Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part One Hundred and Eight

everyday you waste
is a day of rest for the gods
every word i write
from now on in
will one day be read
by my baby daughter
what is my life now,
what are my thoughts now,
after hours?
it is to find the perfect song
for each and everyone i know
sleep all day
drink all night
and feel good
and dont worry
and be happy
- it’s easy
everyday you waste
is another easy day at work
for the check-out chick
the bar tender
the police officer
the bus driver
the tram driver
the doctor
the chain music store attendant
the librarians
the dudes at the bottle shop
the butchers
and girls at the cafe
but a wasted day
is a hard day
for the poets
the musos
the pizza delivery boys
the posties
the remaining few video store guys
the best friend you havent seen in ages but decide to call
the girls at the bottle-shop
i walk and wonder until i find myself
at home again
i eat a meal
it’s warm
it’s soup
i sleep
and wake up
i read
and i sleep again
when i wake up
i ask myself
when did such uncool things become so cool?
but i just shake my head
and turn to the old-timer sitting next to me
i nod, and take a sip of my beer
and endure the ccr playing through this shitty bar
but it’s okay

at five years old, she stands before a waterfall - the cliffs, high - the rocks, jagged - moss, everywhere - she stands in gumboots, red - they have spots, pink - gasing forth, he sees some water fall over it’s edge - a piece of water, she contemplates - a unit - how liquid morphs, and how it’s nothing without the other - it falls in slow motion, as she follows it down to the most cruel of crashes - a continuing splash of violence - her father calls her, and she turns around - her frame of thought dissipating as she does so - skipping playfully towards him, rain begins to fall - one drop falls sweetly on her lips as she giggles uncontrollably

she sits with a perfect posture - the type school boys see in those kinda-hot-type school teachers - she wore black, and that’s not to be mistaken with wearing it - her lips smacked with red lipstick, but she was the type to pull it off - and she read in peace, and turned a page in a way only the girls next door could - opposite her sat her boyfriend - he sits with his elbows on his knees - his forearms are muscular, biceps too - but his fists push into his cheeks and mush up his face, which has all but given up with boredom - she turns another page, and his t-shirt reads “travisty”

the trees bend with the breath of a city - he finds another way to try and break up with her - you’re too much like my sister, he says - it’s okay, she says - i dont mind, she says - the city cops some rain, and everyone does their best to avoid it - the conversations bring it on down, like a piece of mind forever forgotten

messy bushland, the bark rots and seeps into his jeans - the sweat on his back trickles down his spine slowly - he hasn’t spoken in four months - but looking at the might dying in the tree before him, he whispers a low mumbled, fuck - he wipes the blood from his lip, not disliking the taste - it reminds him of the institute - the tournament - the loss - a bird calls in the distance, and he raises his head in it’s direction - as a tear falls down his cheek, he slowly, but surely, begins to urinate in his jeans - an unholy warmth follows a necessary sadness, somewhere behind the sunset

behind the cafe he squats - with a turn and a switch he takes the photo - her breasts are real - she takes a seat and orders the chicken salad, after questioning her diet, her weight, and her relationship with her father - sipping on the cool water poured from a stripped down bottle of red, she toys with her phone - one long scroll of insecurities and falsehoods - the scent of cigarette smoke taints the air from the table behind her - another passing thought forgets to stop at the point in question

he took bad poetry and make it almost - he didn’t rhyme, but his name was similar - do or dont, he couldn't care less - he could see smiles -  he could hear frowns - everyone felt sad - the guilty sun floated around and spun like handsfree hipster space junk

i hear the sun - i feel the moon

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part One Hundred and Seven

there is no greater high than inspiration
there is no greater person than the artist
the artist must be quiet
the artist mustn’t require attention
recognition must be shunned
the psychedelic arts are the only true arts
the hippies are saints
and the loners are gods
the outsiders smoked and drank
as the big bang
banged
behind their backs
this party requires double-denim
this party grooves on smooth
the girl of your dreams
the man in your nightmares
yeah… i saw them hallucinating in the back room
whose cowboy hat is this?
it’s bin-night every night
there is no daytime
the universe is one eternal night
interrupted by the occasional flash
francis leach gave me a dirty look for drinking a beer as i walked down swan street richmond
heaven was yesterday
heaven was tomorrow
talking our way through the second course
laughing our way past another fatal car accident
the dead have no reason to hide
the dead have no shame
the dead are deeply in love
leave your umbrella at the door
this rain is water
it falls from great heights
splish-splash
his friends gather around him
like empty beer cans
crushed and hollow
he’s drunk - she’s holy
he turns up when he wants
like an empty beer-can
he plays his guitar when he wants
just like god, and she listens
like mother nature
her open ears and open mind

on xmas day i cracked the shits because i found myself in the eastern peninsula traffic, and i should’ve known better - we’re better than this, i said, side glancing out the passengers side window -  i drank beer in the passenger seat and sulked in silence as the most resilient and perfect and strong and admirable lady-elle did her best to cheer me up from my needless misery - you am i music played on the car stero, which bought both solace and torment - we’re better than this i stressed to lady-elle, texting my mother to let her know we’d be late - the traffic cleared up within two minutes and we arrived on time - my xmas present to my mother that year was a photo framed picture of the baby in lady-elle’s tummy - “what the fuck is this weird arty photo simon has given me for xmas?” switched “…oh my god” - i knew it was real from then on - she was the first to know and from then on i was on a slow humming buzz, as if i knew something the world didn’t know

