Darn, i lost my post.

I have an overwhelming sense of “can be bothered today”
That was the crux of it.
Hug your mum.
Haha

Buy a rocking chair: 11th feb 2016, 19:55.
On Australia day: A flight attendant with an accent offering instructions; maybe even apologising for a delay – the passenger behind “don’t worry, next she’ll say it in english”.

My bed-day note

The word THEN:
“Is, is, is was”
Tomorrow,
Today,
Yesterday.
Then
Then
Then.

I self diagnose. Jogger’s bladder is back. (again)

Attribute all you do, to the food you eat and the water you drink.
Observe others. They are wild.

I live in the “west”.
South Hobart
But – western.
Wild, wild westerner

Let my mind organise and regiment us.
Plan, organise, control.
Understand. Leadership? Bah.

“how’s work?”
“Absolutely fabulous”
-How can I take you seriously.

Acid.
I might write something,
A thing on the spectrum. Put myself down.
If you don’t admit it. Draw it out of yourself.
You become a bystanded. Someone I passed on the road or bike track.

I handed you a, a, a thing.
I tried to give you a ring.
Listen to the whirrr of my heart
Can you hear that? What did I bring?

Nothing, could make you smile or let me give.
In my back, bleeding, spleen a shiv.
A shank, a meat bloodied, gleaning black.
Dried now, the writer’s hack.

Hock and hack
and cough and froth.
What a whord. WHORE.
Frosth. Froth. Froth. Froff.
Catch yourself, fearful bumbling adaption.
Not dumb, not by half.
Sit with me in the luxury of closed border,
closed mind. To think that i’m educated,
and had these views. The world functions?
Where are these wanton unicorns of salvation.

I’m waiting and salivating.
Hungry and in bed. Coffee pot boiled.
Extracted just right.
Abandoned mink,
Left the milk out.
Not i’m just whispering to myself.
What an interesting thing.

I had a pen yesterday but it was all,
a wall.
To hard.
Jed’s gone, you know.
I do now.
I know.
now now, bring a brown cow
Clown, gown frown sick.
You prick.

You had sex with my ex.
I needed a best friend and you fucked me.
Lost. Lost what I wanted to lose.
God awful. wretched.
Knots in my spine,
Wring out my mind.
Soaked.
Bloodied washing.
I’ve been for a tumble ben. Ben was it?
Kat? Tom. Tom with a beard. What do you look like.
Other than that? Before you were a man. A boy,
your teeth? That white glossy spot.
On both.
and you waited for coffee; Like I wanted too!

The ol’
“Farewelll” in the supermarket. Aisle one.
fuck. There they are again.
Bite me.
Bit me.
Rule
Write me.
Writ me.
Kill me.
kile me.

Ah, light off by the bedside.
I know my body. I feel it.
I could do what I want.
This zone.
Comfort. Disgust. Carrot sticks.
Popups. Computer at the foot.
need flicks.
Net fucks.
Mental propaganda and porn,
wrung me dry.
Every drip. Time’s ongoing, loop.
Same, shit, different, fuck you.

Let me be cordial.
I saw some well lain cement today.
Sandy bay. My that’s a skill. Roads.
Rates. Do people pay more? Depending on where they live?
Did people put up fences to make property private; AND do illegal activities.

What is privacy?
Do you mind if I dance?
I’ll call you later, what’s your friends name?
Where do you learn spanish?
Ha. Sick. Shame.

I danced,
A tried and true,
Turned. trance.
You, like a pirranah piranah pirrhana pearannah pirrana perannah pirrhana pirannah parana parana perannah pirhannah pirahna prick.
Piranna pirranah pirahna pirannah piranah PIRANHA! cold caught.
I saw you, you looked away.
White show.
Shoes.
You wore. You looked good. I wrote about you i’ll fish it out of my phone before.
I think it makes a little sense. A little enough. ENOUGHT.
Enufft. Snufffed it. Carked. Croaked. Honk.
The sound the duck made when it died in winter.
We lived in North Hobart. Off Patrick Street.
Patanosta rowe Road? Row?
Anya Row, the hot slippery mess.
Dating an oldie now. Gross, scraggly.
As we all grow old and get wiry.
Bang together. Like gong and mallet.
Lucid. Lippid. List
Lurking Lostra Yil. Surayangatang.
Tan. Veloceraptors. Spell yourself.

