Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Twenty One

he taught us well, and given some time, one could even learn to love him and his methods - unsound as they may be, as unusual as they seem, given time one could learn to understand and appreciate the man and his work - despite being of average build for a man of his age, he looked like dwarf - his eyes were uneven and his forehead seemed to be weighed down by the things he saw, and the things he'd seen in his life time - i don't know for sure, but i had the feeling he'd seen some things in his time - it was not only written in the wrinkles and permanent frown on his face, in the way his eyes would calmly stare through yours, and torment something deep and unknown within you - he taught us with torture, and he taught us well

mental torture that became physical torture upon it's own accord - like a bad dream or nightmare where nothing really that bad or weird or disgusting takes place, but you wake up terrified nevertheless - that was his discipline - a look and a weird grimace would send you into a searing bout of mental convulsions that ensured you never made the same mistake again - it was also painful to see others in the class get taught their lessons - they were my friends and they gagged themselves stiff in agony whenever he found them to be doing wrong, or incorrect.

he taught outside - i remember quite often the sky to be a pinkish grey and we were on top of a hill or small mountain - we would sit at tables of two and i sat next to a young artist girl who later became my friend - he would walk amongst us and maze himself through the tables - talking and teaching his wisdom - he wore a wizards hat, that one could assume once belonged to a wizard friend of his - and he'd poured mayonnaise over his hat and head the same way an academic would point their fingers or move their hands as they spoke - he emphasised his whole being with mayonnaise - mayonnaise that seemed to bounce off him like hail stones - my young artist girl friend and i never once questioned the use of mayonnaise - we had seen the repercussions of doing so.

he was present at my birth, or so i've been told - i often wondered if that was why he tormented me more than the others - he was my teacher, but he may have also felt as though he had a fatherly role to play in my life - he'd grab my shoulder at times, from behind and send hellish demon shrieks straight down one side of my body - one side only, so that the other side could watch and experience the unknown-terrors of hell - like a child witnessing a rape, however he found a way to use this type of torment, terror and abuse to educate and empower the individual - it's clear to say this wasn't an easy process as a student - however over time, those seeds begin to sprout, and you begin to realise, and you learn to love

the last time i saw him he was walking out of a church - it was the day before my last assessment and of this he was well aware - we spoke shortly of the weather and the woman he'd had sex with inside the church - he wished me luck and told me to say hello to my mother - tipped his hat to me and assured me that i would do well and that i was also a good student to him - before saying a final farewell, he placed his hand on my shoulder - the agony and putrid pain still remained, however at the end i felt a slight tingling of ecstasy throughout my whole body - continuing on my way, i thought about the beautiful meaninglessness of all people everywhere

Monday, October 18, 2010

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Twenty


i dont wear those jeans anymore, but they're on the clothes line and a bird took a shit on them - they're left out there now and none of us know what to do with them - run hail and shine all in the last week, and now they're getting shat on - i can see them from my kitchen window, hanging in dusk's spring air as i do the dishes before dinner - later i go outside and fill up the bird feeder with seed - pretending to ignore my old jeans with bird-shit on them

monday night - lets call it champange night - forget bowling and mrs jenkins knitting class - every monday night for the rest of my life i want to pop the cork on a bottle of chilly chilled champagne and drink with loved ones and succumb to the bubbles, pop and fizz of meaningless celebration - everyday is a funeral - everyday is sleep's tool - what can i do to make sure i'll be tired tonight? - and so now champagne is in my life i'll sip it slowly and think and speak without any thought of my artistic destinations - beer is the tool of art, and that's something i stand by, and something that i want and allow to interact with and influence my art - i don't want my loves and loathes and problems and probes to have anything to do with my course - i want to be universal, and understand the existance of myself on a universal level - this, i swear, is something i ponder for the majority of my waking life - some say taking photos of yourself, or making vidoes of yourself, or writing about yourself within yourself, is conceited - arrogant and up oneself - i look at those young men styled out like idiots singing songs - on a stage - in front of a crowd - expecting the world to give a shit about how they feel about some girl, or how heartbroken they are - or how that they've somehow found something worth telling me/singing to me for $15 and two hours of my time - i may write about myself and my unique situation here but you're reading this at your own free will - i don't promote - this is written and thought about behind backs and in alley ways and in the corners of the bars and pubs that they're now too cool to go into - nothing, unless it's secret