when i was a kid i wanted to be a writer - when i was a kid i also wanted to be an astronaut - as a thirty-two year old man, i write and spend my time looking to the skies and listening to space rock music - though deep down i think i want to be a conductor - they dig music - they dig music hard - i think id be good at it - im slim enough, and i have long hair - and i’ve been training since i was nine - music is a serious and hard drug for me - no one takes me seriously when i say that - but it will seriously blow your mind if you knew how much of an affect music has on my body, mind, soul, spirit, life, being, happiness, sadness, love, vision, perceptions, sensations, emotions, relationships, behaviours, thoughts, demeanour, appearance, friends and loved ones - i walk the streets at night, naturally high, holy and dangerous while you sleep - somewhere between a perfect circle
it’s no secret my brother gave me aufheben on vinyl for xmas before i even have a record player - what isn’t known until now is that it was a twelve dollar second/third/fourth hand copy of heyday by the church that made me realise and understand that buying records was no trouble, and fucking rewarding - i looked at the front cover of heyday on a cold sunny morning, still sleepy and it shocked me - the eyes of steve kilbey on that album cover held me for at least an hour - it was an image i recalled from my childhood - yes, somewhere, sometime, my cousin was involved im sure, and it was an album i bought with loose change and didn’t really pay much attention to for a long time - kilbey’s eyes on that record cover, and his mona-steve smile, smoked by childhood memories and a distance between this music and it’s cosmic source, and the song tantalised, swayed my limbs and their instincts into an impossible composition - my mind remained the same as it always was

the best people are record store people
honest, pure, simple, passionate, hairy
they understand a world of peace
love, art, understanding, friendship
ecstasy, smoke and booze
and for record-store people all these things are daily life
non-record store people look at them, at us, and laugh
its just that it takes them so much longer to register
and before too long

when i saw acid mother’s temple at austin psych fest, i experienced the most amazing, the most psychedelic, and the most euphoric moment of my entire life - movements like grand and holy ancient wizards, before you very hazed and lazy eyes - at first we sat - next we moved our heads up and down - a confirmation of a simple, and communal, yes - i gasped, and our movements became deeper - the eternal ‘one’ was rising on the horizon like a perfect dusk in reverse - our movements caused us to stand, and we popped up and opened like sunflowers, yet every one completely unique, a different colour, and facing our own individual sun - hips, shoulders and souls grooving like spiritual-group-sex - the music soared, a relentless kamikaze mission to heaven - i felt the need to scream, and i saw someone by my side doing just that - just facing the stars and simply screaming, giving his soul a universal voice - their drums and screams and guitars were lit on fire - my chest heaved, chanting yes, yes, yes, yes… - i knew all well i was to be the father of a baby girl - i being the only one on earth who knew - i was alone, high and holy, surrounded by a fog of brothers and sisters, who didn’t care, and knew exactly what to do - i’ve never felt like that before, i said to the man next to be after the show finished, staggering as if i’d returned from the most beautiful, pleasurable abductions - i know, i know he said - pink lady lemonade, pink lady lemonade, pink lady lemonade….

it was soon before i moved out of northcote that i was taking a piss in the northcote social club - it was a weekend or something, and i was alone, and i was down there having a beer for the sake of it and you never know who you’re going to remind someone of - i was there at the bar alone, and by this time im trying to look hard done by and dark and mysterious and troubled, and by this time i start to wonder if i am no longer pretending, and if i am now actually all of those things - it’s late and i was getting into died pretty around this stage and man, they powered my little unit in northcote in those days - so i get up to take a piss, leaving my jacket on my seat, in more of a mess than i was - in the mens i straddle up to the urinal alone and start to piss - at every urinal i go to i read the graffiti and piss-wall-scribblings and everytime i see some hand-writing that i swear must be my brother’s - i scan the gig guide and before too long im not alone - i hear the laughter of the happy groups of friends outside - and they’re too perfect, even for this - he is in tight jeans and making a mockery of sneakers i was forced to wear against my will as a kid - the same goes for his jumper - a wildly colourful and ill-fitting woollen number that looks ridiculous - his beard looked stranger and more unkept than mine, despite the fact i hadn't shaved in weeks due to laziness and beer and a learned addiction to relaxation - his glasses were black and bold and made nerds cool without being nerds at all - his beanie robbed the soul the last remaining true football fans allowed in the ground these days - everything came to this point and i turned to him and said…
…hows that working out for you?
what do you mean? he said
that bullshit-look your going for, i replied
he kept his silence, in that way people do when they’re getting sledged unnecessarily by a drunken dickhead
it ended there, and i walked back to my seat at the bar, skulled (sic) the rest of my pint, picked up my jacket, made sure my ipod and notebook were still in the interior pocket, and headed up high street back to my unit, after saying a “thanks mate” to the dude at the door only because i want to be one of the good guys, despite realising i was behaving completely against any sense of coolness i think i possess  - i wish i could’ve let him be - i wish i hadn’t let it bother me - i wish we pissed in silence, reading the gig guide or the anal jokes scribbled on the men’s room wall while a beautiful autumnal acoustic song sung in my head amongst the tantalised stars and mellow foggy willow trees - but we didn’t, thanks to me - i gave him a hard time and i hated myself for it -  it wasn’t me, and it was unnecessary - i felt like i was battling tourists in a place i loved to live, and i knew i was a fighter, and i knew i fought hard and kept it creative, but i knew i was losing, and a loser amongst the hip

echoes from the empty milk bottles
she failed to run tonight
but her lungs scream hollow
the dirty dishes, the overflowing bins
and the recycling bin is nothing but beer bottles
he sips on another - his team is losing
how he is going to balance another one
on that pile of bottles?
how will his team get up,
from twenty-six down,
three-quarters into the forth?
it doesn't matter -
the hunter falls sleepy
too much to eat
waking up hungry
too much to eat

hamilton island was lady-elle’s idea, and before i knew it i was in shorts and members of staff were treating me like middle-class royalty - i found a pool-side bar to get drunk at, as rugby-guys splished and splashed, flirting with the last fifteen minutes of the bar-girls shift - the dudes worked during happy-hour - i watched the storms move in -  i was able to find some bush tracks and took lady-elle to a secluded beach that was ours and the kookaburras - she rationed out her muffins, i made sure we had enough water to walk home safely