Your sleeve. Wiping at the grime of today,
spoiled. Spoing!
Spoilt. The elastic gun fired the slinky into my path and I just watched.
Right.
Righteous.
Wrathful. Piano gamer. When you know all the buttons,
all the moves. And you see them coming. Anything they could do. Maybe. We aren’t all just running in, are we?

That presence of mind to keep punching away. You can’t die.
You are a healer.
Frrrrr- shooo-tuuup-toooop.
GREEN.

Green green greeeen. Light greaan?
Noodle on his head. Fifth Element.
Korby. Kobby-kobe-kobeh my man.
KORBEN DALLAS.

“You’re fired”.
Fire one millior.
-atleast i got free lunch.

It looked like breakfast.
I don’t know.

Chip chip chip chip chip.
Salt. Hot salt.
Liquid salt. Pour it.
Explore.
Gravy.

Synthia. Stuck up.
Gore-gush.
Gorgeous.
Personify. To make a person.
Tear your pants.
Royally cock up.
Fick.
FRREEZE. Rrrrrrrrrrr.

The sad faces on the track,
the resolute nod from walkers.
some familiar, others wayward;
new and questioning.

Today I’m assertive.
I blaze headstrong.
Angry almost if for the lack.
The genuine lack of energy to feel,
express. A moving, innanimate object.

No objections, just witness and obey.
give way, submit ground,
on the ground that the biggest truck
-wins the day.

Wyn is gone.
Is there asian in your family?
Yeah. That explains why you go red.
I suppose I could-
it does?
It does.

The computer shuts down,
winds down, falls asleep,
goes to power saving.
I have a void.
a void inside me.
I need to fill it with things.

I can’t just stay in the relative comfort of my bed.
that’s a crazy thought.
Limit outputs.

Find something useful to do in society.
And they will give you bread.
I think bread is weird because it makes me feel so full.
It makes me feel full without providing my the noutriants,
the sunsainants. NUTRIANTS. NOUTRIENT NUTRIENT oh-yes.
And SUSTINANTS Say it right. rush on, headlong into innaccuracy poetic bare
lost in translation grammatical errors. IT IS REAL.

What if your reality is a truth formed up of elaborate lies.
Thanks for the reminder.
Sustinants Sustain sustinants suss.
Sustinent stain. ck! CK-K-k.
‘uck
Flippedy.

“I said something and It was like you”
i channelled you.
I thought you all left.
I just sat there, wankered.
Wasted.
Waiting.
Leader. Writer, waited.

Where do they go after dinner? They all go home,
they all go home to cry. And worry about the obscurities of a certain
short lived life.
But we have our own perpetual eternity.
we live for our own version of forever.

What about the ineviability of the heat death of the universe?
At eight. I was worried about the sun exploding and killing everyone.
I’m still scared. Gripped with fear.
Fed on it. Grain, ingrained.
Farm, cage, free range. Shooting range.
Ducks and cattle and clay pigeon.
To the slaughter.
Laughter.
Thinkers laugh,
Feelers cry.
I do both,
Well my dear, you’ve got it all.

I hope you’re ok.

Feeling full. Not what the french would say.
That’s perverse. Too graphic.
Not poetic.
take some food.
prendre. Prend, prend, prends, prenons, prenez, prennent, pris? pru, pu, prendu, prendais.
Take take take.
Take the colour, the viatamin, vital min. Mint.
Vitimin, Viatamin, vietnam, vitamin.
Thake. SHake. Shaik.
The queen of the dessert.
Glutton out. Take in. Food. Orgy. Sickness.
Broken and tamed, timid and weak.

Assert yourself on your bicycle.
Foam beard. Smooth skin.
Pray for hot water.
Bless you easy world.
Good life.

Slow turnover period of refuge seekers.
Strange. So blind. Out of the news, policy,
people making THINGS happen.
the roads get made.
the maids, thankyou.
A thankless job.

I like your outfit.
I was going to wear it again.
Don’t bend over.
You’ll see it all.
Bath body.
Warm.

the food, not bread.
Olive bread.
with oil. Warm, ovan. Oven baked.
fresh smelling.
rosemary, thyme, mint.

Rose my mind the the time.
Tied my hind in a bind.
Find my spine by the wing.

