Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Fifty

people ask, where should i begin? - am i asking you where i should end? - where i should stop? - why has this been? - i've been around, charged and powered by those little moments in our favourite albums - it may be passionate scream - it may be a chord change, whatever that is - my brother mentioned throwing out all the plastic cases of his cds and just keeping the covers and the cd themselves - it's such a good idea, i thought - maybe i'll do it - things are getting a little out of hand, and to be honest im always a little happy when i see someone's new album is released on cd in a cardboard sleeve - it's like children i guess - i'd love to be a vinyl person, but it's too late - i've spoken about perhaps just buying some of my favourites on vinyl, for special occasions - for ceremonies and party lights - for expensive scotch whiskey, champagne and well-aged red wine - just me and my thoughts, at peace - im a calm and mellow person - i want to live a life pure, relaxed and holy - i want to be remembered by the right people - but that doesn't mean i want to be forgotten by the wrong people - the idea of being forgotten is a funny one - a weird one - i write about it all the time - i think about it daily - but doesn't it blow your mind to think that there will come a time when it'll be like our lives never actually happened? - did someone just compare steve jobs to shakespeare? - i've been watching a lot of space documentaries and i will never understand why space exploration isn't our first priority - of course, it's ours, but not theirs, which is a shame - the earth will die someday, that's a surity - and what's probably more of a sure bet is the that human race will end at some point - can you imagine, and you get your head around what it would be like to witness the last moments of the human race? - it has to happen at some point - what will it be like? who will it be? - where will it happen? - the frustrating thing is that the human mind simply isn't capable to understanding just how massive the universe is - i try - im training myself - im preparing - will you drift with me? - and the rain falls and i walk to the fridge in socks and get myself a beer - music plays and i take a trip - i wish i could play all of my favourite songs all at the same time, but they all have to wait - one at a time please - n.cave is probably lucky it's taken this long for people to turn on him - i heard a rumour he met the queen - that's fucking awesome - funny too - but how many party-shits are going to sit in front of their ipads and declare him as a sellout - and my soul pukes for using that word - i still vomit everytime i see a television commercial - most people i see are nothing but results - they're nothing but goals achieved and somebody's millions - millions and billions - next trillions - then marriage - did i ever tell you that probably three years ago i never thought i'd be married - not properly, anyway - but yeah, i found myself thinking about it more and more - and i was listening to the harold and maude soundtrack, drunk, alone on a saturday night slash sunday morning - i hope me saying that doesn't taint the music / soundtrack for you - it's such a great movie, and you were the one who told me about it and talked our teacher into showing it in our script writing class - it's in my top three movies of all time - i hate having to do that, but you've got to be equipted with this sort of stuff when you're out socialising and talking about movies and music - lonesome jim is my all time favourite movie - have i told you that? - have you seen it? - nobody has, but i saw it after seeing the trailer before watching for this winnipagen movie in vancouver - it was by the time i was in san fran. that i was able to see it - in a shitty cinema on haight street - i went alone, of course - still do - there were a few other people in the cinema - at least one other by themselves - that's the sort of shit you remember - and it's a perfect movie - perfect for me, anyway - the cheerful sadness, nice and close to home - i remember emailing my brother afterwards - he would've been one of the only people i knew who could've possibly known about it - and for some reason i've always somehow associated him with steve buscemi - it must've been when he hired fargo - it took me a while to actually see resovior dogs - and i think i bought it from a video store ex-rental bin for five dollars - it's not bad - but jesus! - do you know how or whom designed the ordering of the letters on a keyboard? - it's never occurred to me until this moment, and that's why i get high on the realisation - it'll be a good thing to know - something to talk about - something to have stored away - which brings me now to track four on the ( ) sigur ros album - apparently it's called the nothing song - fuck that, to me it'll always be track four on the brackets album - and the sun has no ridiculously come out punching through the rain clouds - im going to leave now - i have so much positive soul in me, i just find sadness funny - i know that nothing means anything, so sadness is a joke, but it's real and honest and natural - how can anyone not be sad? - how can anyone not feel happy, at this point right now - wherever you are - godbless you - and if he doesn't, i will

your friend in time and space, life and death, now and then

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Nine

throw it in the fire! - feet tapping and fists downing the bottle of smoke, the flavour of the night - swear and rasp - be held back from the fight, you were never going to win - drink to the mystic of irish folk music - drink to the mysteries of endless love and sex and a never-ending desire build in deep like your standard guilt-trip - let them sleep - turn the volume down - run down the streets and wave until someone pulls over and ask them if they have anything to drink and if not, get in and give directions - the first thing you'll notice will be the car-seat covers - how novelty - like a pathetic drunk a few years before he realises what he's become - the seat's warm and you feel like your intruding - am i intruding? you ask

some movie with subtitles is showing - you turn down the volume and listen to some music as you read the movie - the light from the television guiding you to the fridge for another beer - you play games with yourself in your head and you wonder how long before you can guess what country the film was made in, or is based in - you always assume iceland - island - till you fall asleep on the coach in splendour and wake up in shame - walking yourself to bed at seven am, hoping you'll be able to fall asleep again before you feel guilty need to get out of bed

the kitchen light
left on all day
- empty house, 3pm

the fear of waking up
your loved one
- but then you don't

soft breaths of sleep
- but my head buzzes
with paranoia

walking by the busker
- maybe i should've
given him something

i didn't notice
the ticking clock
- until now

a simple hug;
easily forgotten
- he'll never forget

and then suddenly,
the traffic stops!
- for a moment or two

so many people
under-estimating
the setting sun

what's the point?
the universe is
simply too big!

unable to play an instrument,
he sits in bliss
- tapping his foot

oh music!
your slave pleads of you -
never stop!