my trip to new zealand, the farm outside of mangonui, was beautiful and ridiculous - i can’t even recall how or why or how i managed that one - so simple - so beautiful - my god - books and the sun and the shade it creates, and the cool breezes and having absolutely nothing to do - i spent so much time inside my head - day after day after day in silence - in thought - it amazes me, looking back on it now, how given the right circumstances and situation, the simple passing of time can be intensely pleasurable - so much so, it erases everything else, and nothing matters

at first sight
you’re safe and warm
life stripped down
before your eyes
a lazy lap dance
a cheeky kiss on your lips
your feet, cold
your head, burning
it’s raining outside
and it couldn’t possibly get any darker
and you couldn’t possibly get any more drunk
so you head in for a drink
someplace quiet
it sounds like the angels are tired
your head, it’s thoughts, and tex perkins
you scan the bar
only saints, sinners and drunks
nice, lonely people
succumbing to their lives
the hard way

it’s a clear day - the horizon still fades with fog, with each step - trees fall and make a sound - trees fall and make the sound of one hand clapping - a young girl walks amongst them - eyes like leaves, the highest green leaves - feet moving like mud - the soup of soggy twigs and water-logged strips of bark path no direction underfoot - in her pocket is a small note-book - the first twenty pages are scribbled with impromptu poetry - the last few pages tagged with a phone number and a receipt reference number - she is unemployed and very attractive - her jeans, simple - her jacket, old - she breaths morning air, smelling the earth, remaining intoxicated - from time to time she sits - a large rock - a patch of grass - a fallen branch - and she ponders the thought of mother nature losing her virginity to an act of violent rape

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part One Hundred and Six

wednesday - you’ve made a hand-written list, on a scrap piece of paper, of five nina simone albums to buy - four out of five are ticked off in red pen - you leave this list on a train for someone else to see and read

friday - a headful of music, and a mindful of words - a familiar bar completely empty, playing familiar music while you wait for your friends to show up sometime after expected - talking about the times none of you thought would come, and realising that your living them while someone always buys you another

tuesday - scanning the sessions - you’ve found a movie you don’t really want to see, but it’s good enough and it'll do, and it’s in 3D, so that’s something else  - you’re alone in the cinema and you drink two beers - afterwards you dodge and weave the concrete pillars of the underground carpark on your bike, speeding like a madman and using up all that strange energy, before taking the long way home, past all those silent, dark houses

saturday - you walk around the lounge-room and the hallways, trying to warm yourself and the house up - you look out the window into the wet green overgrown garden - you go to the local football and it smells of beer and urine - the gateway to manhood  - it’s the only time all week, these two and a half hours, that these angry, passionate and aggressive men don’t think about tits and arse - they take it all so seriously and most will never comprehend the absurdity of it all

monday - it’s either raining or complaining - you just hope to god that the book you’re reading is compelling enough to get you through to lunch

thursday - the echoing grunts, yells and screams of the local footy team training under bright lights, the only bright lights, on a field of violent green grass, that seems to glow like alien vomit - passers by in big black coats walk home thinking of soup

sunday - the rolls of plastic covered newspapers that are still on the footpaths at this time of day signal all the houses that are harbouring hangovers - some of them are sunday’s newspapers, some of them saturday’s as well - and it’s those households that have gone hard - or maybe their football team has lost 

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part One Hundred and Five

i squeeze out of the booth - my arse almost brushing some bird’s focaccia- sorry sweetheart, it’s time for me to go - i let a middle aged woman walk on by, and i signal to the waitress behind her, someone’s daughter, to walk on by also - i can wait - i got no rush to bother me - she had a stack of plates in her arms, and a couple of half-complete breakfasts - those blueberry pancakes are filling man! — this cafe is crowded - the leaves are gold and orange and brown, and somewhere someone is stoking the fireplace -  as i make my way to the door to take it outside, a little old lady notices my t-shirt and says “you’re not a bad-seed, you’re a gentleman” - thanks toots - someone out there finally gets me

this is the suburbs, and im a man of the streets - to know the streets in this city, in melbourne, you have to know the suburbs - this aint no new york attention span - this aint no cobbled laneway of prague - this is melbourne baby, and in melbourne the suburbs are king - the suburbs know the truth - boredom, tedium, repetition and routine - this saturday’s number one priority is groceries - chicken breasts on sale, orange juice and bar-be-que shapes - im talking about dave graney - im talking about the footy - it’s overcast and eighteen degrees and it’s quarter to four in the afternoon - welcome to melbourne

the best way to fully appreciate the suburbs, to full appreciate melbourne, is to hit the cinemas - check out some flicks - i go on week-nights exclusively, and i go alone mostly - a couple of stubbies of beer, nothing fancy and when they ask where i’d like to sit, i answer - away from everyone else - this usually generates a sly smile and a nod -  i say thanks brother, and point to his chest - in the cinema, i’m alone - i read a couple of pages of the book my mother gave me for xmas  in the dull red hum of pre-movie-cinema-lighting - eventually a coka-cola commercial portrays how much fun and freedom summer road-trips to the beach are when you’re naive - i dig the previews, and could watch two hours of them if they let me - just play them all - the movie is good, though being the only, and one and only, person in the cinema is a little distracting - i finally did it - a late night session at a suburban cinema on a tuesday night for a film that’s a little odd and been out for a month or so already - that’s all it took to get myself alone - twenty minutes in a young girl does the rounds and walks into the cinema with a torch, stands in the corner for twenty seconds, and walks out - just making sure im behaving myself - i feel like i should say hi, or wave, or something - but instead we both share the absurdity of the situation in our minds, and that’s enough for me

to truly understand and experience freedom, ride your bike late at night, a tuesday night, listening to some real nice music - ride your bike to your local suburban shopping centre and cruise alone down to the underground carpark - the smooth cool concrete - the fluorescent lights flick by in a steady beat and pattern as you glide on and weave through the thick pillars holding the whole set-up in place - you speed up and you slow down - it feels like this place goes on forever, and that you can move around it with such ease - it’s a smooth ride, and you’re flying man - that’s freedom - that’s living your life - that’s happiness - you’ve got nothing to do

