i arrived at the train station and saw that i had a two minute wait until the next train arrived - somehow knowing that made me feel good for a moment - an unexpected piece of good news - only two minutes - only two minutes left - the rain drizzled down and the clouds were a light grey - i thought about walking to the shelter down the other end of the platform, but with only two minutes left, I didn’t feel it was worth it - i thought about the book I was reading at the time that was in the small bag on my back - i thought about listening to some music - i thought about turning on my mobile phone - but i did nothing - i stared at the train tracks below the platform and imagined jumping to my death a split second before the train pushes through - i felt the rush of pre-death, knowing that one day i just may act on these day-dream-death-visions i put myself through - but that time i missed my chance as I was distracted by the heavy hanging smoking coming from the gaunt-business lady sucking down her morning cigarette with a take-away coffee - she saw me watching her smoke melt into the drizzling rain and cold morning air, and gave me a dirty look - i missed my chance in asking her if i could have one of her cigarettes - the train arrived, and i took a seat next to some school girls
a few stations down the line im surrounded by some old women with grey hair wearing cardigans - i sat wearing my black leather jacket and thought about the book I was reading at the time that was in the small bag at my feet - i should read it, I thought to myself, and make the most of this time - the women didn't talk, two of them were completing sudoku puzzles. quite successfully and much better than i ever could, and two others were knitting wool - one knitting some small baby booties and the other knitting a jumper for a little boy - one of them who was doing a sudoku puzzle took a breath and looked out the window of the carriage - i followed her eyes and outside we blured past a multi-story retirement village that looked like a fucking shopping centre
i don't even have to look and i don't even need my eyes so i kept them focused on the footpath a meter in front of me - it's my walk to work and i take it like pill every morning - it keeps me sedated and successful - it's keeps me comfortable - however there was something in this city's air that tells me everyone, everywhere was miserable – I was surrounded by people who hated their lives, and we were all thinking the same thing
later that day i took an extended lunch break, or to put it simply, i didn't go back to work for quite a while - i walked the park grounds not far from where i work - wide open green grass fields that sucked up the drizzling rain knowing all well that the pending summer is going to be brutal - i walked through the park and ignored the power-walkers and lunch-time joggers, all dressed in tight expensive exercise clothes - i recalled my days as a successful young athlete - thirteen or fourteen - i ran in dirty t-shirts, board-shorts and supermarket-sneakers, and never came anything below third
it's only on my way home i realised i forgot to pack the lunch that i made myself the night before - i never eat it, but not making it and not taking it with me causes more trouble than I need - i usually stuffed them in my bag and flipped them into the bin at my desk, knowing that the cleaners at work would never meet my wife or disclose my secret - i don't eat much, and never eat breakfast or lunch
arriving home there was a young boy on a black bmx delivering the local newspaper outside our house - he was still wearing his high-school uniform, though his shirt was untucked and he was wearing sneakers – he was a handsome young kid, light brown hair with deep-cut eyes - he smiled as he saw me arrive home and hand-delivered me a newspaper - "thanks mate" i mumbled as i headed to the front door, determined to dispose of my homemade-lunch
"hey mate" the delivery-boy called, "gotta smoke?"
"don't smoke, sorry" i momentarily stop and turn
"yeah ya do - we see ya at the station all the time"
"jesus man, what do you think you're doing?"
"nothin'"
"keep it up,” I said without thinking, “piss off" i instantly felt bad for the young guy, as he actually did what i said, and left - walking inside i put my bag down by the front door, disposed of my lunch, got myself a beer, and thought about my days as a delivery boy.
The phone rang – I was sitting on the couch watching the motionless phone ring – I picked it and simultaneously turned on the tv– it wasJason
“hey”
“Hey”
“just get home?”
“yeah, watcha doing?”
“having a wank”
“right”
“nah, you doing anything?”
“umm...no not really”
“wanna get a drink?”
“yep”
From the worn out couch I heared the car pull up in the drive way – I turned the tv off and stood up, looking for my boots – “hi” she said as she walked inside “whatcha doin?”
“im going out with jase”
“okay”
She looked so happy. She was such a nice person, and deserved better. I kissed her on the forehead and felt terrible and sad. I loved her so much, and hated myself even more.