im on the wrong side of the week right now, and i always learn from the neverland - i've learnt what people want and what they want to hear - all type of people walking this earth, and im pretty sure i know what they want - and so i give it to them - a small price to pay for my quiet and mystical times alone - like just last saturday, i knew lady-elle had things she needed to do, and so i let her be and walked outside - we were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and untouched australian bush-land - i walked through the trees and shrubs and spooked the kangaroos and discovered creeks and perfeft little spots to rest and lie down, and logs to rest my head on and drift into easy thought - sometimes it would rain and so i wore my big jacket tight and found a tree or bush to shelter underneath - soon again id be on my way to find a spot by the creek to lie down and think about how amazing my life is, and how amazing and - crazy - trees are - i pick up and small stick and study the particulars of it, and think about how things within nature were the cause of all the little imperfections and unique divits and grooves and bends and twigs - if every twig and stick if as different as the one i found, then surely something as complex as human beings should be to - sadly, we're not - thanks to each other, and the safety and security we find and depend upon in each other - thus, my teasured time alone

where was i? what was i saying? the word of god? of course, as always...

i spent maybe an 45 minutes to an hour of my time looking for a copy of m.gira's the consumer but could only rarely find it anything below one hundred dollars - eighty five if you can read german - i even looked and tried to find someone who had it up for some kind of illegal legal download - not much luck - i had a tattered photocopy of three of m.gira's short stories in my leather jacket pocket that j had sent me some time earlier - stories i loved, and envied at first read - i'd often pull out those tattered and tarted short stories from my leather jacket and read them to remind myself who i truly am and where i should be pushing myself and my mind in times of doubt - like on the train - in line at the supermarket - weddings - and so i couldn't find a copy that would be mine - i found a couple of other books i wanted- w.vlautin's new one, and stasiland - and last week i wrote of conicidences and sent it to j and someone else on i don't really know on the train - and so really, i should've known that at that very moment, while i was looking for a copy of m.gira's the consumer, my friend and brother and partner in grit - j - was mailing a copy of m.gira's the consumer to my home address - i should've known - i feel the word and hand of god now as i hold the book in my hands - i plan on must sending it back tp j knowing all well it must be rare, even in our relationship - though before i do, i'm going to obsorb, read, study and open myself to the consumer - on the train, in line at the supermarket - weddings

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Nineteen

i am listening to a pirate tv/radio beamed from anton a newcombe into my study and music room where i can sense a new sense of inspiration about to pop like a cork, as wine bottles used to - it comes from the mind and is fuelled by the soul - i just opened the window - the rain and wind and the cars slicing the roads as they speed around to all those different places they go to - i haven;t heard it all, and despite seeing a few things in my day, i don't know where to find everything - i am the war of the worlds - i am world war three am - i write like the sound of rain - the coincidences never quit following me around everyday - 12 hours into a world war - what a coincidence that was - a series of human activity ending in the death of millions and millions of people

