The Earth is round.
Am I heading downhill or climbing.
Just agree its hard.

Patrick ’15

The double coffee betrayal.

I’m wired.
Teeth clenched.
Brain overload
Stimulative destruction.

What was the name of that girl,
Where is my next job,
I need money.
How much time have I wasted today and every day
Where will I be next year
When will I get to where I want to be

I was told yesterday
Despite anything I say.
I base myself on someone else.
Peer groups. Expectation.
Things I hold dear.
The clothes I wear.
People I associate with.
Goals I wish to achieve.
The direction I’d like to take my life.

Well fuck that.
Hang that unpoetic life-drained thought from my cock.
Let it dry in the raw, cold, unforgiving Tasmanian sun.
I am the master of my fate.
Do I have a knot in my head.
What next? Can I somehow force the issue?
Can I be comfortable and just reside?
spend “WEEKS” in bed.
Where do I find my next gem.
My next clue.
Pearl of wisdom.
The feeling that I could be more.
Am I the only one feeling like this?
That counting weeks is idiocy.
Mondays are bad days?
Weekends? Bullshit.
Fuck this
I have a finite amount of days
I’m trying to look after myself all the while feeling dull.
DULL
GREY
Why must I flirt with these four letter words.
Give me a task, my unrest is depressing.
Let me follow the sun.
A long string of bows,
Skills, aptitudes, abilities and experiences.
Living in a time of plenty
Heaped up beside me-
too many the occasion
This “plenty”… of shit!
These cactus ideals that survive when they should wither,
and despite the tears of humanity that come in floods
distorted. We can hear, but no sense is made.
Like my words. The ideas have swept away from me
Waiting for the sun i’ve wept. Now I wait to see.

A good day for most things.
Exercise, coffee, school, study, organise and dinner with friends.
Home in time to prevent world war 3, domestic home of the meltdown-villes. Yay.

It was all so manageable on a belly full of food though.

Earlier I met a girl from Canada. She didn’t know everyone and
when the night was done, her and I stuck around and chatted.
She flys out tomorrow. She held onto my hands with both of hers but I knew
I had to leave. Sorry, goodbye for now.
Emma? Sarah? I’m so terrible with names.
What a night.

Give the body what it wants.

I’m exhausted.
I gave my body so much fuel today.
But now i’m done. Well and truly.

This morning’s jog was an inspired little exercise.
I found some bark on the running track:
Thought to myself “Someone’s been BARKing up the wrong tree”,
Thought I was so funny i’d stop jogging, scoop up an armful of bark and head home.
Home to write BARK puns… On bark.

What do DOGS and TREES have in common. They both BARK.
Way!!! I made that up tonight.

So I cut the bark into neat strips and wrote this in them.

Joan of Bark.
EmBARK on this pun adventure.
BARKING-MAD
Playing on the swings, in the BARK.
BARKUDA – the fish.
BARK-OBAMA – the president
BARKwords. Tree language
BARK your car –  Get places the natural way
sBARKplugs – For your car.
BARKave – like bearcave I guess.

My sister brought to my attention this:
“Its all well and good laughing about it but how would you feel if someone peeled your skin off and wrote in it”.

Happy Sunday.
Bark-bark.

My cousin’s bank account states that he’s a baby somehow.
Master Samuel.
So they sent him his new bank card, every four years or whatever it is…
I laughed the loudest, knowing he’s created the first true:
“MasterCard”.

Exercise, Coffee, Samples, Study, Work, Eating.

Sunday brings more work.

I feel restless.
I feel a mite empty.
I have thought upon myself,
My mind and its micro-philosophy.
Break away from tradition
See Continents
Change.
Live.

Pick fruit,
Read everything
Drive places
Meet strangers
Scavenge food
Build shelters
Dig it.

Ever since I was young I’ve always said to people, when I advise them on something, I would often close with “…said the sheep to the cow”.
Tonight I did what I always do nowadays and stopped myself.
“Hey man trust me, we can cross the road (…….)”
I thought it. But I didn’t say it.

Then I decided to truly think about what it was I say, and WHY.
I always figured it was a Playschool or maybe Sesame Street reference?
Perhaps a book I read as a kid. “Said the sheep to the cow” -sounds like quite a title.