It had gotten dark quickly and the air moved and chilled the trees above the suburban streets – a car or two moved past me with their headlights on – I imagined them driving home to their families to watch the news and talk about it – turning the heater on and having some soup while mum cooks dinner – I took a turn onto the main road and noticed the flashing lights of a police car and a couple of ambulances – traffic stood still as I walked down to take a closer look, but stopped short upon seeing the twisted remains of the black bmx.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Fourteen
a festival fell upon us - the rain we dealt with made mud with the hoards of families making their way home at the night-time - together the beasts were held and hidden, and my friend and i walked with them, laughing and talking like hiccups to their mass parade of normality - there is no mud on the ground, the ground is in fact mud - we trudge on - we trudge on this ground that has been for millions of years, and right now, my friend and i walk together, amongst all these people and families - the surpreme value of byo beer going right, not rightous - and crow's animal husbandry rips my heart out and brings it on home and shows it to me to remind me that this is it and it's byo in this life - not so much in death
i wonder about my flat - i know the person living in it has a fold-away bike, and lots of pot plants in the outside - i never knew! - apart from that, my sink, my toilet, my kitchen and my room is now belonging to another - someone not me - i sit here now and think on my memories of that place - my flat - the centre of the fucking universe - i sit here in a room dedicated to study and music and shadows, and i think of my flat that was not much bigger than this room - i think about my times there - manic, literally - and yes, the depth and a nasty depression or few endured alone - my weekends alone there consisted of beers, music, the nsc, a bike ride, and some written words writted after watching my favourite movie - and so whats changed now? - not so much nasty-jenny - but i can't change peoples minds - i spend my time doing as i wish - i sleep when i want to sleep, im gone when im gone, i read when i read- the music always plays and the tv is cursed in my place now - i converse with lady-l over the stove we discuss ourselves and the dinner table we talk of the world and i lean back when i finish my meal and think of life - sometimes i walk around the lake alone late at night, really late at night, and i see the ducks swimming at moonlight and i remember trying ti write about that after walking to my friends house maybe five years ago, and here i am now, living over yonder - those ducks i fed as a youngling have of course died by now-time - but the ducks i see swimming now in moonlight are connected in a long line of blackburn ducks - some of which i've known, some of which i've missed - this now generation see me three times a week - sometimes running like a madman - sometimes walking like a poet-man on a saturday afternoon, feeling psychedelic as the path leads me and the trees smell- sometimes walking the night-time paths and disturbing the bats and possums as i think about the sadnesses of life, and the beauty of all this time we're allowed
the woman opposite me is another woman i sit opposite on a train on my way to or fro worktime - i step right up and sit down in the disabled seat and ponder over my book and/or music-ears - book wins over and so i pull it out and begin to read in my black leather jacket - the woman opposite me is a yuppie - old, almost elderly - impossible hair, fancy nails i don't care to recognise, clothes that don't remind me of sex and clothes that i therefore don't recall - she does nothing but sit, but doing nothing but sitting is something i can understand - i picture myself from her point of view and i see the patrhetic-man trying to be the scarey-arty-man - no matter how much t.waits i listen to, and no matter how much i try to hear the saxaphone of the lonely-night-time-city-man im still this gangly silly-man who says the wrong thing all too often - i look at the woman and see a newspaper at her feet - i think about grabbing it but remind myself i have a book to read - a book about a good soul girl who keeps fucking up her life and find herself surrounded by fuckheads and drunks and losers - it breaks me in two - one half sad - the other miserable - i've seen the writer of this book play music live, and i get the feeling he doesn't get his inspiration from nowhere - it makes me sad - i live in such a small populated country, and there are so many more sad people out there in such large populations - to meet a few of them, in my lifetime, is enough to kill me
i don't want to finish this now - but i love antony and the johnsons, and im thinking of their albums now - and so now i'll listen to them - but you'll hear from me again soon
lets hang again soon - i think it's time again to hang again soon - (for today i am a child) - i know somehow you are northbound along a northline - i love darwin - if you're melbourne, then im darwin - i love it - though im sure the heat could irritate, like football for someone how doesn't care in melbourne - anyway, whereever you are right now, think of me in darwin - i see myself there sometimes.