Denzel washington is a bad man,
A really good actor in this.
Are you GOING alright?
Yeah well,
good alright,
you beauty.

Make me laugh.
Push that perfect smell out of your mind.
Timing immpeec.
Impeccable.

The history of words.
I need a smart, a wizened old crack to make sense of the world for me.
I would shave my head and wear a robe, just to have a leader, selfless and willing to share. To make sense of this world. To provide for me, to not harm or take anything but what was needed. To take the snakes out of Ireland.
Make the world bullet-less.
-Bullet points.
-bulletins.
-bullys.
-bullshit.
-bulk
-billards.

Balls.
Pool, snooker, sharks.
The rum diaries.
A maid outfit.
Delete that number.
Write down the story about that girl.
I want it.
I want it all.
Describe people you know love. Make that real.
get that program that writes what you say,
so i won’t have to type I can just rant.

Rank brain, onion layers.
Fully explore metaphors.
“LIKE THE OCEAN”
overused. Dead?
Not by far. Re-viewing.
changing.
The heartbeat.
Receeding. Recceeding re-seeding. recceed, receed recced RECED. RECEDED word weird.

The hum, lapping, shoals, tiny barrels, the foamy sound.
warm, wet static. The beach. Sand rolling in the shallows.
No time for building castles.
I remember when you were sick and we stripped down.
Your olive skin.
Wild nights, wild nights.

BAH. recycling. What am I?
Coke? Reduce, reuse, recycle.
One doesn’t effect. AFFECT sales.
More is better? Poor is wetter.
tears and broken umbrella.
Cold kids. The mistake that is free time,
an active mind and the lack of need for basics.
Energy that was otherwise saved up;
reserved. Savings. Find food, get shelter. Protect yourself.
Sleep light. Hunt.
No longer. A mantle? Not even. Nothing but the things we own.

My body, so taken with food.
Laden. Shut me down, wake me when there is a change.
Print out the agenda.
I’ll be back to life soon.
I might be five minutes late,
after a fashion.
Whisper to me- if you can.
show me your intelligence.
be gentle, see me for who I am.
Mirrored in yourself.
picture my eye.

Snap snap snap.
Iris, glow.
Pupil dialed
Ba-bum.
pump pump pump.

FIVE TIMES!
Hah. Remember what breasts feel like?
Shot in the heart.
Cold case.
Food sustain me.
Wake me when there is a change.
I don’t take watch.

Watch is not for me. Not a man of action.
Calibre. Cal-ee-bur.

I bought,
I paid,
Seven dollars.
For reflections.

Stimuli.
Thought creator,
A bat and ball.
For the mind.

I’m in no rush.
I am in no hurry.

Fifteen minute wait on seafood paella?
I think I’ll give that a miss.

I am in no rush to be alone.

Bob died, years ago. Hung himself.
Eloise this weekend. Hung herself.
I read up on suicide last year.
It fascinates me and it makes me weep.
I’m studying economics at the moment.

Rhys asked if I was ok.
-I’m angry and i’m confused.
I feel like an idiot.
I’m missing something here.
Why do people do it?

I’m a strong believer in people having versions of themselves.
The Tasmanian version.
Travelling when you’re depressed.
Insightful, healthy, active, challenging, adventurous.
A metaphorical suicide.
Re-invent yourself. MOVE

But no. Life is too hard.
You’ve experienced the good times and SOMEHOW, despite the good;
people get caught up. Stuck in a rut. Bang their head against a bad idea-
long long long, day and night. Brain damaged, they get this wild idea to end their suffering. Don’t worry about other people around you. Its a choice.
Is it a choice? Do we actively choose to live every day?

So let me get this straight. Your mum and dad, they created you.
Your mother carried you around inside herself, feeding you with her own body.
You are born. A beautiful little cherrub. You are raised.
I wonder how suicide fits in with the nature vs nurture debate.
All the trouble society went to, the late nights your parents had to endure, sunken eyes, changing your diapers, kissing your soft newborn scalp. “shh-shhh-shhh, singing lullabies, reading you books, feeding you, giving you shelter, training you, watching you grow, learn to walk, talk, tumble”. And for what.
This opportunity squandered.

Blessed are you, in a society that creates (with machines!) a thread for you to hang yourself with. Spend your life trying to weave together a noose. You morons. You are given this glimmer. What do you know that the survivors don’t?
You know quiet. You go blank. You taste the chemicals your brain releases when you die. You see the light. You are high.

