another perfectly timed existential crisis

fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck
fuck

trams

there are things beautiful things things like it. but there are things like that thing i heard on the tram two people one regurgitating mass media, those muslim bastards we should kill them all. we should just kill all of the thems and all of the we's and all of the count me outs and all of the inbetweens. to force is to win, to win enforce. society at least is a thing that when im having my darkness i can put myself against it and see that i am better. i for one will try not to hate them for their hate its theirs they can keep it i dont want it.

just a little love poem to individual as yet unknown

what i had written here was bloody naff
so instead
hurry the fuck up

my empire of dirt

i am not writing this for an audience, although i am writing this warning for an audience. Today this is more than ever for me a purge a bloodletting i dont have a diary and my friends are all asleep dont read it im spewing the darkness.

iknow this is 8o% chemical 20% real. but its the 20% that has thrown me to the ground. pushed my face to the floor. watched as i crawl though flies and fleas and the remains and the refuse. Its the twenty percent who has me now, like before, stripped down to the naked place , that thirteen year place, the sandgrit, teeth rip place. Out here there are no stars, out here we is not stoned or immaculate. i dont need this place, i have nothing to learn from proximity to the ground, i have been here so many times now i know where the carpetfades and where the floorboards sag. i have eaten dirt here for years. im wise to you. im an oldman sadness, a face in a moon. i would scrape my lungs for the black i know is there cough up the bitterness and give it you as an offering. this belongs to you, the putrid insides, the dead core centre. my vacant sex ,my rotting stinking foul flesh its all yours. fucked up and fucked down, im bleeding this, its bleeding me. A paranoid, self depreciating, low self esteem little bit of loathing i see me , i see this, it will pass, it will last. this longlife milk, this twisted relative, this compartmentalised twenty percent, hides all the words i have said all the shame all the gulit all the fear. twenty percent likes small places, moves round corners i see twenty percent in the eyes of my friends. holed up and waiting, sharpening its staple gun. Attention seeking brat, fatmomma, frozen ,do other people have heartbeats and warm toes? i forget . limbless, face now up to the ceiling. i sacrafice magnolias ,babies ,french polynesia, anything to never have to feel this way again.

redwine head

Along the lines of this.

When we were children it was the sea. When we were older it was the city. when we were teenagers we drank under the gazebo in the park, we inflated the wine bladder and threw it to each other. We were never what we thought we might be. We never became what we thought we would, we just took bigger steps down. I hadn’t thought too much about trying to be something before I saw you become nothing. Eyes down. Hands wrung, neck sore and bruised from the sting of the rope. You were nothing, to yourself and I was someone from a time before, when loathing might have been a game. I left you there. Eyes down. I have left everyone who has ever needed me more than I needed them. A legacy of leaving, it’s what I leave. And it’s always what you leave behind that follows you forever.

guilt is the sharp edge of the sky

im a pro at crastinationalism

love me love my pelvic abnormalities
i'd rather eat them than use them

if i was god part 2.

i would make you happy whenever you're not

heights

and i always said i would be there for everything, the beginning the end and the end of most anything. but today i walk away its just another day you say. it was always a lie a lie before everyone always just a way to keep on going on. i never wanted to be there anyway just that last light at the end of a world away. and now my fear has gone
the moment just beyond
......

if i was god

i would ban public squelchy kissing
i wouldnt let cats out
i wouldnt have a beard
i would walk around town with a pointy stick and poke people
i would definately be a little offended by the daggyness of people who believed in me, the fact that they advertise for me on the back of toilet walls and offer salvation with a free biscuit at the uni cafe
i would instigate some sort of dress code into christianity
obviously i would be an interventionist god unless the god that made me god made me the kind of god that couldnt intervene
it goes without saying that i would reinvent Australia, USA, UK, Indonesia, many parts of Europe Asia Africa Sth America leaving iceland alone because they are all a bit cute.
My reinvention may include the abolition of any sort of representation for anyone with any beliefs other than my own. no power for people named george, john, tony, guy sebastian, michael jackson madonna walt disney or rupert murdoch or any of the wiggles.
i might like to get rid of the flu, period pain, any kind of terminal illness that doesnt make you feel fucking fantastic before you die and all suffering for everyone in a developing nation, developed nations can suffer for a bit.
and i might like to say everyone gets to have great happy joyful love at least once every year.
or i might actually say sod you all im going to hang out on mars
cause im god and i can

who needs sense, least of all to make it.

concentrateconcentrateconcentrateconcentrate i have to concentratei cant seem to concentrate i have sporadic ADD these guys, predominantly guys keep wanting to tell me something, this one guy he doesn’t seem to shut up on and on about bloody sociological, anthropological, political and economic representations of society. i appreciate what he is trying to do, imparting knowledge disseminating information, noble way noble mr article guy but ugh im tired and well mr article guy im sorry you’re boring as hell, oh no the next guy he is even more boring and me im sitting very close to my bed and well oh jeez whoops slipped and well now that im there i might as well do some sleeping.