a weak handshake
warms the heart
of the pure souls

forgotten and neglected
like midnight clouds
- i get myself a beer

in such a hurry
he trips over the newspaper
- he has work to do

so many clocks, so little time
so many phones,
...nobody

the church -
and now im here
with nothing to write

who loves who,
more than who?
- we both lose

standing by the rubbish bins
his thoughts are as clear
as newspaper headlines

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Eight

in a bed of ash, a welcome depression, a self-serving depression wears him down to a sour-sleep – the sleep saps and tricks his brain into thinking there is nothing, and that's enough – around his room, he hears cars and birds and house-mates, and radios and tvs and doorbells, and microwave and doing the dishes – but he wraps himself up tighter in the thick blankets that are as cold as clouds

you haven’t eaten in forty-eight hours – you tried, just to make your friends happy, only to gag-down a piece of chicken – but that wasn’t eating – that wasn’t food – the phone next to your bed of ash rings in dust – and you ignore it, embracing your selfish and pathetic sulk – you want nothing to do with anyone and you have no idea of who are or, or who you’re supposed to be to them – you imagine their concern for you, and it makes you feel better for nothing more – nothing is working in your favour, and there is nothing you can do about it – you’re riding a train of wrong turns and it’s too late for everything

they’re gone – chasing the sun down to a bar-room full of friends and friends of friends – carefree and careless and by-passing all the meditation in the world to find themselves living this one direct moment with the thoughtless help of cheap and cold beer – he lies on the coach, scanning a collection of typical dvds that tire and bore his mind – he put himself through the opening credits and the opening few scenes of a movie starring Robert de niro, before turning it off – putting himself in a position where there is nothing more to do but stare at the ceiling and walls in your his silence – nothing occupying anything except for his endless doubts, his pessimistic assumptions, and his self-hatred

and so you saddle on up and take seat, carefully avoiding eye-contact as you order yourself a beer - the weight of your miserable thoughts drowns out the pathetic and generic music playing through the speakers on the peeling ceiling of this, the same old bar - running your hands through your hair, you occupy yourself, making yourself flustered and heated - you drink your beer too quickly, ordering another one and feeling guilty and embarrassed - a young attractive girl with dark hair sits at a table by herself and reads a book, taking notes - drinking her drink she exudes a confidence that makes you feel sick - you take another long hard sip of your third beer, desperate for it's effects to dull your senses and thoughts to a bland nub

walking down the street, he taunted the cars to swerve violently and crash into him - to put him out of his misery with a near future death out of his control - he wouldn't mind and he wouldn't care and he'll finally be free of endless circles of predictability of life - with each step he took he took a step towards another pointless conversation about something he didn't care about - towards another little thing to do on the endless list of things to do - oblivious to the outside world streaming by him, he drowned his thoughts with the approaching realisation that he simply didn't want to do it anymore

swimming in a an orange haze of confusion, you stumble as you return to your seat to order another beer - the kind and understanding manner in which it is suggested to you that you've probably had enough depletes you - you know they're right, you just don't want to go home - you just don't want to go to bed and you don't want to go to sleep - it's a torturous necessity - against your will, you thank them with a slur for their well-meaning guidance and you stumble your way to the door - the cold night air forces you to realise just how hot and sweaty you really are - the chilled rainy air spikes itself into your sticky lungs as you turn instinctively to the direction home - the streets are full of screams and yells and life that you ignore - staggering and bumping into them, you blink your eyes to focus and wake up at least a little bit - on the other side of the road you see some sense that you'll forget by tomorrow morning - something you never used to do - you focus on the red and blue flashing lights in an attempt to try and remember - however, your certain your mind will just process the chaos as just another bad day for someone else you don't know

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Seven

he decides to break free from the constraints of day to day life, and the whole world is there to witness his change in mind and lifestyle - just a bag and the road and an audience to send him off and someone to say goodbye - that's cool, they tell him - i wish i could do that, they tell him - i want to do that as well, they tell him - they stand around his loaded backpack like it's a newborn snug and bundled into a price-tagged pram - and soon it's time to go – he arrived early at the train station and bought a bottle of cola – taking it into the public toilets at the station, he quickly skulled back a third of the bottle inside one of the cubicles - careful not to drop anything on the floor, and carefully breathing so as to not to breath in too much, he refilled what was empty of the bottle with scotch– admitting to himself that this may be a new low, but enjoying the tragic beauty that came with his actions

on the train he’s sitting next to middle-aged woman reading a block-buster novel - he has a window seat and outside the dusk is dying into night all over the industry outskirts of his home town - chimneys and pipes and steam and graffiti that gets weirder and weirder the further outbound the train yanks itself - the woman next to him, reading the book, was the first indication that this trip wouldn't match the romantic and spiritual solo journey he had envisioned in his head during the days he thought about how his life was wasting away minute by minute - as she continued to read, he looked out the window, slowly tapping his thumb on his thigh as he slugged back another sip of scotch and cola

a baby somewhere begun to play incessantly with a toy of sorts that generated a loud, repetitive, electronic sound – the baby’s mother, he assumed, was simply thankful the child wasn’t screaming or crying as she let it continue to play with the noisy toy – the woman who was trying to read her book in silence, begun to turn her head in the direction of the mother and child every time the toy wanged out it’s loud electronic noise – not saying anything, but simply staring that them, hoping that would portray her annoyance – this in turn soon became more annoying than the toy itself

by the time he was on the bus, the cold purple dusk air swam smoothly – he sunk back deep in his seat and rationed out the scotch and cola he had remaining in his bottle, reciting haiku in his head as he watched the trees gush-by and become spooky as the bus headlights paid them little attention and the bus continued to speed down the dark rural highway – he felt safe, content and in control of absolutely everything – he felt certain his fellow passengers could smell the scotch on his breath and the air surrounding his seat, but understood that they didn’t mind - he allowed himself to be simply taken by the bus and enjoyed the movement he was experiencing

the bus driver helped him retrieve his bag from the under-carriage – the dim red light from baggage area recalling the time the isolated sea-side bus-stop was once a crime scene – wishing the bus driver a nice night, he heaved his bag onto his back, and with the realisation he had no reason to care about time or places, he walked himself down the dunes to the beach, stumbling and bouncing as though the sand was laughing and hyperactive – he had indian sitar music playing in his ears – japanese haiku read in his head – and the cold australian friday night dusk charging electricity from the air, sand, trees and breaking waves – he succumbed to his aloneness and spun his head around the millions of stars reigning above, allowing the scotch in his head to spin in the opposite direction

the lazy trees branches brushed and scratched his shoulders and the bag on his back as he took the off-road direction to the small house – from this point of view, the house seemed completely desolate, soaked in darkness and dripping with the black night – trees shielded the stars, keeping their influence at bay – the relief of dropping his bag to the ground of evident by the cool of air on the sweat on his back – fumbling for keys, and jiggling the rusty key-hole, he pushed his way inside disturbing the dust and stale air and begun preparing himself something simple to eat

by 2am he was lost on familiar ground – he begun to doubt his eyes, and doubt whether they’d ever adjust to the brick wall of shrub-darkness that surrounded and confused him – backtracking, he simply couldn’t get it right – about to give up, telling himself it’s probably for the best and that he should probably get to bed anyway, he thought to use the light from his watch to guide himself beach bound, in small five second bursts