lady-l reminds her friends that her life isn't perfect and we both know that and do our own thing and don't blame each other for that, and encourage it - we both know when the time is right - we're in synch and i have to tell you about saturday as i woke up early in the morning and put on my sunglasses listening to a song called invisible by the church and walked to the shops and bought some vegies for salad rolls and made sure the champagne was in the fridge and so we made these massive salad rolls and took the champagne and rug down to the lake and drunk it and ate our lunch in the shade of an anonymous tree - the sun was out with some clouds morphing and the air was cool and we ate with hungry taste buds and drank our fizz will foggy eyes as our relaxation hung heavier and heavier as the day carried on - we laughed about explosions sung in the distance - just like in that strange story i wrote and sent you - i spoke about how certain things make me feel psychedelic, and she is beginning to understand - and as i see it i see it as something pretty amazing - i push for it in the people around me, but rarely does it eventuate - later that afternoon we lounge at home, and i opened the doors and windows and played the dirty three's ocean songs on repeat and drank some beers and watched the clouds continue to morph through the thick vines of our courtyard - lady-l read and from time to time i heard her turn the pages - it's amazing how her views have changed naturally with my life in the background (as hers is in mine) - however, i cannot simply thank the ocean songs for this mental lock which was one massive cycle and as hours passed the cycle become something of a force, both of us careful not to damage - an hours worth of self-spiritual realisation in one side glance from my psychedelic eyes as i sat outside in the court-yard - she was reading about icelandic people living in Iceland

there is this ability among plenty of people – by no means is this simon lawlor and the realisation and lady-elle exclusive - but it’s all too often dumbed down or dismissed – coincidences simply brushed aside as nothing more than coincidences, and there is no such thing and nothing could be further from the universal, and sole truth – coincidences are the gods telling us that we’re on the right track, we’re on our true path towards our own chaotic lives –not that everything is going according to any sort of plan, but more so that we’re doing alright, no matter what it is we’re doing, or how fucked up we’re feeling

oh no, oh no, oh no – thats the sound of the realisation – fuck yes, too – now I look forward to putting on my great big jacket that I took to Iceland and Greenland and wore in the snow and rain and volcanic ash, and wore in northcote while cooking and reading and writing for the three years I lived without heating – im now going to take and wear that great big warm jacket in the bush out east near your old home town where lady-elle’s grandfather built a house with his own hands and with no one else’s – doesn’t that sound too good to be true?

im going to walk around in the rain and trees in my big jacket and smell the air and the birds always come out when it’s raining and – last night I said “we should just bring a shit-load of food” and I can see us eating a feast as the sun sets early due to the terrible weather and rain – I’ll bring some beers and listen to scott walker – and maybe I’ll pack some champagne as well – and I’ll be a good person and a nice person and considerate

the bird seed I bought was cheap – the bird feeder I use was built with scraps of plastic and wire that the previous owner had left littered behind the feral plant-bushes – I hung it on the clothesline next to my dirty old jeans, so i could see it from the kitchen window while cleaning my pots and plates – one day I hope to see some colourful parrots or rosellas, but for now im happy with the happy pigeons

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Eighteen

my heart is out of tune - my humour is evil - my evil nature is laughing and the desk stands still - it's solid and it's old - there are some papers and some pencils, and concrete walls - the nights are driving my madness - i hear the footsteps and the whispers - my daily meal consists of carrots and water and a mug of warm milk before sleep-time - i assume they are drugging my milk - it would explain this act of kindness - my dreams are terrible and i wake up in a sweat with the breathless feeling one gets once discovered that they're not alone, when they should be alone - i opened my bedroom window one night and saw an ugly young boy pouring cold water onto a man - he looked at me with his distorted face and it's unnatural expressions and yelled something in words only known within his inbred state of being - yellow
foam spewed violently from his hank-words - he soon lumbered away with his hump and limp - i closed my curtains to the sound of the poor old man howling in fear, covered in water

that's how i feel every time i wake up from my evil dreams - i feel like that foaming young boy is walking away from me, leaving me with my fears and vivid-nightmares, wet and cold in the middle of the dark night - i see his beast-feet limping

and now here, at my desk - the walls are silently moving in on me and warping in shape - my milk, now cold, sits invisible on the floor - i toy nervously with my pencil, damp with my palms - as i fumble and drop it to the floor i hear it snap in two and i shudder at the sound of it - bending down to pick up the snapped pencil i catch a glimpse of the grey concrete wall behind me - fearing not to look directly, my terror and mad mind confirm what my peripheral vision thinks it sees