So wrong. Life’s struggle. A bastard of sadness and unjust tragedy, and you, you add to the survivor burden. You stand in the middle of the good vs bad see-saw. You walked from: good—v—-bad
and you jumped at the middle. Suspeneded and hanging for all to see.
We lost another good one today.
Chemical imbalance. Dad said coke is to blame. Out bodies are PH neutral, tending towards alkaline. Coke is acidic. People get this imbalance from the chemicals they put in their body. What a crazy theory.

Megan said; “when my best friend hung himself, I worried that other friends of mine would do the same”.
I’m happy I talked to her. She shared a lot that night. I walked and listened.
Unsure of so much of the relevance. She made forget my pledge of black clothing. We went to the beach, I swam, played catch, talked and kissed, I dove in the water, practiced headstands. I was entertained. I was not depressed, I was busy. And I wore blue. Not black. All blue. I applied for a new job. I hadn’t eaten enough, my brain felt like a dry sponge. In the wrong hands I could have turned to dust.
I went home from the library and ate. I didn’t give suicide much thought.
But here I am at the computer. Computing. Thinking. Writing.
There was a service for El today, I didn’t have the heart to go.
A heap of people, society, feeling sad.
Looking for closure? All that emotion. I want to hug each and every one.
I want to share stories, I want everyone to be ok.
But she left us, she chose. The ultimate individual, selfish, lone wolf,
confused, pointless, worthless, waste of beautiful, unique life.
Grief mongering, poisonous, reckless, poorly thought out, destructive, gut wrenching, turmoil that isn’t in the deck of cards when you start the game of life. Its not on the six sided dice. There is no chance. And so before you go: I wish I could have asked why. Are we still going to go out for that coffee?
No, no we never will. Why did you say that?

Closure? NONE. Uncomfortable, grief stricken vultures. We pick our way through life’s little morsels and deal with these horrible events how we can.
All that confused thought.
The difference between how men and women choose to kill themselves.
Pills, Hanging, Jumping, Drowning, Shooting, Carcrash, Warm baths & cold razors.
“You are poisoned, you are confused, you needed help, I wish this were not so”.
There are so many of you out there, that “MOOD”.
:I’ve thought about it. We all have. But you never would. Would you?
If you can think it, if you can dream it. Impossible is nothing, right?

Turn those sporting or motivational on their heads.
Lets talk about suicide. Even saying it cheapens it.
Why are we all afraid? Because its a taboo.
What makes you sad enough to think it?
Why would YOU do IT?
Can it be helped that we get sad?
Do we need the sad to feel good?

Like all things, our mode of communication; its very basic is having direct and opposing understandings of things. Black and white. Good and evil. Hot and cold.
Alive and dead. Some are more real than others. I’ll let you guys ask the dead their opinion. I think logic goes out the window. Words are distant.
The feeling. The trance of the ill-feeling. Needs to be broken by those close at hand. A stranger, a lover, a friend. Where are they when suicide is happening.
Can we talk about this? Why am I so confused. How does suicide, the action and its reasons raise such an abhorrent question mark. It makes me angry. That you’re gone makes me sad, but I wasn’t there when you needed me.
Is it a tragedy? Did you want this? Surely this is a sick joke.
Were you lonely? Is depression just boredom? Where were you on the spectrum.
Were you sad because you’re felt happy in the past?
When did you last smile?
What was your last word?
How many breaths in a day?

I in
– out
I in
– out

You don’t care.
You are gone. And no-one will remember you in 100 years. Not one single person (I don’t think). That’s a tragedy. That’s a sadness of time.
This is what you make me think of.
Suicide sickness.

Funerals? I wouldn’t be caught dead at one of those.
Its a memorial…

To pass through,
Life. Window pane
Touch, living you
Talk with Dane.

Fill that space
Rife the pain
Smile fleet face
Splashed with rain

Rubbed dry
Smeared my thumb
Feeling high
Cold streaked numb

Reach the end
Finished the glass
Down we wend
Tied to mast.

Captain and first
Bubble and burn
The drinker’s thirst
Spurned, sinking stern

Knife in side
Strife it rises
Rifts, grow wide
Gift no disguises

She knows what
All be told
Blood boils hot
Old flows cold.