he was back on the beach, absorbing and being absorbed with thanks from the isolated darkness, the seemingly infinite stars and cluster-dusts, wall-to-wall – the waves broke with a constant gush the same way they have for millions of years, and he realised he was standing surrounded by a natural entity, and that was the way it was millions and millions of years ago – this sand – these waves – this water – that mountain range – he picked up a small rock in his sandy hands, and it blew his mind wide open – alone, he sung his amazed and boozey thoughts and moved in relation to the waves and water – the stars, nonchalant with the minor spec of insignificance, dancing on a minor spec of insignificance, for an insignificant amount of time

from somewhere after hours of silence he woke up, warm and comfortable, rested after an undeserved good night's sleep - with no idea what time it could be, he found out and walked towards the light - he ate some nuts and dried fruit, and stood on the sagging and weathered sun-drenched balcony - feeling it's warmth, he woke up some more, and amazed himself as he sat in the sun and thought about all the stars amongst stars he witnessed the night before - having never done yoga before, he improvised what he imagined it would involve, performing some moves in his underpants - saddened deep down that this moment was tainted with the slight paranoia he felt wondering if someone was watching him - later he meditated, in the warm morning sun, thinking about the wind's influence on the flying dragonfly

the water was icy - it was still a sunny, sunny day, but the ocean's water cut deep, relentlessly - there was no-one around, but he still felt as though he had to submerge his head and body under the cold water as soon as possible, to somehow prove himself - with no wind the waves were calm and smooth, moving his bobbing body like a dance - closing his eyes he felt the water move around him like spirits - he once again felt the insignificance of the lonely planet,earth - bobbing in a silent space, caring only for itself due to the nature of the existence of the universe - things happen - his aloneness exacerbated these feelings and thoughts, and for at least one moment, he touched on the everything, the all, the answer and the meaning behind it all

the pub was closed, shut down - he knew he'd need a drink and so he kept walking along the road with the knowledge the local store should be open and selling booze - this was and it did, and so he bought six cans of beer thinking they'd be lighter to carry home - taking the long way, he walked along the beach on his way back to the house - the idea came that a perfect way to lighten the load was to drink a couple of the beers, and so he found some unbelievably perfect shade in the high dunes of the beach and sat in the sand and leaned back sipping on the store-cold beers - the ocean in constant motion, the sand competing with the hidden blue-sky stars - he allowed his thoughts to be taken by the three or four beers he drunk in the dunes, having conversations with friends and people he knew in his head - was this a sign of impedning madness, or was this a cure for his undiagnosed insanity that would change the world one day as he always thought it might?

he drunk all night - listening to music, slow and sad with all the doors and windows open so he could hear the music as he pissed off the balcony and often wondered around the trees and shrubs that the kangaroos had longed abandoned - the slow sad music took it's time, just as he did - strolling and stopping to touch and feel the dewy leaves - listening to the twigs and dead leaves snap and crackle with each slow step in the dark, every single moment moving with time towards some sort of inevitable - and with this newly realised knowledge, he drunk one more beer to the clouds above, and remembered the stars of the previous night, and the ocean of the morning, the beers and sand dunes of the afternoon and all the thoughts he thought alone while never speaking a word

he packed his bag late that night before going to bed - he set his alarm for 7.30am to give him 20mins to wake up and walk back down to the bus stop - he slept but it didn't do much - the next morning he woke to a miserable sunday morning - the birds even seemed tired - he slept on the bus, and he slept on the train, and before he knew it he was home - returned - and it was as though nothing had ever happened - ever

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Six

waiting at the doorway

sliding open all the time

welcomes me

and i step inside

only to forget

my place to hide

a thief tomorrow

given me so much

lost all the details

and lost her touch

sliding backwards

through the doorway

i slide back to see what's left

spilled the secrets of her childhood

no, nothing more, catch-cry theft

im coming down

with the come down

to find myself here

until

"i love you" she said

"i love you till i'm dead" she said

and the happiest man alive

until she but a bullet

straight through her head

im stuck in a lift

it's hurtling down

at unimaginable speeds

beyond my comprehension

im in a total, constant

state of panic

my insides feel

all

nervous and deadly

light stinging tingles

floating in the vacuum

of my soul

i don't even work here

my brain

a swinging pendulum

ticking and tocking

relentless distress madness

the last thing i remember

is waking up

in some sort of

bed

of some sort

i had been sleeping

i was surrounded

by a foul smell

and covered

in a thick and syrupy

sweat

outside a silent world

of chaos and destruction

omnipresent violence

a continuous collision

a never ending fight

to a never ending death

without a sound

the window shatters

and shards of glass

fly

like a slow motion super-nova

i'm cut and bleeding

i bleed on the sheets

and books

that lay scattered around this

bed

i stood up and looked out

the broken window

the street below

madmen, some naked

running and spreading

their madness throughout the streets

in my car

i drive

to my left is

the setting sun

the last one

that's ever to say

goodbye

nice try

i always thought

the setting sun

smelt like

cut-grass

and smoking bbqs

and sounded like

the tschock

of cans beer being opened

no matter what the weather

the sunset

the dusk

was always a relief

not so hot

not so cold

anymore

this day is over

and another one

is gone

forever

one more closer to death

but we're faced

with the most beautiful

daily occurrence

as a reminder

that everything is

going to be okay

blood spider-webs

down my wrists

the steering wheel

somewhere

between sticky

and slime

i pull over

the smashed up

music store

is looted and tooted

a continuous saggy drone

from a lone saxophone

depresses me

a couple of leaps

and im clear of the broken glass

inside the store

i snatch and pocket

an expensive harmonica

it's black

in a red velvet sock

- well, it's not too expensive

but i'd never buy an harmonica

for this price

or meet anyone in my life

who would

it slides in my pocket

nicely, snug

out the window i walk

amongst the outsiders

safe enough

far enough

away from the danger

but close enough

to know

to mind their own business

and care only for themselves

a couple of blocks up

a stabbing took places

everyone and people

scrambled

i didn't see

who stabbed who

but i saw blood

and sensed the panic

like a heat-wave morning bird call

i turned a few corners

to distance myself

from the shit

through the crowd

i saw a familiar face

an old girlfriend

of a man i once knew

i called her name

and i called it again

registering who i was

she smiled and hugged me

we stood outside a bar

and the waft of stale beer

and old carpet

tempted me

anyway, it wasn't safe

she spoke of her marriage

i spoke of my dead wife

i kept toying with the idea

of getting a beer

with her

and showing her

my harmonica

maybe playing something

for the first time

but i didn't have the courage

i caught a train home

the sun was long gone

never again

i thought to myself

as i walked the tunnels

with my neighbours

my local strangers

dank and lit by scattered

flickering

fluoro lights

we trod in silence

deeper into the long

long

tunnel

dead straight

i pulled out

the harmonica

from my pocket

and kissed it

the faint harp-humming sound

echoed through the acoustics

- while everyone pretended

not to notice

everyone wondered

how they got

to this point

of mass suicide

through the endless

void

of falling forever

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Five

i wouldn't normally spend this much
someone invited me somewhere
i went along with it
i had to distract myself
from the rest of them
sure, where is it then?
we met outside the theatre
she was wearing a big
thick black coat
do you like it?
my father gave it to me
yeah, it's good
she was drinking a coffee
telling me about her day
her job
how she'd met some really
- interesting guy -
and how happy she was
to see me
they sell drinks here?
i noticed a bar
just inside
she offered me a cigarette
i declined
i'll get a beer
and come out and join you
you can't take alcohol outside the venue
they said
looks like they're trying to keep us apart
smokers outside
drinkers inside
don't worry
we'll get a drink
at the interval
i pulled out my hip-flask
winked
and told her
that was a great idea

