Wednesday, April 20, 2011

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

the dust and syrup were still clinging to my mind and sleep, but somehow i knew Elle had already gotten up to get ready for work - movement and professional-shoe footsteps on the floorboards up and down the hall - i'd worked out it was saturday morning, so i snug deeper to rest until i felt right

i was asleep when she came in saying "i need your help" - in asking what was wrong Elle told me a possum had committed suicide behind her car - "just roll over it, i'll clean it up later" i said as i snug down again - she painted a picture that portrayed the possum carcus directly behind the back wheel of her car, and if she was to roll over it, the effort to clean it up would be monumental, not to mention traumatising.

it felt good to get my limbs going again as i put on some tracksuit pants and stumbled down the hallway to take a look at the problem - the morning air was cold on my skinny bare hairless chest, and the sight of the lifeless possum, lying on it's side with a small splurt of blood coming from it's open mouth woke me up pretty quickly.Elle had the shovel ready and handed it to me as i stepped out the front door - "what do we do with it?" i asked, liking the idea of finding a spot to bury it, and liking the idea of digging a grave - i don't know why but we had the sad idea to put it in the rubbish bin - Elle had drapped a large plastic bag over the opening of the bin, so all i had to do was hoist the possum up with the shovel and tip it in - i regret not digging a grave

so i started trying to slip the shovel under the body - prodding and shifting and trying to find some leverige - it was at this point one of our neighbours stepped outside to pick up the newspaper or some shit, and so he was gifted with the sight of me working this possum carcass with a shovel wearing nothing but a pair of tracksuit pants at eight on a perfect saturday afternoon - seeing me shirtless wasn't something he hadn't involuntarily seen before, but digging at a dead possum was something new, and different.

i couldn't get it - the jelly-like layer of fat that possums - apparently - have under their thick fur made it difficult to get the shovel underneath - not to mention the instinctive hee-bee-jee-bees that comes along when dealing with a dead body of any kind. we were both cringing at each attempt i made, but the poor thing was just nudged and prodded like a sleeping father on christmas morning

team work deals with the dead quite efficiently - Elle picked up another shovel and together we were able to move it onto the shovel i was holding - kind of like eating peas, or spaghetti - as quick as possible i dumped the body into the plastic bag that then fell into the rubbish bin - lid slammed shut, and it was time for Elle to head off to work.

by the time our neighbour had returned holding a newspaper (or some shit) i was spending some time cleaning up the blood off the two shovels - good morning.

that day i walked down to the local bakery to buy some lunch. i packed my stuff and went to the football with my friend and brother. later that night i went to another friends place to drink some beers and play poker. all this time i was haunted by the dead possum that lay lifeless, in a plastic bag in my bin, never to be seen again. rubbish night was two nights away, and it's presence didn't really leave me - every time i walked past the bin, i knew that there was lifeless body two nights away from entering the void - in an effect to prolong it's existance, i imagined what would happen to it as the rubbish-collection truck took it away - but i couldn't let myself think too far down that path

after telling the story, my brother suggested that i should've just kicked it away. kicked it aside and moved on with my day. go bombers.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