I saw you alone in a lot of photos. What could I have possibly known that to mean. Jaz.

Tragedy.
You want to buy her flowers.
She says roses are cliché.
You think to buy her lilies,
But they make her think of funerals.
So you buy her hydrangeas, you love the smell.
You buy them for her every day.
Until one day.
One day the house smells of lilies.

John Armstrong – Philosopher, the book of life. Glasgow born. Studied at Oxford.
A successful man by many-an-account. Great! Talks like a chess player. Knows the history of many words. Willing to share ideas, and teach. If things were different?
If he’d spent his time playing the Decks? Following his passion for electro-music:
The Dj. J.AMSTRONG. Philosopher DJ. Open the book of life. Dance for what you believe in. Dance because it matters. Action.

Truancy – Constant Absenteeism.
“I have a truancy problem” I don’t understand how that was brought up and/or funny. Rowan?

And I wish you knew; to have ever lived is not a fault as much as it is true.

Because life; life is french bread.
Write it down. Pain.

Toe-nails? Ah! A great feet of evolution.

Current romance? Its like toast. We all like our bread buttered a bit differently.
Some sweet, some savoury, a mix! Minimal. Overwhelming. Dark, light, seedy.
Fruit.

Raps and rhymes, lick your lips; walk the line of homosexual positives, complement battles, you are on Extacy – “Give him a Mackerel” (I told you this would happen)

“My Brilliant Career” – what was this? March 3rd 2016. 12:02.

BRUCE SPRINGSTEIN: 3rd march 2016 10:04

The smoking generation spurs from the uncomfortable silence.
You must be rushed. Quick. Bing-bang-bong. Smoke, drag, talk, move, fidget.
No deep thought. Mindless. Edgy. Not contemplative.
“its a race, a race for us to die”.
The gift of life. Gendered said dad. “Men smoke because they’re idiots.”
Women “because they want to be dangerous, because they are concerned with their figure”
-bullshit Dad.
Headspin! Pollution, kills you, costs money, early death, reduces enjoyment of life, exercise capabilities reduced. Bad skin, rank breath, lips, hands, lungs, eyes. You’re body is the sleeping beehive. The honey that is your lifeforce, stolen.

Are there more beds than people in this world?
Are there more books?
Are there more words than people?

Toilet philosophy.
Go deep,
Too deep, small things.
Traffic lights.
Red Man philosophy. – you stop, you wait, you think, you observes: Yourself and others. How do you conduct yourself? How do you stand. How will you cross the road, who presses the button? How hard? How many times. What if there’s no traffic? Do you just cross. Do you J-walk? JAY-WALK(?) spelling.
The bogan – stops oncoming traffic.
The oriental – dodges between oncoming cars and trucks
The impatient – runs
The majority – wait, observe, wonder.

The steppers just before the green man.
The dodging between, weaving in and out of oncoming people from the other side of the lights. The head down, shrunken shoulders. The chest out, proud. Straight lines.
Where are they all going. Why did that man run? What is so important? Was that a risk? Will he arrive on time? What is the outcome? Action -> result?
If he took 2 minutes longer, what would be the effect and the affect.
He could have used that time to better explain his lateness. Jolly good.

Dear, dear dear dear me.
Its part of my spoken language.
Get me out there.
No no no no nono.
Silly, fool, oh no, damn, oops, uh-oh.
Rife with trouble.
Your thinking is wrong.
Laden, slanted. Off, incorrect, lacking.
Maybe. Dear, dear dear me.

Today i’ll apply for a casual job. Greed drives.

You asked me how to spell words for you; that made me raise an eyebrow.
Its true, you are dyslexic after all. You follow patterns. If you can remember, surely you can remember words. Memory scrambled. Curious.
“how do you spell special”. Well my dear. How do I spell it indeed.

I clenched my jaw,
I ground my teeth.
I had something on my mind.

Today I had a big breakfast,
Food is fuel, is the energy you have for that day,
Is a smile, is patience, is the will to accept and to to think clearly.
Logically I can make no different there.

Canada at the end of the month.
A black month.

Wash my face,
Brush my teeth,
Ride to class,
Read, write, discuss.

The whole day.
-Apply for jobs,
Study, write characters.

Book stores.
A quite time of year.
I would like a cup, a cup of tea. Constant tee.
“Constanteenople”

Constant tee no people.