the show was pretty
pathetic
i spent most of it
imagining one of the ushers
completely and totally
naked
- but still standing there
with a torch, walking late comers
to their seats
she was attractive
she looked like someone
i'd probably seen on a train
once or twice
the highlight of the show
was during the interval
she went out for a smoke
and i said
nah, i'll just stay here
don't worry about me
while she was gone
i tried to read the program
over the shoulder
of the middle aged woman
sitting in front of me
she had hair like cauliflower
and smelt like a dentists
waiting room
anyway, when she returned
she had snuck a beer
back to the seats
and handed it too me
with a wink
i felt so lucky
to be
so needlessly lucky
i drunk the beer
in full view of
the naked usher
but she pretended
not to notice me

what did you think?
she asked me
like i was a six year old
on christmas morning
it was good
i replied
as the rest of the theatre crowd
mingled around us
asking each other
what did you think?
i thought i saw
my old english teacher
from highschool
im pretty sure
she saw me too
and noticed
but we both pretended
we didn't
much easier that way
so come on
she playfully slapped me on the shoulder
lets go get a coffee or something
i want you to tell me
about that documentary
you saw the other night
i told her no
i didn't really want to
i don't really do those things
i just see things
and let them be
that it has
such a greater affect
when you just let
- art
simply be art
and leave all the
discussions
and coffee
to those who
want that image
- but i know a place
she said
it's great
you'll love it
they play your type of music
and the coffee is great

i kissed her
on the cheek
she was a good soul
and meant no harm
i left her
by the wafting warm
doorways of the theater
and walked deeper
into the cold city
- there was this bar
that everyone knows
i go to
by myself
to read
and think
and be anonymous
it's open late
i walked in
and saw
the same girl
behind the bar
who is always
behind the bar
she smiled and i sat
at the bar
i ordered a beer
as though i were
giving her a tedious job
to do
she smiled again
poured it
and gave me a discount

the bar was empty
but being quite well known
to the local university students
at any moment
it could explode
into a room full
of drunken youths
wearing whatever
costume
is funny to them
this year
i sipped my beer
and wrote
some thoughts
in my notebook
i pulled out
a book to read
but an obscure
and favourite
song of mine
came on
throughout the bar
as it always
coincidentally
seems to do
when im alone
- this distracted me
from the book
i was reading
so i put it down
and ordered
another beer

by my third
a man walked into
the still empty
bar -
he wore a
light brown suit
maybe just little
too small for him
maybe
underneath it
a darker brown
woolen vest
perhaps homemade
perhaps im being
romantic
he carried a
red rain coat
if they'd forecast
rain
i wouldn't of had a clue
- balding, fifty
or sixty
years old
he wore a
messy, unkempt beard
he sat down
around the bend
in the bar
on the other side
the girl
asked him what he'd like
and he order some kind of
spirit drink
i'd never drink
he took a sip
and took out
a newspaper
beginning to work
on the crossword puzzle
an aura of
silence
and wisdom
orbited this old man
as he sipped his drink
and worked
the crossword puzzle
in his old brown suit
and woolen brown vest
and cheap red raincoat
on the chair next to him
we were both alone
in this shitty bar
the two of us with
the girl behind the bar
we drunk in silence
surrounded by the
mostly
pathetic music
that played through
the speakers

i felt the most
intense -
the most heartfelt
and sincere
honest
sadness
i'd ever felt
in my
stupid little life
and i felt
this complete
realised misery
for belonging
to my
wasted
generation

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Four

the purple velvet bubble catches me when my time comes to fall asleep - and then later it bounces me back to my feet when the times comes for me to return and wake up - not a waterfall, but something of a fog-fall - a fog-down to ease me back into this world - scented cinnamon and vanilla - im high but safe - the natural highs of forgotten drugs - dreams that happily confuse and convolute the thoughts that drizzle down like shooting cartoon stars each day we're alive - the wind whispering warm like a highschool sweetheart as youre hugged and welcomed by a familiar group of friendly people - they mean no harm - they're understanding and allowing, and if the truth really be told, they don't care about anything at all - its just wave after wave of rain, hail and shine - of misery, madness and divine bliss - there is an infectious acceptance of all these things, and you succumb and learn about their ways - it's like, all roads are quiet, country roads - and they're there to be taken - but the journey lies completely within the individual - the path is the same for all of us, but it's your completely unique, realised perception that makes it worthwhile - and it's worth your while to rest in the grass that pillows somewhere between the gentle warm sun and the soft ground below - you drift into relaxation, giving a small feather a whistle of air to keep it drifting, floating and twirling in the unimaginable chaos of pure existence - you'll hear music drift in and out of your consciousness, content in the knowledge that even during the times you can't hear it, someone somewhere can, and that someday it'll be your turn once again to melt yourself backwards into the music that reads your soul that sings for an eternity like an endless purple sunset dissipating into a fine dust, orbiting your head and body with faith, trust and a complete connection with the universe that is at one

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Three

the chimneys pumped their steam - the warm rain dissipated into a hot blanket of fog and at 7am it was time for me to go to work - i had showered the previous night's stench and regrets away and gotten dressed into my clothes - by the time i'd walked to the train station, my hair was wet and messy, i had stained myself with sweat, and i'd already eaten my lunch

i stood in a puddle of water and oil, waiting the four minutes for the train to arrive - i only had three more pages left of the book i was reading, but i wanted to save it until the train to arrived – so instead i just looked blankly at a random page, pretending to read, and minding my own business

everyone scrambled like life and death when the train pulled up at the platform - me, i stood back and waited till the crowds did what instinct told them and pushed and shoved themselves onto the carriage - if i was late for work, i didn't mind too much, but in the end there was enough room for me to slip on-board at the last moment - the doors closed and the slow tugging momentum of the train begun to build

since i've live alone for such a long time, i'd learned to enjoy watching and observing people - sitting with a beer or coffee somewhere by myself, sitting and watching the people move, walk, interact and live pointless little moments in their lives that will most likely be forgotten and not even recognised by anyone - not themselves, not those around them - but just me - a little no-body drinking a beer with a pen and paper

in front of me stood a middle aged woman with cement hair and thick woolen scarf - i could never understand how women could always look good in such drenched weather - in front of her stood a business man in a boring old suit - he carried a newspaper in his hands, the sports section - he was balding but had the type of face a bald head would suit - i caught him looking down the woman's top - for a middle aged woman she wasn't very attractive - but given the opportunity, i guess he couldn't help himself - what else was there to do?