i wonder about my flat - i know the person living in it has a fold-away bike, and lots of pot plants in the outside - i never knew! - apart from that, my sink, my toilet, my kitchen and my room is now belonging to another - someone not me - i sit here now and think on my memories of that place - my flat - the centre of the fucking universe - i sit here in a room dedicated to study and music and shadows, and i think of my flat that was not much bigger than this room - i think about my times there - manic, literally - and yes, the depth and a nasty depression or few endured alone - my weekends alone there consisted of beers, music, the nsc, a bike ride, and some written words writted after watching my favourite movie - and so whats changed now? - not so much nasty-jenny - but i can't change peoples minds - i spend my time doing as i wish - i sleep when i want to sleep, im gone when im gone, i read when i read- the music always plays and the tv is cursed in my place now - i converse with lady-l over the stove we discuss ourselves and the dinner table we talk of the world and i lean back when i finish my meal and think of life - sometimes i walk around the lake alone late at night, really late at night, and i see the ducks swimming at moonlight and i remember trying ti write about that after walking to my friends house maybe five years ago, and here i am now, living over yonder - those ducks i fed as a youngling have of course died by now-time - but the ducks i see swimming now in moonlight are connected in a long line of blackburn ducks - some of which i've known, some of which i've missed - this now generation see me three times a week - sometimes running like a madman - sometimes walking like a poet-man on a saturday afternoon, feeling psychedelic as the path leads me and the trees smell- sometimes walking the night-time paths and disturbing the bats and possums as i think about the sadnesses of life, and the beauty of all this time we're allowed
the woman opposite me is another woman i sit opposite on a train on my way to or fro worktime - i step right up and sit down in the disabled seat and ponder over my book and/or music-ears - book wins over and so i pull it out and begin to read in my black leather jacket - the woman opposite me is a yuppie - old, almost elderly - impossible hair, fancy nails i don't care to recognise, clothes that don't remind me of sex and clothes that i therefore don't recall - she does nothing but sit, but doing nothing but sitting is something i can understand - i picture myself from her point of view and i see the patrhetic-man trying to be the scarey-arty-man - no matter how much t.waits i listen to, and no matter how much i try to hear the saxaphone of the lonely-night-time-city-man im still this gangly silly-man who says the wrong thing all too often - i look at the woman and see a newspaper at her feet - i think about grabbing it but remind myself i have a book to read - a book about a good soul girl who keeps fucking up her life and find herself surrounded by fuckheads and drunks and losers - it breaks me in two - one half sad - the other miserable - i've seen the writer of this book play music live, and i get the feeling he doesn't get his inspiration from nowhere - it makes me sad - i live in such a small populated country, and there are so many more sad people out there in such large populations - to meet a few of them, in my lifetime, is enough to kill me
i don't want to finish this now - but i love antony and the johnsons, and im thinking of their albums now - and so now i'll listen to them - but you'll hear from me again soon
lets hang again soon - i think it's time again to hang again soon - (for today i am a child) - i know somehow you are northbound along a northline - i love darwin - if you're melbourne, then im darwin - i love it - though im sure the heat could irritate, like football for someone how doesn't care in melbourne - anyway, whereever you are right now, think of me in darwin - i see myself there sometimes.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Thirteen
smooth it out - my days ahead of me, rolled out like a dusty persian rug - the dirt don't mind, because i see them the second she wakes up, and when they wake up i see you're born again everytime - lets treasure this morning, with some food, a drink - coffee, juice - i'll play some music, something plush, accoustic, as the cold morning sun fills our kitchen table - all these combine to speech for our thoughts and silences - and so it's agreed - thy will be done - we'll waste today
im standing as still as possible, trying my best not to sway - not to sway to the music, not to sway to the vibe im feeling, and not to sway to the booze i've consumed this afternoon - i've read the last chapter of four books in the place - wood, and carptet, and drinks and beers and friends - people spend their spare time in a place like this - i know i used to quite a bit - just sitting and thinking and drinking and writing - i'd have conversations with my friends in my head, but then when i see them, im confused and keeping saying - i might have told you this already - the band is playing good, and i was going to go home but now im staying - the singer reminds me of myself, which hasn't happened since i was a delusional teenager - funny long hair, strange leather jacket, and some spoken word read from a4 sheets of paper - they're songs about sex and being fucked up and drinking - i like those kind of songs and stories and people - i can apprecaite them - i find them funny - like when he took out his hipflask mid-song to have a swig - is that sad? - is that too much? - i don't know, i find it funny
im coming home, and i can see the sad little light left on for me outside - someone's fastfood wrapper has blown up the driveway - the wind gives me one more before i find my keys and jiggle the locks until i walk inside, find a place to dump my boots so they don't wake her up as i walk down the hall looking for a cd to play - and it takes me a long time to decide - until i slide back to the lounge room in my socks and drag a blanket behind me - i pull up and beanbag and lie on the floor, dark and warm with the xmas lights ive drapped over the windows - the music plays and i have a couple of the beers i have kept in the fridge - now i dream and later i'll sleep and then i'll wake up