now its day five of non smoking and day five of no coffee, although the coffee thing is just a relaxation of an addiction not the removal, the ciggies i hope are outta here. it helps when you have had the flu from hell and your bronchioles are already gasping for air there’s a fairly solid pocket of revolting ness attached to the very bottom of me little lungs and i sound like the Marlborough man on returning from a cigar smoking competition with Castro, and having won that treated himself to rousing bout of tuberculosis. i sound gross. there for i am. oh sweet descarte i am phlegmatic just for you.

i got passively stoned last night. it’s hard not to inhale for the duration of some elses joint. you tend to need to breath in that period of time. i breathed oh and the repercussions where pretty standard, distinct lack of participation in any conversation and a desire to hide. altho one fantastic side effect is where usually i would have no idea what the fuck was so funny, i instantly understood, everything anyone says who is stoned when you are is funny. specially when they laugh at their own jokes first - big clue. i now cannot read a sentence oh the dangers of drugs, there’s a lesson for you kiddies do hard drugs they are more fun and make you equally as stupid and you don’t unintentionally intoxicate anyone sitting next to you, its your civic responsibility. do hard drugs now, and give me some, no really go on, please...?

anyway fuck what a ramble . i have encountered two boys this week that i might not be apposed to kissing. unfortunately i don’t think this idea is um mutual. And i have strong opinions on nonconsensual kissing. maybe if i stalk them they will change their minds? nah non consensual stalking is also bodgy. i feel my flashing neon desperado sign may cause some kind of rupture in the subcutaneous amorphous nether regions of the precambrian monotheist Machiavellian paradigmatic metaphysical hegemony causing a deconstructionist, post-poststructuralist reading of entophytic faffaclismic, faffable, fafffaffing such as you may have just witnessed. who invented this thing and why won’t it shut me up?

how the fuckity fuck do you write an essay again?

I am a non-Indigenous Australian of British origin. first generation one side, third and far earlier on the other. I am writing this assessment on the intersection of race and ethnicity and their relationship to nationalism from the perspective of one who has rarely had their ethnicity challenged. One who has rarely even had to explain , think about, or define what it is to be me in an ethnic context. Who am i? Am I white ? What does that mean? What mythical nation state do the “whitey” people come from. Whitemania? Whitetopia? Whitey Island ?When someone asks me where I am from, which being white and not travelling much, doesn’t happen to me that often, I say Australian and some times qualify it with a reference to England, usually to explain why im so pasty and burn easily. I because of the colour of my skin can choose to have my location unconditionally represent me. If I had dark skin or green the follow up question would be, so when did your parents come to Australia. I know this because I have done it to people.

There’s something alluring about ethnicity. I have grown up with an all pervasive sense of cultural and spiritual beigeness. feeling anchorless and bereft. My family are products of the 1950’s whitebread and pickled onions, profoundly atheist and staunchly working class, although this seems to be being eroded. Farmers, Teachers, bakers, cement truck drivers, once card carrying communists now duck shooters. We have nothing that multicultural policy has told us that ethnicity is about. Our food is bad, bolied eggs, boiled veges, boiled boiled boiled. Our music bad, Pop liked slim dusty, mum abba, my cousins Shania Twain. We really don’t know how to dance. We never go to church. Our weddings are in front yards and we generally all get drunk and grumpy by 5pm. Theres a penchant for tracksuits made from parachute material and our only family tradition being that of backyard cricket at Christmas and even that’s gone to the dogs as we all get older and fatter. Is this common cultural experience amongst other people of my ethnicity ? Is this why we don’t have a stall in multicultural week? Doesn’t anyon want to see an exhibition of mum dancing drunkenly to Mumma Mia in her trackies at the diversity concert on National Day of Healing. Is this why “we” pretend we are not ethnic.

I could proberbly count on my hands the rare moments in my life that I have experienced being otherised or perceived negative differential treatment presumably because of my outward appearance . I have been called a white cunt , a skippy and have had my ex boyfriends family draw quick breathes at his new white girlfriend. But these moments are aberrations in a distinctly unothered existence. So much so that when I felt marginalized in my first Aboriginal studies class in 1997 it was intoxicating. I had never felt such a level of complicity by association. My lecturer with full awareness of this shift went on a tirade against whities. I left wanting to rub ash into my skin. Lifes like that. im having a lot of trouble starting my essay.

in the backalley by the dead cat

im not this is not i am not you are not this is not for you. hell is other people, life is elsewhere, minor miseries of men on paper. meanwhile the rest of us suffer them as genious render ourselves fools.

i have a fever the heater has been on all day i heard it snowed in my nannas town and i think snow , snow is good. the temptation is to save face to swallow up my self in a footprint sweeping action head bowed face to ice. but i dont . i read another chapter of racial theory , another five pages of crusoe and brush my teeth with really bad safeway herbal toothpaste. i havent drawn anything or written anything for weeks creative constipation.

like the sunshine

little green thing on my purple thermal, not interested in the salvation of the parsley just in the synthetic pathway it is travelling. a little marvel of the fluro universe. how can something so green be a grasshopper and not a highlighter. i love you little thing. my ex would have told me that i use that word too much, devalue it, but my grasshopper doesnt mind so much. i can love what i want. fleeting, walking a slow retreat on stripes. pushed out to parsley. but a miniature reminder of love, little and beautiful and green.

i shall remember you hoppy.