the carriage was full of all different types of insect-like people going to work and squirming and mingling like a soggy ants nest - i held my breath for as long as possible - i noticed a young girl sitting a few heads to my left - an adorable twenty-something with light brown hair tied back in high pony tail - her face something of an insane beauty, something almost cruel and dangerous - something that almost makes you wish you weren't a man because the task involving yourself in the life of someone so beautiful is too much to bare - too much to ask - what's the point anymore?! - her cheeks, lips, eyes and nose, all so perfect, and to my mind that morning she seemed to be the sole reason for all faces, for all human beings - she must've been - she wore black tights and a pink tank top, exercise clothes and looked as though she was about to go for a jog or go to a gym - at a safe enough distance i continued to stare, and started to breathe again

she was looking through her small backpack and i dodged and moved my head in an attempt to keep view of her in the crowded carriage - over the shoulders of a couple of beardless gnomes, i saw her pull out some nail polish and begin painting her nails hot-pink, matching the singlet she wore - an instinctive wave of disappointment crashed inside of me - what i was seeing made no sense to me - someone so perfectly attractive, dressed to exercise and better themselves and maintain a fit and healthy life chose to spend this wasted time painting their nails pink - i hated her for doing this to me - i begun to hyperventilate, hiding her from my eyes i stared at my feet and closed my eyes - why was she doing this? – why was she doing this?

i swallowed and swallowed - hot syrupy saliva built up in my mouth and the train now seemed to be tugged along in slow, slow motion - i counted the seconds until the train was due to pull up at the next station and with every essence of being i had, i willed myself not to vomit on the crowded train

as the doors slid open i dashed away from the convoluted mesh of corporate flesh-beings and stumbled my distance onto the train platform - i found myself a little corner, bent over and begun to vomit - flowing easy, my lunch saw the dim-light of day much earlier than expected - there was probably about three or four bouts of retching and puke before the crowded train eventually slowly pulled away, leaving me alone standing in a puddle of my own vomit and acid rain

and so now what?, i thought to myself - the past was behind me and there was something about standing in a small pool of my own vomit that reassured me that i couldn’t do anything with my life - i was at low and had nothing and no-one around that meant anything to me - taking one last spit, i then took a deep breath and faced the sky above - nothing but a deep endless grey upon grey - the monumental chimneys spread forever in all directions, and spiked the sky, defying nature

after some moments of person reflection, and the realisation that my life was now meaningless and no-ones, i took some notice of the train-timetables posted on the station wall - there was a train due soon that would be heading out east, far east - i knew there was a beach out there somewhere, but never took the time to find out - i made the decision to take this train as far east as i could, and see where east took me

the train was empty - just me and a few copies of yesterday's newspaper - i read them, again - i attempted their crossword puzzles and their many sudokus - looking out the window, i noticed the chimneys became fewer and more sparse - i saw space for the first time since i was a unemployed, workless child - the concrete became sandy and very soon the sandy concrete became nothing but sand - endless sand - endless sand as though the hourglass for all existence had given up, picked up a hammer and killed itself

looking out the window, i tried to pull some inspiration from my experience and write some haiku - it was pointless, as they were all terrible

an hour, maybe two had passed when the train finally came to a halt and a voice from above said we'd come to the end of the line - i must of dozed off as i felt drugged - the sun was shining and i didn't know what that meant anymore - i wondered if what i was doing was wrong - i collected myself and stood up, leaving a few pages of bad poetry behind me - outside the wind blew warm and the sand moved with it - i saw a dirt road stemming not far from the station and begun to take it - walking alone with no intent, no meaning - lost and confused - taking a road

an hour into the sand i heard a car driving down the road behind me - i stopped and turn and heard it honked it's horn playfully - as it pulled up i saw a middle aged man smiling at me - he looked like aging athlete - he looked like he'd had some success in his time - but that time was gone now and that time had passed - he smoked a cigarette and that suited him - "how are you?" he yelled, beyond the wind that whipped me
"yeah, im okay" i replied
"how about a lift? - this ain't no place for no lonesome traveller - jump in brother"
i took at look around the surroundings - sand and dust and wind and sunshine - the endless void on the outskirts of man-made madness
"you reckon? where you going?"
he laughed like drunk child and shook his head
"it's about not where im going brother, it's where im leaving"
"and where are you leaving?"
"well if you hang around here, you'll find out soon enough - you'll find out why as well - up to you brother"
i nodded, and opened the passenger side door - inside the car smelt like air conditioning and cigarettes - the man accelerated fast and we took off down the road - the radio was on but stuck half way between a talk-back program and static - every bump in the road made it more static that talk-back
"nice ride you have"
"thanks man" he said, "smooth and lazy, like a drunken honeymoon"
it was at this time i noticed the gun on the dashboard, vibrating with the sound of travel – what a strange man this is, i thought to myself

“I’m not married myself – but I could do with a drink” I told him
“there’s a bottle of scotch on the back seat”
I turned around and lying on top of a pile of dusty old clothes was an empty bottle of my favourite brand of scotch
“thanks for that – classy”
He laughed again, not taking his eyes off the dirt road ahead and accelerating faster like a nightmare-rewind
“you ain’t got the tippy-tippy!” he suddenly yelled, sounding as though he were a child about to burst with excitement - his tongue spitting out the strange words and his eyes exploding into mine - “you ain’t got the tippy-tippy!"
"what are you... drive properly!"
the car was now shredding itself through the sand and dirt like a chainsaw through flesh - he could barely keep control - i didn't know what frightened me more; the ease in which he succumbed into this madness, or the car violently losing the control of it's driver
"tippy-tippy! you ain't got the tippy-tippy!"