i saw a man in an alley way - i stopped and watched him walk - simple cheap jeans - fleecy jumper - runners — it hit me pretty hard, that he was a person just as much as i am - he had a childhood, he had parents - he sleeps and eats and likes certain things and doesn’t like certain things - he has a sexual preference, or he doesn’t have one at all, or he is a sexual deviant - a fiend - he has a face that is completely unique and never seen before - he has a voice that is his own - he has a thought process, and his brain is processing his perceptions, right at this very moment - he has dreams, and his nightmares are fucking weird - he has a death, and i wonder how and when he will die - i wonder if he is afraid - i wonder how much money he has - i wonder if he has a sister, and i wonder if she’s good looking - i wonder where he is going, and how it came about that he is walking down this alley-way - i later find myself at home, sitting in a room in silence, staring blanking into a void, and i wonder what he is doing at this very moment

what am i doing?
what are you doing?
another second
minute
hour passes by
will this be the memory 
i take with me to death?
will this be remembered?
how much of my life will be remembered?
how much of my life makes a difference?
can i just cut the rest of it out, and just live the bits and pieces that actually mean something?
just live the parts that will be remembered
where do all the forgotten moments go?
where do they end up, and who remembers them?
anyone?
if everything changes everything
i wonder how much of an affect this will have on people
am i changing the world, simply by living within it?
if i lock myself up in a room
with no windows
and do nothing inside
am i still a part of existence?
does the existence of the room change everything still?
who is that at the door?

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part One Hundred and Four

love is the warmth you feel coming from the light at the end of the tunnel - ten am beers, along with breakfast, at the airport-bar - the girls behind the bar being so damn polite - sure, why not? - theres nothing wrong with having a beer at ten am - i dont really care anyway - none needs to tell me its ok

the air of nervous anticipation, of sacred spiritual journeys taken solo to find and/or forget yourself, is all spoilt and ruined by hordes of fucking huge families - children running and screaming, taking over the place - mothers confused and bewildered as to why they aren’t allowed to bring a bottle of tomato sauce onto their flight in their carry on luggage - why the officials are asking about the stapler in her handbag - what sort of trip are these people taking?

my flight is delayed by around 3 hours - i cruise the scene - my steel cap boots making the executive clip clip footsteps on the futuristic tiled floors of the hallways that just go on forever - moving walkways and elevators, give people a break from walking for another fifteen meters - the bookshops are decent - i almost buy an iggy pop biography, and scan through a book written about josef fritzel - the bookshops in hell aren’t this expensive - i think about how easy it looks to shoplift in these airport shops - i could easily steal this biography on iggy pop or josef fritzel, but i’ll never be able to get a bottle of tomato sauce past them

behind me sits an air malaysia plane - i look at it an imagine it disappearing without a trace forever, and a world left behind never to know what happened to it - it’s massive - they can lose a whole fucking plane, with three hundred people on board, but what’s this about a stapler?

im a little surprised spontaneous orgies arent a common occurrence at airport terminals - a lot of people just sitting around with nothing to do - half of them drunk or tipsy - alone and lonely - bored of the book they’re reading - telling themselves never to listen to that work colleague  again when it comes to book recommendations - are people really happy enough wasting time on their phones? - what the fuck are these people doing? - anyway, im tipsy, alone but not lonely - and im not bored of the book im reading - no one recommended this one to me (tracks, by robyn davidson) but im loving it - but if i wasn;t, look out people…

im going to new zealand - the girl behind the customs counter was pretty attractive, and she pulled off the seriousness of a customs officer really well - the prolonged look through my passport, the concerned look meant to make me feel that something might be wrong - to make me shoot my arms in the air and say i confess, you’ve got me! - i walk on through an buy a small bottle of scotch from duty free - it looks cool, and will feel good in my black jacket

the truth is i do feel a significant pang of guilt for leaving my pregnant wife home alone while i go on this trip - people will assume im a complete arsehole, and that’s okay, because lady-elle has my back - there is a world between the two of us that no-one will ever know or understand or visit - she’s cool, is the best way i can explain it to people - she was warm and sleepy as she said goodbye as i walked out the door

this isn’t the trip for lady-elle anyway - and she knows and admits that - what am i doing? why am i doing it? - it seems everyone knows but me - i like my own company - i like being alone - i like having the time and space to do and think what i want, without being questioned or asked to explain myself - its not that i dont like people, i just dont like they way they can;t accept each other - how they keep giving each other so much of a hard time demanding answers and explanations - how they need everyone to fit into what they see as the normal world, and normal way of life - so its one weird night in auckland before i take a 5 hour bus ride (enter bottle of scotch here) up to a small coastal town - popular in the holiday season - i imagine it to be quiet and somewhat dismal and depressing during the rest of the year (enter yours truly) - i have booked ten days in a small caravan on farm, ten kilometers out of town - with nothing to do but read, write, sleep, think, drink, walk, run and do whatever it want

it’s a great time to do it also - everyone seems to know now that im having a kid in a couple of months - crazy - i know the gender of the thing, and it blows my mind everyday - so yeah, i’ll get away and think about that a bit - think about my life so far, and my life ahead, and my life at every passing moment right now

i have found myself looking at peoples kids - studying them - the things they do, and i imagine my reactions  to the childlike acts of my own - what am i going to say to it? - how am i going to treat it? - i am an extremely selfish person, with a chaotic yet lazy, relaxed mind - the kid will be the latest addition on a list people of this world of whom i care about what they think of me