A LA PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICHES.
Thankyou Count.

I don’t know how I feel. Shocked. Sad. Pensive. Muted. Troubled. Off.
Quiet. Resigned. Guilty. Confused. Annoyed.
Can I ask you: How and why?

Rest in peace,
Sorry you’re gone.

I found out today
You’d fled, gone away.

Met you Eloise
Winter last year,

Cold outside,
your company
warmed me
Deeply.

Mind games,
mixed emotions.

Truth and lies,
Lows and high

You managed.
We kissed

You smelt of cigarettes.
You were a mover-
and a shaker.

I imagine you in the noose,
shaking. Smiling (TO YOURSELF).
Feeling smart. maybe crying.
Tongue out, gagging.
The feeling light, going loose.
Limp now, sagging.

We used to kick it.
Movers and a shakers.
That was your last move.
Check mate.
Your last kick.
And I’m left to shake.

I measure knowing you;
in less than a years.

The story you shared,
of only eating gummy bears for a week.

The dorky jacket.
Those un-fly moves.
How rude you were to other girls I was friends with.

I remember telling you some of my darker thoughts.
I told you I was scared.
The importance of our senses.
I tried to be supportive.
I asked questions because I cared.
Wrote you a card for your birthday.
Unique, precious, like you.
Like everyone is, because we’re all… un-alike.

We gossiped and spied.
drank coffee and wine,
Danced, talked.
“How do you feel”
You shattered my face.

We hugged,
I even introduced you to my mother.
We ate at that asian diner,
We smoked together, even thought I don’t.
You gave me a rush,
Let me be creative.
Crazy.

I wore a kilt.
You bought me a ticket.
We watched the TSO.

I asked about you:
I forget so much of that conversation.
My brain was folds of cold silk.

You got me a ticket to The Preachers.
They were great and I helped you write the article over disgusting licorice tea.
We played chess.
You skyped your friend in Japan.
I flicked a rubber band at the roof.

You wrote me a card,
You came off as a crazy cat lady.
I saw you at the Cygnet folk festival.

That was the last I saw you,
Before your untimely demise.
A glaze took a liking,
Took the glinting from your eyes.

While I was out hiking,
You, you were kicking out the chair.
No retreating. Turning blue.

For someone I held upon a pedestal,
For such a short time, such a short life,
Such a short time, you were a part of mine.
Now apart. Bridged gap from life to death.
Striking the match to your dyed hair.

Marge with makeup shotgun.
Rogue, mad and dark.
Misfired fun, tragedy run
Hurting, left your mark.

Now we’ve survivors sickness.
I’ll call it life-
Shall I? You witness.
Progress despite the strife.

EL-

Ah yes the two headed snake eating itself.
my circular statements here will make me boggle,
can you try to keep me on the tacks. Don’t forget what we’re talking about.
If i’m just making noise, stop me.
I want to communicate an idea to you.
A thought!
You must understand.
The very basics of it all;
“its raining”
“yes it is raining”.
Riveting stuff, indeed.

So when you said to me all of those things before, I’m going to try explain to you “yes it is raining” but in my own words.
ITS raining. IT IS. RAIN-ING. do you catch my drift.

That piano tonight was beautiful.

I believe in fate.
If the green man goes on the lights as I go to cross, that effects my perspective in a positive way; as if I am chosen to walk this path. Being perfectly aligned with my choices and options. Following the best possible outcome.
It leads on, I walk, I follow, I choose, I believe. I am positive.
Having this sort of thinking is a self fulfilling prophecy. (FOR-FILLING)? Why is that in my grammar code red all of a sudden.

Anyway, the thought: I shaved my stomach.
While tanning one day, my cousin pointed out this fact.
I was a bit put on the spot and said “yeah, for tanning purposes”.
He then said “I shaved my chest a few days ago”.

My immediate thought wasn’t coincidence. It was “we are related, we are organic beings that spend lots of time together, share brainwaves, we did the same sort of thing on the same day I BET”.
The magic. The beauty, mystery and wonder I have for my vulnerable thoughts.
I share because I feel, that we all feel, what I feel.
Circular statements aboard! It is what it is, that’s that.
Disagree if you must. I won’t argue.

Tonight’s conversation was fuelled with Guinness.