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

neon lights and petrol stations - rain and roads and the slash as cars drive by, one by one - the indescribable misery one feels when it's abnormally darker outside than usual - the loneliness of a tired saturday night - thursday's temptation - the imagined whinning of a possible bedroom mosquito - the thoughts of fish - the confusion of nocturnal animals - the invisible growth of suburban trees - the left-overs of a family-dinner you missed - the dancing curtains on windy afternoons - a coincidence mutually agreed to be best left unsaid - your best friend's favourite song - your memory - the way a young man wears his uniform after work - a nice tie - your mum's life - your fear of death - the comfortable itchiness of a woolen jumper - the predictable daily rotation of earth - your next-door neighbour's perfect dive into a backyard swimming pool - the silence of a peak-hour train - the possibility of life on other planets - the moon's effect on the ebb and flow of the tides - this beach one billion years ago - the formation and wobble of green jelly - plants and shadows - a newspaper delivery - your effect on everyone around you - the instinct of insects - being alone in a room somewhere - using someone else's toilet - skimming randomly through a newspaper - the disappointment of sleeping in - a restless tongue - the tolerated snoring of a loved-one - the right place, at the right time - eavesdropping - burning firewood - making good time - a welcome light - a clean shave - useful tools and a job-well done - dreams and hypothetical riches - the fractiousness of a grandmother's kitchen - the static and crackle of am radio - the lazy drift of clouds - the realisation that it's not raining anymore - an anticipated phone-call - a warm scarf with a tough jacket - soup - a comfortable silence matched with a mutual appreciation - the well grooved folds of a second-hand newspaper - meeting your friend's new boyfriend - riding a bike, nice and slow - one thousand butterflies - a two dollar coin surrounded by fifty and twenty cent coins - sitting at the bar, a long long way from home - feeling happy and listening to the blues - leaving for the airport at four in the morning - arriving at the train station and seeing that you have a 3 minute wait - a quick bite to eat on the street as people walk by oblivious to you and your lunch - seeing someone you know on the street, and deciding to let them go and leave them be - the second after you wake up, realising it's saturday - going to bed completely exhuasted - the slow cold stare of a tree-high possom as you arrive home late at night - good news on the news on the news as you eat dinner on the couch - the song you'd forgotten about on your favourite album that you hadn't listened to in years - a bottle of expensive champagne, shared, enjoyed and drunk, for no reason whatsoever - a lift home with a friend of a friend - drifting in and out of sleep on the couch in a gentle fog of confusion - mindless scribllings on scrap paper as you talk on the phone to someone you see every day - hearing someone talk in their sleep - the simple happiness of household pets - the smell of sunshine and beer inside a local pub - buying rounds - the empty promises of best friends - a passing comment you adapt into life-long advice - pulling up a chair - the homely stains on the carpet

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

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

day turns into night - this session into this session into this session - lunch time beers carry on! - im alone, cooking some food watching the ferns and insects interact as the cool autumn sun finds some cracks in the shade - simple salad vegetables, some soft bread n' hot mustard - behind me some horror country music screams of death and murder - i snap myself a beer and enjoy my food - i'm comfortably lazy all afternoon and happy within myself - day drifts into dusk and i make an effort to make the most of it, as no dusk lasts too long - i launch the old wooden ladder up to the roof and take a few cold bottles of beer with me - i sit on my roof and see the sun setting over the suburban roof tops - some chiminies puffs slowing as tv antennas transmit the replay of the footy to the content and the heartbroken - half a million home cooked dinners cooked by one million people in love during this suburban sunset - i keep myself on the outskirts and imagine myself closer to god standing here on the rooftop - i swig my beer slowly and the dusk keeps it cold - the insects are excited and start to bite at me - i used to think the beer kept them at bay - they might have gotten used to it, or maybe it's just me - factories of industries that never quit keep producing and somewhere deep within them people are working in an attempt to get by or keep up - a car full of idiots speed down the street below me thudding and vibrating the whole place as they pass - my old torn shirt doesn't keep me warm anymore, so i toss the empty bottles onto one of the ferns below to ensure they don't smash and make my way down the old wooden ladder - inside i warm up some left overs and eat it in front of the tv with the volume down so that i can listen to music with the lamp on next to me on the couch - i appreciate that this food was made for me by somebody else, and realise how fortunate i am at the very moment - looking at the old clock on the wall, i trust it's telling the right time, and see that a friend of mine is coming over in half an hour to drive to a bar where we can meet some more of our friends and drink and talk and laugh till we get tired - i put on my jacket and drink some more beer - waiting alone with some sad country music, and feeling toasty and warm and understanding, sinking into the couch - and he arrives to the sound of a car - a rush of lights and music and tv all turning off at the same time like an voluntary apocalypse, as i pocket another beer, check for my keys and wallet and say - hey man - and meet him in the drive way

i take the back seat without much of a fight - i don't care - i relax my body and slouch in against the car-door and window - i turn off my open eyes as a blur of yellow street lights, neon and coloured shop fronts, and the scattered night time dog walkers - so many people must've enjoyed their dinners tonight - the music is transformed into the football broadcast and it must've been minutes before i even noticed - im snug and alone in the backseat, feeling safe and secure with my booziness and my friends - they talk in the two front seats but i pay no attention - they're laughing - we're moving and soon we'll get out and take a drink and talk and have a good time - but in that back seat im flying on velvet - i know where im going but i have no control of how i get there - i let go, unfocused, take a deep breath, and blur myself outside the cruising backseat window - the only thing that can stop us is fog