i look forward to proving people wrong as well - everyone instantly thinks im going on this trip because this will be the last time i get a chance to travel, especially alone, which is what i love doing - no more holidays for you two, people tell lady-elle and i - bullshit - what is wrong with people? - how much joy do they get out of expecting the worst for the people around them? - get married - your life is over - have a kid - your life is over all over again - fuck that - i listen to a mere few people in this world, and those people know better, and they know me better - the rest have no idea - they’ll think im/we’re weird for doing things differently, but then tell us the same things that happened to them will happen to me/us - it doesn't make sense

i don’t know what im doing, and the truth is there isn't any reason for this trip - it’s just a desire to get away - to be alone - to live simply - to live slowly - to see, think, feel, and listen to some wild fucking psychedelic music - to read and take my time, and enjoy it - to write, and see what happens - it’s that simple - it’s a holy pure expedition, untainted by the outside world - fuelled on nothing other than my thoughts and the warmth i feel from the light at the end of the tunnel, that i walk down every single day

i found myself drifting in and out of an afternoon nap as we flew over the still and silent tasman, feeling guilty about the book i was enjoying so much - the air hostess had to shake my knee and wake me up, to tell me as i was sitting in the emergency row i had to put my bag away - everyone watched me as i did, which gave me to feeling i must have been sleeping deeply, and woken up with a start

the colours of auckand surprised me - a warm glow of gold and pink lit up the puffy white clouds as we drifted in from the sea - my hotel room was hot, muggy, and it kinda pissed me off that i had to take off my black jacket - i scoped the scene, and found it dark, and inked deeply with the monday evening blues that almost all cities in the world suffer - the late night asain restaurants and cafes lit up some of the main streets in patches - the rest of the chain fast food and fashion stores sat like shut down robots, waiting to be turned on again tomorrow to sell the same old shit to everyone

a friend had told me my hotel was near the place “where all the prostitutes hang out” - my research had done me wrong, as i was under the impression this was the happening part of town - turns out we were both right - i got something to eat and walked past a bar i should’ve gone to as opposed to the main street “tavern” that was cool enough, but hid it’s pokie machines behind a small barrier that looked more like a flimsy curtain off an op-shop fitting room

walking home with a small amount of supplies for my trip and a six pack of beer, i heard the distinct sound of a man in high heels approaching me from behind as i waited for the pedestrian lights to changed - wild curly blonde hair/waig done up in pig tails, and nothing more than a see-through set of lingerie were all he was wearing to go with the knee-high boot-heels - he walked through the red light and simply didn’t give a shit - as it turns out, we were walking in the same direction, so for my ten minute walk home, i had little more than his sexy arse to look at, and the comical scene of passers-by turning heads - the dudes outside the bar i wish i had been at instead gave him spit-ful of beer soaked abuse - might think twice about heading there after all

i woke up feeling good despite the fact i had spent the previous night not eating too much and drinking beer in my underpants on one of the two single beds in my room - the bus trip looked to be enjoyable - 5 or so hours north heading to a place i knew little about - i had a nice seat to myself and saw the beautiful green and lush and tropical landscapes of north island new zealand - i played dreamy music in my ears and felt at ease with no rush to be anywhere or do anything - i found myself drifting in and out of sleep once again - waking up and taking a second or two to remember where i was and what i was doing - a beautiful and strange sensation that i always enjoy whenever i’m blessed to experience it

the pre-trip bravado slowly burnt out, the closer i got to my destination - as little as i knew about where i was going, i knew the farm where my caravan and home for the next week and a bit would be, was around ten kilometres out of town - but i could tell by the roads and the highway we were speeding up didn’t have much room for pedestrians - i cringed a little every time i saw the bus or another car drive over the outside line of the highway

i crept up the ailse and asked the driver if it was okay to drop me off at the turn off to the farm, saving me around nine kilometres - thankfully he did, and i happily tramped my way through the farm country

after settling in as much as i could, and exploring all the little hidden nooks and cupboards and strange idiosyncrasies of my caravan, i set back out to see if i could possibly make it up the highway as i pedestrian - as i walked i knew all well that it was a bad idea - i could almost hear the thoughts of the drivers saying “…what the fuck?” as they sped towards me and roared passed at what must have been at least one hundred kilometres - even when i was allowed a quiet patch, the cows in the fields i walked by got spooked and all galloped away awkwardly, as though it was the first time they’d seen a pedestrian, and the first time they had to gallop - they obviously didn't mind the speeding cars and trucks that drove by day and night - but a pedestrian? - “what the fuck?”

my heart broke as perhaps four kilometers down the road i came to a bridge - kinda the second one i came to - but the first one i was able to cross in a scene that reminded me of the movie “stand by me” - there was only room enough for a car or for me - i found what i thought was a quiet patch and begun walking across the small twenty meter bridge - of course, as i stepped across the point of no return a car came speeding down, and i had to raise my hand in a way that said “thank you, i apologise,and yes, i know I'm an idiot”, all at once

but there was no crossing this bridge - no way - it was perhaps one hundreds meters long and im not that crazy - though my imagination did go there for a second, i never considered it - and so that was that - i had nothing to do but turn around and walk back home - no food - no wine - my new dandy warhols tshirt sweaty and dirty from having to walk alongside the bushes that lined the highway - i was heartbroken and felt stupid - i knew i was better than this, but i had let my experienced-traveller ego allow me become complacent, neglectful, and ill-prepared - i felt horrible.

walking back to the caravan, i just wanted to shower and not do anything - i didn’t care that i was beginning to starve - i felt more concerned about not having any wine or beer to be honest - however, upon arriving back to the caravan, i was welcomed home with a large tub of home-grown fruit and vegetables, home made bread and yogurt, milk, eggs, and water - the owners of the farm and caravan had left them for me - it was as if they knew, but it was obviously apart of the service i received for renting out their caravan - i cooked up some beans with a wealth of their delicious vegetables mixed in, and felt better - and lucky - and thankful

it seems to me the owners are like retired old hippies or something - they love, admire, and respect  what im doing - they offered to drive me into town the next day, so i could buy what i wanted - they knew without a car i’d be unable to get down there - it was no trouble and we had a nice chat as the next day we flew fast down that highway, over the bridge, and on and on and on, until we finally made it to town - i bought some more food and got some beer and wine - probably should've gotten more, but im happy to ration it out - it will mean more time for books and writing anyway - i cooked up a nice meal of sausages, raw salad and some of the homemade mustard pickles that were in the tub- it was amazing - i ate on the small porch outside my caravan in the cool breeze and warm sun - i read all afternoon until i fell asleep - where was all this sleep hiding? 