The law, the legal system and how people are punished.
Deterrent or punishment or otherwise. We are all of us in disagreement. That is why we elect a few, educated few to make the rules for us; FOR others.
What are the chances I would have touched those children: says the priest.
Considering his peer group? I’d say the chances were in his favour. Its a sad point. Barely worth considering, but for one insight in the complete quandary I already face with the LAW.
You commit a crime, you pay the consequences. Jail time.
Then you are set free. Completely forgotten.
Having had time to consider your wrong doings, you are now free.
You have been away from temptation.
You have been isolated.
Alone with your thoughts.
Not in a particularly productive place. More reductive,
criminal, basic, unpleasant, lonely, agressive, regimented and ruled.

The time you spend in this place is on the basis, on the basic principle understanding; the ruling of a judge, that understands from a logical and rational position that: “This person is here, having done these crimes, that other people have done in the past, and ANY person COULD do”. The punishment in the past has been – etc etc.

How likely were you to have committed the same crime? What’s your moral code like. A case by case, ALWAYS.

The loaded question.
The front foot defence.
The fear.

A child raised by a man and another man will be raised differently to how they would be raised by a woman and a man. Because and only because a man is different to a woman. Beyond this fact observed and understood by society, opinion ensues.

I should donate blood.
Plasma maybe – what a great word.
Fire is a plasma.
Tell me more.

What was there before the big bang?
What caused it?
How could the atom be the smallest thing there is.
Can we create DNA?

How can we define our importance in the galaxy if we observe other such vast objects that dwarf our beings.

Basic constructs.
Education standards.
The smirk of being 40 and only then taking an interest in the goings on of the universe as we observe it. Keep me posted.

The belief that others have the riddles of the universe like a puzzle, just waiting to be explained, and that they can continue on their daily lives.
Would knowing how the universe came about effect me? Probably not.

WAIT, knowing that your life is a random cosmic event and that when you die, that’s all folks.

You wouldn’t change a thing? Poetic. Kill me now.

Are you in control of your life? – i’ll ask you until you say yes.
The importance of being able to DO not DIE. Climb that tree, life will throw challenges your way. How you cope will reflect how you’ve prepared.

Moments alone.
Free market thought.
Selfish oriented.
Group hangouts.
What’s the perfect group.
1,2,3 beyond.
There’s ideas about all of them.

Observe groups of 2. A date. Cute, private friends.
3’s. One has down time, checks their phone for the next big thing, next topic, barely keeping up with the chatter of the other two. Fearing always that someone will be left out. Two chatter away until the 3rd waves their phone “look at this”. Three is strong, a triangle. Equal, maybe, scalene, isosceles. What do you guys bring to the group. How is your dynamic?
Does the one on the phone prove to be a target? Is 3 an approachable number? The one on the phone is single? Maybe.

Our own inevitable doom lay outside the boundaries of our control. Mayhem.

Waiting at the lights. Do you press the button?
Could you forever wait at the red man.
Do you trust others to press the button for you?
Do you use your knee? The back of your hand?
Do you press hard or multiple times?
I feel like this reflects state of mind, and mood.

The Individual Mind. Alone, pensive, rational.
Reward system in place.

Group Mind. Together, chatter, dictatorship/democratic.
Posturing, agendas.

Fashion – posturing – angle.

High brow, low brow, middle brow (Uni Brow) – Are triangles the strongest structure?

“Tell me the first thing that comes into your mind”

“Tell me real, ok, focus no lies, truth, the heart, the core yourself purest form, focus. Now tell me something you don’t know”.

“Now he drives busses”. *the look in their eyes, gossip, sick*

Its sweet
Tis life
Behind each tree
Green, hidden.

Crack underfoot.
The bend of branch,
Train tracks-
-below.

The forced,
Destroyed.
Bent back to stumps.
Be cordial.

Russ, rode his bicycle up hill. The chain grinding with his progress. He’d spent the day at work. He’d gone on coffee break with an old girlfriend. She sat with chin on the back of her hands, delicate, eyes sharp on him. She listened, he spoke. All he spoke of was work. He built the platform for conversation; his voice was the loudest in the cafe, it made her feel self aware maybe.
After everything; she knew him so well he felt. Even with the amount of time they’d now been apart.