the yellow foam seeping from the walls is beginning to smell

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Seventeen


know what you know - take it with you - a jungle of days and nights - a circle of friends circling around you - a hoard of enemies make their way down the dirt road - chanting and stamping their feet - beating their chests and point in your direction - know what you know and carry it with you - blue diamond eyes and the flowers in her hair - that's something - that's the dust in the country bar and the simple guitar music that played there - the people were friendless and they only had one way to spend their remaining days, and it was there, in the yellow sun-lit dust of the country bar - drinking and watching the horses slowly die in the paddocks outside - you ordered a beer, and took a seat at a small table in the back corner - your back to the wall, fearful you'd just taken someone's "spot" - the bartender started calling for the number fourteen - the lost souls he served each day tried to dodge and rob him - rob his money - a mumble of lost souls drinking their remaining days away - i see you sitting there - so i finish my beer and quietly leave via the back door

fourteen - fourteen - fourteen - for miles i walked - miles of road and weed and dust and yellow sun keeping it distance from the storm clouds all the way on the other side of the sky - black cloulds angry with lightening - i knew eventually one of them was going to get me - was going to come and get me in the end - my feet were sore and my boots worn down to a cracked and thinning sole - the weeds irritated me, as there was nothing left around - the continous spread of pesting life on earth

after the fourth day the road began to thin and bend slightly - i finally felt like i was moving and headed towards something - i felt like i'd returned to earth - the thoughts of food and clean water and somewhere to rest easy spirited my lost soul and i walked faster - my friends were waiting for me when i arrived - a circle of friends hugging my tired frail body - i hadn't eaten anything except for weeds for five days - they fed me bread and salads and gave me water to drink - they took me inside and i slept in their guest room with the nice wallpaper - i must have slept for days and nights and days again - momentarially interupted by spood-fed soup and bread - i was soon again rested and walked to the small window of the guest room - outside stood a giant old tree with purple and orange leaves that were at peace with the wind and sunset - despire my circle of friends pleading with me to keep resting, i insisted on walking outside to look and study the tree - transfixed, mesmerised and tantalised - maybe i was delerious, and maybe i was right, but this tree was the centre point of the world's wisdom - my friends joined me as tears flowed like a funeral, shared amongst us all, in silence

in silence, until the chanting and stamping of their feet made it's way down the dirt road

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Sixteen

the conversation starts turning weird as soon as the vine moves down around his shoulder to his waist and thigh - he continued talking but i had lost track of his words, my attention on the dark green vine - a mushroom puffed into dust as i tapped my feet nervously under the table - he didn't notice the purple dust - i did - my breathing grew deeper as the vine continue to consume his body, seemingly without his knowledge - however i knew otherwise - he must have known - im sure he knew - between you and me, i think he just didn't want to admit it

within minutes his whole body was wrapped in the vine - the last i saw of it was a finger poking out of the forest-weave - it didn't last long - eventually he was just a head on top of what looked like a giant green bee-hive, and the green-bees begun buzzing in formation from a safe distance behind him

my foot begun to tingle - like pins and needles, but in reverse, and slower - much, much slower, than pins and needles - i shooked and stretched my leg out in front of me, as descreetly as possible - like his vine, im sure he noticed, but chose not to say anything - the tingles continued uo my leg and i felt the bone vibe to the sound of his voice - as hard as i tried, the realisation of this actualisation distracted me from what would surely be his final words - my shaking and kicked grew less and less descreet, as the dust on my foot caked solid, leaving me with what looked like a shiny purple boot on one foot - there were no more mushrooms

the clouds sped up and the wind slowed down - the grey air was mixing with the yellow air, for the first time in centuries - the only centuries history chose to remember anyway - who could really know? - i don't know why, but the thought of this calmed me, and i returned to my slouch - the rare knowledge of a dishonest and criminal history made any fear of a natural death simply diminish

in my calm and wisdom, i looked at him in the eye - the green-bees haloed his head, and all of him remained despite the vine were his blue lips - before the vine could make one more move, he spoke his final words

"the dust munchkins... behind you"

and they were.