i want to write about so much, but ive come to the realisation that it’s best to wait - best to wait for the things i see and do and the feeling i float through and endure, can be filtered through a nostalgic memory  its best to wait until this simple, silent lifestyle on the farm, in my caravan, is on the brink of being forgotten by the mess and clutter of city and suburban life - then these things i want to write about will be able to be explained, to some degree - right now, things simply are - and everything I'm seeing is beautiful, but you cant just write, everything is beautiful— i want to write about how flies come buzzing into my caravan every now and again, but only fly around for ten seconds or so before they fly out again, and how that gives me a little smile every time - i want to write about how every now and again, when i take a break and breather on my little porch, i see so many more insects flying and buzzing and doing it all with the excitement life in this very moment - i see that everything is always happening, and everything is alway new - i wake up at  ten am and upon opening the curtains, i can see what the weather will be like that day - when you stay in the place for a few days, you begin to get a confident sense about these things - I'm already getting that wonderful blur one experiences by doing the same thing, and nothing much else, everyday, in the same place - I've been reading and writing, thinking and simply looking around - how can i convey to the reader that i am writing this with the country air flowing cool and golden as the sunsets just outside that window there in front of me?

my mind is very clear - the simple act of making my bed this morning gave me great satisfaction - i did the dishes and listened to some psyche-country music - i read outside on the porch as the insects buzzed around all the little fruit trees outside - but they minded their business, and i minded mine - i felt the cool shade on my face, as my stretched out legs warmed in the sun - my black jeans keeping me alive, man! - later in the afternoon, i read inside on the little couch, resting my book opened to my page on my thigh, as i dozed off for ten to fifteen minutes from time to time - the perfect way to fully appreciate a book

the clouds spend the day deciding what the evening sunset will look like - it’s completely up to them - i enjoy watching them prepare throughout the day, wondering what they’ll come up with - wondering what sunset they’ll put on show tonight - it’s something different every time - i don’t know what they’ll do, but it never fails to amaze me - lucky sun of a bitch - just moving on around, sun rising, and sun setting all over the world, all the time - no wonder the heart and soul are always striving for you to appreciate things like this, and to live and feel and be happy

a saturday afternoon nap is god’s way of saying thank you, i love you

love, marriage, kids, travel, reading books and music - all things things are just going to make death so much harder to accept.

when you;re alone

you kill flying night bugs

with whatever you have at hand

a beer bottle

a fork

a book of poetry by leonard cohen

when you’re alone

you eat dinner alone

in silence

the ding of fork against plate

rings loud like a bell

and you stare blankly into whatever is sitting in front of you

an empty couch

when you’re alone

there is nothing you really have to do

and no body cares,

but you find yourself thinking of everyone in your life

and you wonder about them

when you're alone

you sleep and wake up

better - 

and you do these things alone

you read and read so much more

because nobody is there

and nobody is calling you

when you’re alone

you stand by the front door

and watch the bugs fly and buzz outside

and you notice them so much more

and you recognise them

no-one can see you simply sitting

in the quiet of night

doing nothing in the dark

when you;re alone

your mind is a poet

and everything is beautiful

emotions are simple

time is warped

and thoughts are clear

when you’re alone

you’re never alone

as you can finally fully comprehend

oneness

and how everything and everyone everywhere

is connected and one

movements and actions and thoughts

affecting everything everywhere all the time

our lives striving for the greater good

for the well being of the planet

and the universe

where we are alone

when i was about to get married, it was great to see everyone so happy for me, and for us - it really was a once in a life time chance to see everyone (vast majority anyway) really happy for you, and us both - however, immediately after the congratulations, you get the snide and and outdated jokes about how “you’re life is over now mate” - everyone tells you all the shit that’s about to tear your life apart, and how you’re never going to be able to live life the way you want to anymore - you’re not going to be able to do the things you love anymore - just because you're getting married

those people are making the mistake that just because they have seen one wedding and marriage take place, they’ve seen them all - and you really can’t blame them, because through the cliche and complete sham of romance (flowers, breakfast in bed, things guys do and things girls do) most relationships and marriage do become the same, and become the one thing - a marriage  the marriage— as opposed to our relationship, our marriage

ive said it thousands of times im sure, but every relationship between two individuals must create an individual relationship - romance, and romantic things narrows this down so sharply, so unnaturally, that you’re relationship will very soon lose all individuality - you’ll lose why you fell for each other in the first place, because you’re now doing things that “a couple does” or “a married couple does” - that is the reason relationships fail - people lose their individuality - a marriage may bring two people together, but it doesn’t make one

for me, i got hoards of people telling me that id no longer be travelling alone anymore - since ive been married, i’ve been to oktoberfest (not alone, but without my wife), run a half marathon in romania, hiked through the ghostly forests of lithuania, spent weekends in one road country towns drinking and thinking, headed down to my beach house alone, and (now) spent two weeks in new zealand living in a caravan on a farm - alone, yet married.