Monday, April 4, 2011

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

these days world-famous musicians who've sold millions and millions of albums world-wide are making mention of the stupidity and mindlessness of my local (elected?) leaders - this recently, and the regular phone-calls and family dinners bring me back to the exact neighbourhood in which i grew up - more so, i've moved into a neighbouring neighbourhood with lady-elle which keeps it in within reach - last weekend i was pushing a trolley in a supermarket and saw myself as the boy-child looking up at myself in my army-shirt and hangover - i wonder if it was then i decided as a child i wouldn't shave too often as an adult - i see the same stores where they were when i was a child - i tell the owners - i grew up around here - and they pretend to care - i see familiar faces everywhere i go - yesterday i sped down somewhere different in order to eat lunch somewhere different and saw the same sandwich man working somewhere different - more halal - i eat my lunch at the bench with my hood-covering my face - reading brouchers selling meditation and mantra as i watched skirts and suits talk on telephones to a meeting with someone they only like because they make them feel good about themselves much like a social-networking website, but over lunch - i'm alone and take my time but eat quickly as i haven't eaten for twenty-four hours, which seems to happen at least once a week for one reason or another - i use my adulthood, and make the most of it, but realise you can never escape your childhood - i don't fear truths like that - it's a balancing act, of what’s acceptable and whats not - what to take from it, what to keep and store, and what to leave and distance yourself from - you can't keep it all as you've got to make room for taxes and annual leave - music seems to put a smile on people’s faces, i guess because it's not so desperate - you store it in your head and don't have to consciously carry it around with you like, for example, a finger painting - i remember in my first ever year of primary school, we were presented with finger paintings at the end of the year, that we'd apparently painted ourselves on the first day of school - i was adamant i had nothing to do with the painting presented to me - i did not paint this, i told them - this is not mine, fuck you - and i was serious too - at least i remember feeling serious and so strongly about been given a painting that wasn't mine - i didn't want my name put to this shit - but it's hard to be taken seriously at any age before you turn twenty-five - but hey - perhaps it was mind, and my mind was still developing at the tender age of six (it's possible) and i simply didn't recall painting it - but like a dog's urine, i know when something isn't for me - i'll walk into a room and either spike up or slink back - i'll receive an invitation, and simply reply with the feeling that i can't see myself attending - for no real or logical explanation, i just know what i should and shouldn't be doing - and i don't fight it but it's hard to explain to the outsiders - why not? - i just need to find the right book to keep me going - music is like oxygen or alcohol, whereas books are like women - i feel good when there is one around - you develop a relationship with them - you spend quality time with them - you spend the weekend with them - the same can be said about music and albums, but i'm a slow reader and keep my eyes and ears open - i wake up in hot sweats for no reason whatsoever - none that come to mind during the confusing grey fuzz bombs of an early am wake-up call - voices, explosions, and a sense of confusion you just can't shake off before too long - a personal war to keep you up at night, coinciding with the never-ending expectation to perform - you're needed somewhere, all the time - you picture yourself walking through a cool green forest with creeks and streams, food to be found, and the distant gush of a waterfall somewhere - when in reality you're in your hometown again, walking through the drizzling rain on the way to work again, with nothing in your pocket but ten dollars so you can pay someone to make you a sandwich - nothing is closer to the truth but nothing can weigh or nudge reality closer towards one or the other - a mantra you recite while you're sitting on the toilet with your head in your hands - im this way because im honest to myself as much as i can be - everything would make so much more sense if i only allowed myself to lie and trick myself into believing i truly am a good person doing the best i can - but im not, and so it doesn't - everything is convoluted, twisted, warped and contradicting - it's hard to understand but still you think you understand, but you doubt yourself - a mangled mess of life and unthought-thoughts - the tangled wire holding your sanity together - the torn up map of your life scattered and lost in the dust just outside of sun-burnt farm-land - and you begin to calmly sweat