But she’d just sat there. Transfixed. Offering a smile, sometimes a nod or a question. What was she thinking. They were different now. He was brought back from his thoughts to the grinding sound that had started at the point the peddles of his bicycle joined the main part of the bike frame. It sounded rusted. Had it dried poorly from last weeks rain? Rust? Or in need of oil.
Why was the sound so offensive. He dismounted the bike, annoyed at the task that faced him now and in the not so distant future. What had she been thinking? Why had all he talked about work? He wanted to hear about her. But she’d gone. And now she was really gone.

Mistakes plagued him. Russ had a reasonable mind. Reason was his game. His life. He’d sit quietly at social events and legitimate conversations he’d overhear with his logical mind. But mostly just sigh or he’d scoff at the lunacy and wasteful idiocy surrounding him. Common people, common thoughts, commonplace. “MORON” & “COMMON”. Two of the most hurtful words around; he felt. And he saved them for only those deemed truly blessed with the banality, exit spark, fare-thee-well unique. Justified, undignified people without the belief of any self empowerment or glimmer. Just ants. Worker ants. Soulless. Following their basic desires. Informed unmindfully. The line walkers. Robots.

To what end. Why had he let himself slip. Why had he tried so much to open up to this old squeeze. The mundane platform of conversation he’d started. “work, work, work, work, work”. He was better than that. He’d arrived home. Angry.
He put the kettle on. The kettle must always be boiled. Going into the bathroom he locked the door and jiggled the handle. Human nature. He smiled at his glorious mind. He lived alone, but still he did this menial task, smiling every time. Like when he skipped and did criss-cross. A raw outbreak of glee would take him. Strange, he thought but doubly hilarious. Naughty.

Nose almost touching the glass of his bathroom mirror, exhaling so as not to fog up his reflection he met his own eyes. Staring past the deep blue, the intricate pattern. His eyeballs fingerprints. The world. The landscapes. Vast colour. Shattering reverberations of could. Deeper. His pupils dilate. Focus, un-focus. Grow then shrink. He’d exhale. They’d grow. His chin lowered. His dark brows bordering his vision. His eyelashes, always absent, invisible to his direct sight. He’d never wondered at that before. His pupils pulse. Big. Small. Like a heartbeat. He felt a narcissistic spike. His breath tightened. He noticed his pulse under the flesh of his neckline, just above his collarbone. He breathed though his teeth, a slight mist. He felt angry still. Animalistic. He felt dangerous. A rush. High almost. A power. Colours faded, just his dark, dark eyes, glinting, fierce. Like he could kill. Cold angry murder.

He exhaled again. Deeply this time, fogging the glass completely. His face’s reflection blurring into mist. As the edges of white receded, he was smiling. His disposition had changed. A smile dawned his face. The natural charming, friendly face of a passerby. Trusted acquaintance maybe, possibly someone worth talking too. Taking the time out of your day to say ‘hello’. Yes, he thought. He was whatever he wanted people to see.

“It starts in the eyes”

He soaped his hands and washed his face.
Dinner was buckwheat noodles in carrot and chicken stock broth. It tasted of salt. He was early to bed so he examined his body with his left hand. Pushing on every inch of his own skin. He clenched his right hand into a fist and continued his search. The creative side of his mind, demonstrating a patience of wonder and care. His right hand flexed with the rate of his heartbeat. It was an eclipse tomorrow. Remarkable- he thought. The stars tonight would be worth a moment’s notice as well. Maybe there’d be a shooting star or two.

He rubbed his eyes with both hands, he’d stopped his little game.
Maybe I should grow a herb garden? He discarded the thought, wondering at his mental filter. Why had this thought come to him? Was it the carrot in his soup taking control or influencing him. How quickly had he digested it? He was tired. He’d talked too much today. Wasted energy on things that didn’t matter. His bike needed to be oiled. A million menial tasks, all with different possible means to their completion. It was a wonder he felt like he was in control. Would he get every task done? His eyes looked over his bare room.

Control is my construct. I will-view my world.
Wanting, is my minds energy.
Doing is blessing. Choice is my power.
Air is my fuel. Silence is my playground.
Needing is my death.
Peace dashed, and-
my my, what follows.

I rinsed the bowel. A white ceramic. Hair, Nails, Ears and Nose. They’ve all grown. Bed will give me some time to consolidate. Force yourself to lay down, alone in the dark. Russ.