without a doubt, i am thankful i married a person who understands this truth, and fact of life, as well

i am about to have a kid, and it’s started all over again - people are so happy and say congradutions and it’s a great experience seeing so many people so happy - but immediately after the i’m told how my life is over once again, and how im never going to be able to do the things i love anymore - and how this happens, and then this happens, but things get better after this  happens - i smile and laugh it off - sometimes i feel as though I'm supposed to thank them for their wisdom - (some of these people have had kids, some of them don’t, but still feel they know what’s ahead for me)

and hell they may be right - this is my first kid and i don’t know whats going to happen - i don’t really care to be honest - and i dont care because i know I'm in a relationship with someone who knows me, and whom i know - we understand we’re individuals, and we cherish and protect our individual relationship from the outside world - it just gets tiresome having to defend whats seems as “werid” and “strange”  - it’s not - it’s honest and true

reading on the porch

in the morning shade

the sunlight moves slowly towards me

i make a promise to myself

by the time it hits my big toe

- lunch

sometimes people go to restaurants, despite having kitchens in their houses

sometimes people go to the cinemas, despite having a tv in their lounge room

sometimes people don’t mind walking in the rain, looking forward to a warm shower when they get home

sometimes people want to talk with you, not at you, for as long as required, and not until your get a phone call from someone else

sometimes doing nothing but sitting and staring out the window all day is the most productive thing you can possibly do

sometimes people don’t want to go to thailand for a holiday, but love going for a walk after lunch

sometimes people dont want to live close to the city, because they love trees and nature

sometimes people are happy to walk, despite being offered a lift in a car

sometimes people disagree with you, but they don't want to fight or argue

sometimes people love you, but they love being alone also

sometimes people just want to be warm, and dont share a passion for fashion or trend

sometimes people are just as happy eating an apple, as they are with a ten dollar salad

sometimes people dont care about money - and i mean, really dont care about money

sometimes people actually mean it, when they say “money isn’t everything”

sometimes people are just being friendly, and don’t want to have sex with you

sometimes people are happy for no reason at all

sometime people are sad for no reason at all

sometimes people are sad, and just need time, not people or things or words, to make them feel better

i remember as a kid, one of the biggest and best buzzes we could get would be checking the coin return slot in public telephones - perhaps once in ten checks would find a small amount of change - at most fifty cents i reckon - there was one, and probably one of the last, public phone boxes down near the beach, a short walk away from my families holiday house - we never used to have a phone in the house, and this was way before mobiles - so we’d often walk down there to make whatever phone calls we needed to make - and often just walk past it on an evening walk after dinner - my brothers and i would often race ahead to check the coin return slot first - all for the slight chance of finding a small amount of change - perhaps we’d take turns, i don't know - i don’t understand kids - but it was a brilliant feeling finding those coins - usually enough to buy some lollies or something - it meant so much, and amounted to so much - so now these days, i feel  little guilty about always making sure to collect my change when ever I'm buying something - but don’t feel so bad when i lose money, when i lose cash - because someone is going to find it, and it’s going to give them a great buzz, and make them feel so good, and lucky.

today is my last full day here in the caravan - i leave early tomorrow morning - today started the same as every other day I've spent here - waking up naturally, when my body rose, and my awareness of this reality faded back into my consciousness - i felt good, as i had every morning - mostly thanks to having to ration out my booze supply to last me this long - i cant say it was easy, as many times i would've loved to have stayed all night drinking and reading and writing and listening to music - but i couldn’t, and it paid off for the best

i opened the curtains and saw yet another sunny, cool morning outside - i opened all the windows and let the day begin - i made breakfast, usually eggs and some fruit from the trees outside - i ate them on the porch and looked at the fields and paddocks and trees that surrounded me - cows mooed from time to time, and the insects started their buzz - id sit on the porch and read whatever book i was reading - by the time the sun hit my feet, i knew it was time for lunch - id prepare something and eat it on the porch listening to music that played from inside the caravan - richmond fontaine - the best of cosmic country - betty davis - wilco - mazzyz star - dave graneyy - i noticed the clouds moving around slowly - i saw the sun begin to reflect off the water down by the bay - just a small pocket of the wonderful farm land view i have from my caravan - the day was slowly preparing for the sunset

somedays id go for a run, or ride down to the beach - the place was desolate - a couple of fishermen, and a couple of old women going for their afternoon stroll - id swim in the warm still water of the bay and look around - whose dog is that?

back at the caravan, id shower in the outdoor shower, with homemade water heater using a gas cilinder - id read some more, by now the caravan glowing and warm with direct sunlight, an hour off sunset - id read in some shade, and look up from time to time, checking out the sunset - seeing what they came up with - its different  every time, yet it always pulls the same emotion and mood every time - i love sun sets - i love the dusk

usually it would be tme for a beer or wine, but i have to ration them out and save them for later - i prepare some dinner, careful to keep some ventilation and windows and door open, but still trying not to let the bugs in, it being their twilight - a few get in but they dont bite or anything - just flying around, tantalised by the lamps -  and eat it looking at the final stage of the sunset - purple, to blue, to black - i eat in silence, most of the time - my fork clanging against my plate the only sound in my silent little caravan

id drink my ration of booze for the night - reading poetry- writing - getting high on sad country music - id feel good about my day - high and holy -alone, i had done it - i had done everything i needed to, to survive another day - i nurtured my body, my soul and mind - i recognised and respected the might and beauty of the natural world around me - and i bettered myself, in some small way at least

id stay up late, late enough to find myself nodding off - id turn off the lamps, and lay down to sleep, easily.