my hands glued sweat and panic on the dashboard, squeezing out pleas of "stop" and "slow down" between my clenched teeth as i braced myself for the inevitable crash
"tippy-tippy! hahaha!"
shielding my eyes from the red sun that burnt like a mellow-hell on the horizon, i caught sight of the empty bottle of scotch being juggled in the back seat by the bumps and grinds of our chaotic descent into god knows where - despite the force and thrashing the car now had on my actions, i threw one arm behind me in the hope of somehow catching the bouncing bottle
"you ain't got the tippy-tippy!!" - his voice now roaring like a demon which somehow changed his face into something much less-than-human

the bottle tickled my finger-tips a number times - "come ooooon!" i screamed, desperate to grab hold of it - i twisted my body around - my face pressed against the seat like i was a child in a mother's arms, tears of fear welling in my eyes - with both arms stretched out to the back seat, the car bucked hard over a bump in the road - we were both sent airborne for what felt like a couple of seconds - upon landing the bottle clapped hard into my palm - and in one swift movement i swung the bottle like an axe into the back of his head - shards of glass seemingly floating in space after the all encompassing thawunk of the thick scotch bottle crashed over the back of his head

his head dropped - as streams of blood slowly webbed down the back of his neck, he let out a monstrous groan - moaning like a mourning mother - weak and on the verge of blacking out, he tried his best to keep his hands on the wheel - he begun to take short sharp breaths to a steady fast beat - "slow us down!" i shouted, trying to break through his madness, and his head injuries - "stop us!" - his moaning was enough to keep inmates awake at night - his madness spilling out of him in short sharps breaths and now a steady stream of blood from the back of his head

i picked the gun up off the dashboard, and pointed it at the side of his head - pushing it against the soft patch of his temple - slowly he turned his head to look at me – his eyes looked dead already, but the fast steady breaths he took kept him alive somehow - until i pulled the trigger - and shot him in the forehead

blood sprayed over my face and chucked onto the window behind him - he was pushed back against the driver's side door like a manikin with an eerie death-smile upon his face - i don't know how it got there - before or after i pulled the trigger? - i dropped the gun to the floor and quickly took control of the steering wheel - i steadied us - i put us back on the dirt road and kept us straight - however there was nothing i could do to get his foot off the accelerator - his foot was jammed and locked down flat - so we continued to speed through the sand and dust - i had no idea which direction we were heading in - all i could do was steer us along the dirt road and hope that maybe someday, the chimneys will slowly rise up over the endless sand horizon, and hope that there was at least one more bullet left in the gun riding the bumps and grinds at my feet

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Two

walking with poetry
music fills my head
- and it starts to rain

walking alone -
the suburban winter,
every house is haunted

standing in the rain
in the courtyard he smokes
in slow motion

my horoscope was wrong today
the lonesome tradesman
works in the rain

the city lights blur
out of no-where -
the storm

so lonesome
- my best friend
has a girlfriend now

we all lie
to maintain the charade
of everyday life

car to restaurant
- his newspaper
an umbrella

making eye contact
with strangers -
we remember the few

a smile, we say hello
- and goodbye
when we die

good food and wine,
i dine with my friends
salt and pepper

sunset clouds
hover over the city
like sleep and dreams

the piano man plays,
the drunk man drinks
- they both need to piss

at the jazz bar
his mind fizzles
like a thursday

dim light-bulb
you light up melbourne
and her artists

the stolen pen
comes in handy
for this haiku

young men drinking,
at that table there
- here i am

tonight's sunset
is mine - tomorrow
it's all yours

standing on the corner
drinking a beer
- leave him be

this miserable night
- another sad song
i'll never forget

drifting through life
he dodges all -
love and hate

at the jazz bar
his mind fizzles
like a match-book

at the jazz bar
he drinks and thinks
like molten lava

at the jazz bar
no one knows -
contemplating suicide

lightening flash!
- high above
the daily commute

dull light bulb
- no need to write,
you are art!

dull light bulb
- you make every night
sunday night

dull light bulb
- it's just you
and me

drinking alone
- nobody
fucks with him

will you marry me?
his t-shirt reads;
just do it

home alone
- drinking
how will i be remembered?

she smiles
- a green light
on a bad day, home

salt and pepper,
the menu and i
shall dine tonight!

so lonesome
and beautiful -
i don't say a thing

lonesome bush trail,
he dies alone at dusk
- we all die alone

two strangers
sit and drink
in silence

so beautiful -
she waves hello
and goodbye

his gun points
at my head -
what have i done?

contemplating suicide
- my life is pretty good
right now

he walks home
-surely somewhere
the harmonica plays

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-One

never mind me, talk amongst yourself - it's only the two of us here, and you've got a mobile phone to attend to - never mind, i came here to be alone - your lounge room littered with cliches - life imitating soap-operas - your transparent life that moves amongst the shallow light of camp-fire sing-a-longs, of friends with no idea sharing their shallow thoughts to fill your gaping hole with a pat on the back - it's really good - when sincerity is a novelty, something of a surprise, i back away and linger in the corner and let those who need to speak, speak - and those who need to speak back, speak back - advertised art fizzling out like a hot-box of matches - i planted a seedling and told no-body - the rest, the anonymous screens of millions behind self-appointed nicknames spitting their well-thought thoughts to anyone who will read and move on to their own selfish, pathetic grab for recognition - a generation of anonymous lovers making love to themselves - in their own little head-space, via organic nature of robocop, ignoring the world around them but clawing at each other in a desperate attempt to be seen - to be first - to have been there - to have the right interests - to make something out of the pure-nature of what the pure-souls found with dignity! - with purpose and care! - with a pure intent - not to be made into someone everyone can see and access with the click of a button from your pants - the sickness and silent stare from the corner, where im shoved aside as the world make advertisements of my friends and those around me - where the best things in life are shared without the world knowing about them - the best days of my life unknown to a soul but mine that of my god alone - my thoughts being mine, my opinions being mine - you don't change the world with opinions - you change the world with the rhythms that come as a result of your own personal opinions, if your ever lucky to find any that come filtered from your subconscious thoughts and movements - allow yourself to be alone - allow yourself to feel as sad miserable as this world makes you - but they dont - everybody is searching for a solution as to why they aren't living the life they want to live - searching for a way to cure this beautiful eternal sadness that is this world and that comes from all art and purity and divinity - i picture the earth, it's white and light blue marble twirls, drifting alone in space - all it's achievements - and mistakes - it's old age and it's naive youth in comparison to it's older sun and stars and brothers and sisters - and it's a perfect example of a beautiful, perfect, sadness - this world, the greatest work of art being mankind itself, doomed from the day it was born just like every single little contributor and collaborator, and artist who played their role - it's beautiful and it's sad, and it's nothing to be afraid of - just like your whole life, every little problem you have and will ever have, will one day be completely forgotten - everyone you know will be gone and forgotten, blah blah blah - they'll be shunned into the corner so those who still think their lives, thoughts, opinions and art actually mean anything in the split second it takes their lives to come and go - those still running from their fear of sadness pretend to be happy without ever knowing why - movies seen and books read as though they were weapons against those who haven't - as opposed to a quiet suggestion to those who, just might, be interested - to understand that not everyone who needs my opinion needs yours - to understand that your trip can never be anyone elses and your confusion as to why they're not buying the ticket is your downfall until you realise that all this is simply for yourself - it's not yours to push and provoke onto others - it's not yours to push onto others so that you can feel like god - so that you can feel like the writer, the director, the painter - it's not yours so that you can feel like the first - to say you were there means nothing if you didn't know why - i sink back into the corner, pushed aside by the best minds of my generation who have turned themselves into wankers, loving themselves and turning their lives into little one-line commercials advertising their post-art lives to the anonymous electrodes despite the fact i've come here in person to visit and talk to them - to live this life by myself and with the people i find and see around me - i do this before i die, so that when i will, i'll have at the very least, lived my life and shared it with those who have lived theirs - those not so preoccupied in a feeble attempt to have everything remembered, and to have themselves known by strangers - to have it known by the absent who are mostly likely too busy living theirs, or replicating their own commercials and having them also sent back like two parallel worlds competing for their own implosions