So I did the obvious thing and thought about what i’d just said, followed by what I wanted to say and the circumstances usually surrounding my weird impulsive slip of the tongue.
“C’mon dude we can cross the road” “BAAAAAA-MOOOO”
Bad Move? “BAA MOO”?
Surely there is some inherent genius hiding away in this something cockney-rhming-slang-esque.
Get sherlock holmes or shakespear on the phone. The levels. Oh the levels.
Then I laughed to the stars because in my own world for a moment I’d displayed enough of a
glimmer to be a genius and I thought to myself. “There are billions of people out there, most of whom I wont get to meet; each with their own spark, their own glimmer of something smart, superb and special”. Sad eventuation i’ll admit, but hopeful in the sense that I truly believe  everyone has that bit of magic in themselves, if only to surprise and find joy from their own mind.

I saw a comedy tonight with some friends.
It was grande. It was Birdman and Egg. Quite a talented show. All in all.
No spoilers here.

I made jokes in the break, just to my close friends.
Why doesn’t Elton John like lettuce?
Because… He’s more of a ROCKET MAAAAN!
Waaaay.

Then I got ambitious and dropped some knowledge about the world being your oyster.
“So the world’s your oyster is it?” Pretty random stand alone statement…
So you only like it when you’re older?
Its an acquired taste?
Better with… LEMON? What kind of -ade are you making now?
The world is unique in flavour? And slippery?
Do I chew on this “oyster”?
The world should be taken with a grain of salt?
Too philosophical?
Back in my shell?
SHUCKS

The world is my oyster…

I am an ant.

What happens now?
Don’t say it out loud.
Say nothing at all.
not one god damn fucking thing.
Your voice is a crime.
Worse.
Listen to the world, the world you are-
if actual fact: very much a-part.
a part?
A light
A circuit
A plug
A switch.
A germ
Trying too hard?
Or not trying hard enough
Making people envy you,
causing ripples? Treading softly?
Who is aware of you?
Nothing.
This degree saps me,
These degrees of separation
The degree of my ignorance,
My state of mind,
Lack of understanding,
Emotions.
Energy firewalled.
The belly, desire.
My youth eeps.
The drying cement,
Just a brick in the building of a step.
In which direction?
I DONT FUCKING KNOW.

My torn, makeshift, unwelcome, disposition.
ragged beneath my flesh.
Giant moths, worms and spiders eat away at me.
My eye balls once wooden
now swelled, unblinking, wet with a gloss.
Reflecting the world
Streams of tears ripped from my chin by the gravity,
Ground’s eager greeting,
to smash of these man made droplets.
Undefining you.
Your worth
Claiming your feelings,
You are not the salt of the earth.
Such offering is sand to Jupiter.
Time will claim it all back.
Save your vengeful thoughts.
Your mind, if you’re lucky will be the last thing you surrender.
If I surrender mine think no less of me.

Am I doing what I enjoy?
How can I measure that against other things I could do?

I could not do what i’m doing, and just surf for the rest of my life.

Get outside your house and look back inside.
Home spun philosophy.

The great thought though.
The great thought!
“The Author is Dead”

No, no no. This isn’t a cry for help.
Its just that while an author is alive,
the welcome ambiguity humanity revel in
when the creator isn’t around to tell us “the point”,
We lap it up. We come up with our own opinions.

WE create as a people, a great body of opinion.
We share, we view things differently, we OVERANALYSE.
Given enough time, an idea can rocket from almost nothing-
into the most poignant, relevant, life affirming, creative thing on the face of the earth.

Let us
Fence with four syllable words!
But know
People have different social levels.

absolute

GLASS GLOVE, RELEASE
FROM THIS
COMMON
SO!!! COMON. FEELING
OH, THE
CLUTCH
YES…
LIPS PEEL BACK.
FLESH, OF
FRENZIED FIRE.
RABID.
RABID THE ROT
ROT IN-
HEAD AND HEART.

Feeling a bit full at the moment.
Ate a touch too much.
Had a great chat with an aspiring dietician.
Coffee, Asthma, Digestion, Depression.

I’ve been flushed today. Not sure what that’s all about,
didn’t even get any sun.
Dad came home with more energy that the rest of the family combined;
which was a laugh. I think he ate too much food and just piqued right out.

It’s getting colder and colder, as the year rolls ever closer to the winter month.
Really not looking forward to it.

A Winter’s Poem

A clever creature is the snake,
Who spends his winter not awake;
He snuggles in his long thin bed
And brews up poison in his head.

The human is a different sort;
He spends the winter watching sport;
He yells abuse in concrete stands
And empties out his poison glands.

I should say, nothing amazing.
No great expectation. Just a lovely little Leunig poem.
It rhymes and it makes me think of England.