to necks.

Cannon ball fire,
Leaves fodder to float.
Walk planks of tight wire
From boat to boat.

No pirate ever,
goes down with the ship
Davey Joney clever,
His toes never dip.

Ship shape and drunk.
Jolly coins all spent.
rocking his bunk,
gambling gold he was leant.

Red Beards crush,
The teeth of the world,
Bubbled waters hush
As his blanket is curled.

Stains, grunts, drool,
Make rocking nights.
Memories of-fools,
and victorious fights.

Eyeglass and wheel
Forged captain rank.
Temper stolen steel,
Taken to-bank.

Blooded and mad,
Is he always
Fine buttoned sad,
Dandy that pays.

Rollicking royal thats-
Run off his mouth.
Shipwrecks and hats
up from down south.

Compass and anchoring.
Crow nest and luck.
These all give hankering
Pirates privates amuck.

To brothels and beaches.
Fine wenches ‘out breachers.
Who to whom teaches.
And teachers our preachers.

And so.
and so.
There pirate go.
Sing songs for these good times.
And ho-a-ho
ho-ho-ho.

Redbeard’s memory lives on.
Easter, although belated – was a great success.

I applied for jobs.
So when I have a life,
I can spend the money I will earn.

Funny because even now, without jobs at hand.
I manage to run out of time.
And run,
Drain,
Weep,
Haemorrhage,
Energy.

Book read today.
Happily Ever After.
Genres.
Popular.
What are we signing ourselves up for.

Romance sets the bar too low.
Romance isn’t romantic enough.
Romance fails where life succeeds.
Fresh, alive, scary, committed.

People just want more.
Its not that they don’t get enough.
Supply and demand of romance.
The genre that finances,
Bankrolls – publishing.
Two dollar books
“mummy porn”
dirty, smutty, cheap.

You sell yourself and love,
ROMANCE short.
Cheap thrills rot the mind.
Lazy love. A shame.
Romance my be a religion.
It forms a transient basis for us to improve upon.

Feminists. Writers. Academics.
Child, man or woman alike.
We can still take the good bits-
hate and discard the rest.
What ammunition! What a revolting case.
Hot sex. Original, unbelievable,
Cliche, norms, bores, binaries,
cringe, idealistic.
Sticky pages.

Why are there so many pages?
Does this mood have to be set?

A short story of plot.
You tell, and tell and tell and tell.
This happened. Then this.
And now sex. Reward.
Dog treats.

I will keep the good bits.
But shame on you for not pushing the boundary.
Such grey-area smut.
Mind-numbing.
But “not the worst novel i’ve ever read”
Curious.

I will not let myself take the hateful stance.
Shame on you,
Shame on us all.
Romance,
You break my heart.

Its unreal,
just how I feel.

Where is my happily ever after.
Write me that, so I might call it drole.

Allow myself to do anything I want today.
Change the bin liner nearly had me defeated.
Slow, small progress.
Haircut needed, cost twenty dollars.
Jogged down, added value.
Bought a CD for dad, cost 17.
Got him to cut my hair.
Ran to north hobart, learnt about hot cross on buns.
Fat and flour. “Cross mix”.
Played cards, I won.
Sun came out, jogged to sandy bay.
Found figs, go figure. Fine figure.
Ate a wrap. Thanks Megan.
Talk sex talk.
Missed her bus.
Was late.
Jogged home. Ate apple.
Talked to rowan.
Art, film, writing are a convosation.
“Interesting” – explanation.
Disagreement.
Juggling and sleep.
Aspirations.
Life goals, change.
Juggling and sleep.
Soup.
Family
Football.
Reading.
Today. Poetry.

Time will never tell.
Never give up a secret.
No truth, no banter.
Just a smell,
Of fresh grass.
Tomorrow, old and new.
Today’s cut.
Tomorrow’s cot.

Happy ever afters We asked difficult questions of eachother.
Got strange and lewd.
Weird.
red eyed.
Trouble.

Tim Tams should make a biscuit that’s the same filling as double choc, but change the shapes of the bikkies to more resemble pillows. “Bed Tams”

I should write my own character.

All good thoughts have been thought.
I looked at her and winked. “I feel like i’ve been eating all morning”.

A boy reads his first book.
Its about a girl, he falls in love.
He has dreams, falling into books.
He loves her, but cannot explore beyond the shallow pages of the children book of her.

He becomes and author, to write her a story.
I need to write my own story.