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty

my country, australia
- a dry place
on earth

thoughts of a friend
so far from home -
home alone

so happy here
drunk alone
- as she sleeps

the fog moves inside
we laugh as we cook
- dinner will be late

my attention drfits
- the dawn fog outside
his highrise apartment

where are my friends?
alone drunk on wine - but
they probably see arse

how can i explain,
we are natural? -
the sun also rises

the big bang
fifty meter television
then death

happy, sad and lonely
- cold beer in melbourne,
crowded with stagger lee

waiting for a taxi home
- she uses her sex
to try and get home

insecurities, painting
hides my need to
- alone with a bottle

drunk men in cars -
she gives reasons
to come home with me

a city is a drunk
- he sleeps at dusk
and i drink at dawn

my friend drinks alone
- may he be alone here
and joyous as i!

burping on the couch,
his team wins -
he's such a nice guy though?

dreaming of death
waking up with dread
- i can't sleep just now

merry on the couch
wanting to sleep -
we sway like drunks

death is not the end
- so what am i doing
alone at one forty eight?

the tree of life grew
- he pisses - bacon
and eggs for the couple

my life -
patti smith.
our life.

a frightening nght!
- thank god our memories
are black and white

how i wish to see
the big bang!
- how much is this milk?

how many diseases
till i find the strength
to hug my brother?

im not afraid!
- to be alone here
and an artist!

the television
- i've been there
but i'm here

art!
- you're not alone -
just you and me!

a reason to cry
- you guide
my silly life

tomorrow, a sunrise
at least now -
something to do!

when they're asleep
- they're never alone
in the lounge room

pigeons wake us up
- homeless feed them,
but we all die.

tomorrow - me and earth
so depressed -
who will win?

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Thirty-Nine

silence makes
memories scream

plane trip to the city
we are merely lights
to one another

thirty hour trip
rationing out my chewing gum
must get home somehow

irish pub, sydney australia
bad music - empty chairs and tables
i buy another beer

two food stands
one busy, the other
hopeful and sad

i hate this song
i hate this pub
one more beer, after this one

i love her
i love myself
saturday night in a bar

standing on the street corner
everything is fucked
my reflection on the parked car

drinking water from the bathroom sink
this cheap hotel room
and my six-pack of beer

the city at dusk
illuminated
by rattling trains and trams

so many people
with things to do
- I watch them

the autumn leaves,
in the front yard
like sunburnt vomit

a familiar stranger
sits next to me
- we smile and nod

stop for a beer
after work -
she's waiting for me

the writer's pen
inks his jacket -
like a smudged tattoo

the city at dusk,
so many buildings -
what are they doing?

cold at the bar, all day!
i look left and right,
and put on my beanie

inner city tree -
you've lived such
a cosmopolitan life

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

some strange, strange dreams
knocking me out - unconscious
disrupting my insomnia
no greys between my sun and moon
so much detail behind so many strange, strange dreams
im stuck and twisted in blankets
in twisted dreams
i'm always late
i must be insane by now
with a sleepy moan
i return from the space-stars
back to earth
no proof to suggest
today isn't the first day in existence
and everything else, just implanted into our so called
memories
maybe i've just been sent here for today
by my other world
by my home
to do something today
and im just borrowing this body for fifteen-hours
to come to work
do my thing
ignore everyone around me throughout the day
but in doing so
somehow set everything right
by writing this
back on track and moving towards their inevitable once again
god's work
and when i return to sleep tonight
i'll return to my home world
wherever or whatever
that may be
and tomorrow morning
simon lawlor will wake up again
without me inside him
and tomorrow, i'll wake up as someone else
somewhere else
and live their life for a day
live it naturally
and in doing so fix what they don't realise to be broken and wrong
im just a spirit who drifts from one person to the next
transported through dreams
to make this world right
to nudge and bump you all
back into your sad-little lives
thats what make's me god
i drift in and out of everyone
one person at a time
and orchestrate this infinite madness
through all the absurdity
trying to drive it all into some kind of meaning
i try not to waste your time
and in turn, in doing so
i give the whole shithouse a sense of meaning
so tonight, as i go to sleep as simon lawlor,
i will say goodbye to all his friends and loved ones
and he himself
i will thank lady-elle for another amazing dinner
as he does
i will go for a run and enjoy the pain he suffers
as he does
and go to sleep deeply
as he does
and dream myself into someone else tomorrow morning
and live their life
and do what comes naturally
simon's a good guy, really
i know he means well, at least
he just sometimes struggles with the life you all share with him
he sees a lot of truth in this world
and therefore the absurdity can frustrate
and break him apart
he's a good guy
and never wants to hurt any of you
that, im sure
anyway, im sure i'll see him again
but tomorrow morning i'll be guiding someone else
and simon lawlor will mean nothing to me
at the slight, slight chance i do encounter him again
i'm sure existence has some instinctive way of reminding
and connecting us
that we were both once touched by god simultaneously
an unknown
unquestionable connection between two people
mutually accepted
before moving on