we imagine the possibilities - i spend my time trying to touch upon the greatness i see in the artist - alice's mad-hatter doesn't come across as a great performance to me, he comes across as a great friend - the colour world left to it's own devices now that the money-man has gone - i see freedom in everything now that the money-man has gone - free walks, free time, free fruit, free talks - i see the artist chatting to the man about town for free in the town centre - no money-man here man - free message left under rocks and leaves and trees are the message board for all of us and our friends - we snoop around the forests - we hind behind the rocks and at the end of the day we talk and laugh and drink our wine - and i have a twin here! - he joins me sometimes, but sometimes he doesn't and he does his own things - he's a great guy - he plays tricks with the younglings and i once heard that one of them was his - he's better looking than i am, but i like the way i look - we both have long hair and glasses and our girlfriends are both very beautiful - i met the artist last year, and the other day the artist met me
my wallet, my keys, my coins, and demons - underage drinkers follow me around like apostles - the write down my words for me like matthew mark, luke and john - they ask me questions about life and death, love and sex, brotherhood and manhood, sisterhood and the woman - they harvest my love of music and the written and spoken word - the find me the sun as it rises and sets, and find me the shade to me cool from the the day's australian heat - i take them to the parking-lots - i show them the great albums of yesterday - i teach them of the church - i speak of kilbey - i explain the graveyards and i explain the gold courses - they ask me for money man, and the offer me money for cigarettes, and i decline - the streets are followed to our destinations and they're used for so many different reasons and destinations - it's not a religion, it's a lucid dream - it's not a dream it's an amazing life
im pompously jazz - i am the invitation - strangers thanking strangers - strangers hugging strangers as i carry on with my face to the suburban wind that i call my own - and the clouds, still the clouds - i see them every evening and it makes me feel so happy to be doing this, and that
im standing as still as possible, trying my best not to sway - not to sway to the music, not to sway to the vibe im feeling, and not to sway to the booze i've consumed this afternoon - i've read the last chapter of four books in the place - wood, and carptet, and drinks and beers and friends - people spend their spare time in a place like this - i know i used to quite a bit - just sitting and thinking and drinking and writing - i'd have conversations with my friends in my head, but then when i see them, im confused and keeping saying - i might have told you this already - the band is playing good, and i was going to go home but now im staying - the singer reminds me of myself, which hasn't happened since i was a delusional teenager - funny long hair, strange leather jacket, and some spoken word read from a4 sheets of paper - they're songs about sex and being fucked up and drinking - i like those kind of songs and stories and people - i can apprecaite them - i find them funny - like when he took out his hipflask mid-song to have a swig - is that sad? - is that too much? - i don't know, i find it funny
im coming home, and i can see the sad little light left on for me outside - someone's fastfood wrapper has blown up the driveway - the wind gives me one more before i find my keys and jiggle the locks until i walk inside, find a place to dump my boots so they don't wake her up as i walk down the hall looking for a cd to play - and it takes me a long time to decide - until i slide back to the lounge room in my socks and drag a blanket behind me - i pull up and beanbag and lie on the floor, dark and warm with the xmas lights ive drapped over the windows - the music plays and i have a couple of the beers i have kept in the fridge - now i dream and later i'll sleep and then i'll wake up
we imagine the possibilities - i spend my time trying to touch upon the greatness i see in the artist - alice's mad-hatter doesn't come across as a great performance to me, he comes across as a great friend - the colour world left to it's own devices now that the money-man has gone - i see freedom in everything now that the money-man has gone - free walks, free time, free fruit, free talks - i see the artist chatting to the man about town for free in the town centre - no money-man here man - free message left under rocks and leaves and trees are the message board for all of us and our friends - we snoop around the forests - we hind behind the rocks and at the end of the day we talk and laugh and drink our wine - and i have a twin here! - he joins me sometimes, but sometimes he doesn't and he does his own things - he's a great guy - he plays tricks with the younglings and i once heard that one of them was his - he's better looking than i am, but i like the way i look - we both have long hair and glasses and our girlfriends are both very beautiful - i met the artist last year, and the other day the artist met me
my wallet, my keys, my coins, and demons - underage drinkers follow me around like apostles - the write down my words for me like matthew mark, luke and john - they ask me questions about life and death, love and sex, brotherhood and manhood, sisterhood and the woman - they harvest my love of music and the written and spoken word - the find me the sun as it rises and sets, and find me the shade to me cool from the the day's australian heat - i take them to the parking-lots - i show them the great albums of yesterday - i teach them of the church - i speak of kilbey - i explain the graveyards and i explain the gold courses - they ask me for money man, and the offer me money for cigarettes, and i decline - the streets are followed to our destinations and they're used for so many different reasons and destinations - it's not a religion, it's a lucid dream - it's not a dream it's an amazing life
im pompously jazz - i am the invitation - strangers thanking strangers - strangers hugging strangers as i carry on with my face to the suburban wind that i call my own - and the clouds, still the clouds - i see them every evening and it makes me feel so happy to be doing this, and that
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