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

i have nothing to argue about - i am wise to my head mutterings and more often than not, accept them for what they are - and when i don't, when i take them up to the country town dance hall all late tuesday night, and admit my faults and mistakes the only way you can outside a country town dance all early on a wednesday morning - the cold morning air at first taste, as the black sky becomes dark blue and the miserable birds sing their songs, unaware of just how fucking hot it's going to get later on - up above, a young woman reads a book entitled "lonely planet" as the man next to her drinks a scotch and coke and imagines having sex with her - especially cunnilingus - she's flying away and reading up on far off distant lands, and thinking about how she's going to describe it to all her friends and co-workers - she better be quick - she's only got two weeks holiday, and two minutes before he makes his move

i leave the town at dawn, leave massive amounts of evidence of my visit behind - graffiti, annotated library books, tampered newspapers, murder scenes - every tree i pass by is dead or dying - long flaking branches block ever path i dare to take - some stretching seven, eight, ten kilometres in length - silences makes memories scream, but this sounded much like a nightmare to me - screaming winds and the trees, i swear, the laughed at me as they collapsed, succumbing to their torture

down below, the ants and grubs and creepy-crawlies make this world one ball-mass of rotting spaghetti sex, death and the endless instinctive drive towards self-preservation - to be remembered by the following fools - to be remembered by idiots - i only want to be remembered by the people i love, admire, and kill - i only want to love the dead and speak to them - hear from them and learn - i have nothing to argue for the dead speak to me, they speak for me - nothing wins against death - no word play, no confidence - empowered by a slack shrug of the shoulders, a laugh in the form of a quick breath out of the nostrils - and a turn and meander as i move on into the true, actual, realistic void

eventually a man appears out of the absurdity - sitting surrounded by the dead autumn oranges, reds and yellows - he has a large bulky army jacket on - worn and holy, the jacket looks older than i am - he however has no-one to pass his bottle to
"hello"
"hello"
"what are you doing?"
"i'm not doing"
"hello"

seagulls soon, somehow too delicate to be scavenges - that is until they transform, melt their innocence in kaars and korws - my heart beats itself to death - a phone call from home reminds me of myself at this very moment, having long forgotten where i came from and why i was brought into this life

she pushes her face against the glass screen, like violence without the violence before a crowd of thousands - phones ring constantly from thousands of different phones - judgement day is her primetime profession - the fat, the ugly, the simple, the stupid - consumed by thought free lifestyles - blind to the manipulation that has devoured their whole existence, and obliviously the carry on with their lives

perhaps i should've told him - perhaps i should've offered some help - his bottle is now long-gone-and-empty and his existence a distance memory waiting patiently on death-row - his last meal was a needle in the arm - his first meal much the same - i take a look at the world around me, knowing from here on in, he'll have no idea what's going on - if his mother was to die tomorrow, he'll be none-the-wiser - his death propels my life into importance like a meteor feeling first friction against my atmosphere - adrenalin pumps like sex through my body and im charged and laughing in giant leaps and glides that make - great - time - the stars drip and smear as my speed, my awareness slows this world down

but nothing can ever last for such a small amount of time - squatting like my brothers in evolution, my fire burns a dull slow burn, and im slowly drifted inwards into a sad realisation that it wasn't a meteor at all - it never was - instead of my grand life and times, it was nothing but a falling, crashing, flaming aeroplane the whole time - falling slowly to earth - i just never knew it - i just never noticed

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

anonymous, he walks home after another forgettable and uneventful day - the sun hadn't set, but it being the deepest winter in years the sky had suddenly morphed from it's predictable dark grey to a sudden black and night - wet underfoot, he still took the short cut through the local park feeling safe in the knowledge his leather boots would keep his feet dry - the crunch and slush of the dirt path and gravel underfoot comforted him, along with the knowledge he had some soup ready to warm up once he arrived home - the blinding yellow, orange and red lights of wet-weather peak hour traffic were now nothing but smudges against the mist and fog from somewhere behind the trees.

the park was silent except for the drip drip dripping of the saturated trees and leaves, weeping with the day's rain and the night's mist - if there was anything, or anyone, lurking in the bushes and trees at surrounded him, he was oblivious - quietly thinking his way through his own internal world.

drifting around a bend in the path, he saw what looked like a large fallen branch lying across the path - it had been a couple of days since he'd walked the path, so there was no real concern or suspicion - a black lump around the curve - watching it as he approached, he thought he saw it move, but assumed it was his mind trying to scare him - he lived alone - and he saw it twitch, roll, and sit up

startled, he stopped - it was a young man dressed in black - a black leather jacket - from the corner of his eye he saw a possum bolting through the grass and clawing it's way up a large tree - the young man stood up, taking big breaths of air, and dug his hands into the leather jackets pockets - "what the fuck are you doing here, huh?" - the possum watched from above - "no, nothing, sorry, im just walking home"
"what the fuck, huh? what are you doing here?" he begun walking closer, his hands still deep in his pockets
"im just walking home, please"
"pay a toll or some shit, give us ya wallet"
"please, i don't have much money."
"give me ya wallet motherfucker"
he punched him in the stomach - the click of his ring connecting with a button on his jacket - falling to the ground and splashing into the flooded gravel path

moaning like mourning mother - gasping for air like the buried alive - vision of actuality exploded in slow motion - the young man kicked him in the chest, despite a feeble attempt to protect himself with his hands - the final blow defeated all instincts he had to defend himself and so he lay beaten on the wet ground - the young man padded his pants and jacket pockets until he found the wallet, brown worn out leather, fat with useless receipts and faded movie tickets - ripping it the young man stuffs it down his pants - "now i know where you live bitch" - and with a stinging slap in the face, he ran away, sloshing his way down the path - still gasping for breath, his cheek freckled with wet gravel, he opens his eyes, nice and wide, only to see the possum still clawing to the tree, looking down at him, staring at him - eyes wider - weak - his mind is thrashed with a lifetime of degrading and humiliating memories that he can't shake - painting his thoughts a sour red - he begins to cry - his tears stingily warm against his face - he rolls onto his back - lying flat across the gravel path like a fallen branch from the trees weeping with the day's rain and the night's mist

***

sniffles
folds the newspaper
one last cup of coffee
before the last time
before it's time to wake up
follow the leader
in sexy whips and chains
follow the leader
games children play
as the grown ups watch the ocean
turn around
up-side-down
a distant heartbeat
causing the waves
to crash and burn
louder at night
as we try and sleep
the same waves crashed
millions and millions
of years ago
the same heart beat
beats us to death

all the thoughts
behind a dinner party
behind the conversations
behind the hugs and kisses
rolled up and delivered
in a simple tablet
take once a day before a bottle of red wine
side-by-side effects
instant madness
inescapable thoughts
complete loss of mental and physical control
should not affect speech
painful truths
realisations
loss of love and affection
may experience sense of utter loneliness
participant may in fact drift through void for an eternity
taking more than one tablet a day
unknown