here on my last day, i feel a sense of great satisfaction, and of sadness - i feel as though i have successfully done what i wanted to do here - which was nothing - read, write, live simply, think about things, go for a couple of runs, and maybe go for a swim - what i read were some great books, coincidently fitting to my situation - i wrote, yeah - i lived on simple yet healthy meals three times a day - the food came from the land i lived on, and the land in surrounding farms, and i could tell, and it made a difference through the connection and acceptance i feel with this place - i found myself sitting in silence doing nothing a couple of times a day - just sitting, being - sometimes listening, sometimes looking and watching, but not always - my runs and swims woke my body up, and experienced the physical world here

the sadness isn’t anything to be too concerned about - i just feel so good, it makes me sad - sometimes you can love and appreciate someone so much it makes you so sad, because they will never really know how much you appreciate them - never - i get like that after i enjoy myself - i have remembered so many things about myself here - i have reminded myself of the things i can do - i have uncluttered what i thought was a calm and relaxed mind, but how far off i was without even knowing - i know what calm is once again - i know what relaxed is once again - i can enjoy beer and wine again, ansi couldn't believe how much sleep was inside me, waiting to be had, waiting to be taken, waiting for it’s turn

im sad because i know this enlightenment wont last - already my pessimism/realism is coming back, i can sense it - my lifestyle isn’t the problem - it’s the people in the wide-world around me - i feel so sorry for them - i feel so sorry for them when they call me the werido - when they laugh at the things  i do, and then when i listen to them talk about the things they talk about - it shocks me that they’re being serious - it shocks me that this is what they want

but today isn’t yet over - some more richmond fontaine, the last of my food, one more run, one more swim, hopefully finish this book im reading - no more booze, as the bus leaves and takes me back to auckland early tomorrow morning - it’s a really nice ride back down south - there i’ll sit in a bar and drink some beers and do some reading and writing - im feeling good, and i love everything i see - i love time and space and its warped sense of humour -  i love this place and i love what it has taught me, and made me - ill try and remember that every time i see the sunset over the shoulders of the people i know and see

sunshine glow

the insects buzzing

im lazy, and my mind humming

a fly buzzes inside my caravan

for only 10 seconds, then leaves

- it’s ok, but why never a butterfly?

silence in a field somewhere - 

and just as im on the brink of enlightenment

a cow comically moos in the distance

that crazy butterfly!

he is tempted by the clouds,

i can tell!

enjoying the country air

only to realise

that’s probably cow manure i can smell

and back in auckland - walking the hills - damn, how do people handle this day in and day out? - ive got my massive pack on my back, but im determined to get to the hotel quickly so i can check in, then check out the cool looking record store across the street - i drop my bag in my room, open the windows, change my tishirt, and hit the streets again - I'm floored by the record store - twice the size of a large super market, it just keeps going - real groovy - i take my time and browse the vinyl - eventually carrying a bundle in my arms heavy enough to ache my muscles by the time i get to the cds - half of the store is one massive uncategorised bargain bin! - you could spend weeks in there just browsing finding bargains - it’s too much, and im exhausted after my time there - i slam down one hundred and seventy bucks worth of goods and feel good about finding some amazing stuff at some amazing prices - i cruise on down the street (and hill) and find a generic little irish pub to sit and drink some beers

if it weren’t for my eight or nine days living holy in the caravan, and if it weren't for the one hundred and seventy bucks worth of vinyl in my tote bag, this place would have no soul - just another irish pub playing the pougues till they don’t want to drink anymore - i order a vegetarian pizza, and it’s smothered in cheese - i burn the roof of my mouth on it, and it’s a sign for the rest of my time in auckland - it tastes just about right

a friendly irish guys gets talking to me at the bar, and he’s pretty much just telling me how much he likes to drink - he tells me tonight it’s the “staff party” so i should expect a lot of drunk backpackers arriving any time soon -i think to myself, this is shit - these people don;t know how to drink, and they don;t know why to drink either - they dont know how to appreciate travel - what the fuck am i doing here? - i order another beer, determined to think it out

i sense a first date and young couple walk into the pub - they get asked for id and order their drinks next to me at the bar - the guy asks the girl, what kind of beer did you want? - she says she doesn't mind, so he orders two pints of larger, and announces that he’s pretty sure girls like larger - in any case he’s mum drinks it, he says - i order another beer and hope to watch this unfold - and I'm happy for the guy - she’s cute

i head back to the hotel - ive had my share and i like the idea of finishing up this nz trip with a 6 pack of beer in my room and some time and music, writing some haiku - im stuck with this guilt and knowledge that i have to get up at four-thirty the next morning to get to the airport - so i should really be getting some sleep, and shouldn’t be drinking too much - in the end my indecisions of what to do kinda spoils the night, and i end up sipping a few cold ones, wondering what i should do with myself

auckland at four-thirty in the morning is a dark and seedy affair - im propositioned by two transgender prostitutes, and several guys in cars are cruising the streets, hoping to get their attention - i have a 25min wait for my bus, and read my book, trying to keep to myself - I'm pretty sure one of them complimented me on my jacket

confused and sleep deprived i stumble through the airport and find my seat on the plane - i nod and jerk in and out of sleep, never fully sleeping, at least i don’t think so anyway - but  know it’s enough - i listen to slow-dive and read some raymond carver short stories

am i happy to be home? you always are a little bit i guess, but that doesn’t really last too long - before you know it you’ve grooved yourself back into a homely routine, thinking and day dreaming about what you’ve just experienced, endured, lived though, learned and done, while you sit on the couch with the curtains closed and the tv on with the sound down - you wonder if it was real at all? - it’s ridiculous that travelling is so easy these days - it’s sad that anyone can do it - i think it’s ruining the world, and it’s selling the planet short - it’s selling our human history for twenty bucks a token - half price on tuesdays - fuck the eifel tower - fuck the collesseum - they’re not what they are anymore - they’re tourist sites, and nothing else - they’ve been robbed and raped and pimped out to thousands of people talking about bucket-lists and taking photos for no reason

a perfect moment

alone on a beach, sunset

- it’s memory born at sun-rise

waking up on a plane

my head resting against the window

what the fuck?!

fruit of the tree

i eat while i piss

the circle of life

i walk down the street

and people look and smile

i dare not look down, in case i spoil this moment

the whole concept of a “bucket-list” is kind of depressing  - to think so many people can make a finite list of all the things they want to do in their life depresses me, and to think all these people believe that these things will make them happy depresses me more - do these people think that once they’ve gone sky-diving or seen the arura borealis they their lives will be complete? that they’ll be happy just to sit out the rest of their lives now that they’ve “crossed that one off”? - i understand that life will never be complete, and death will never come packaged in a tidy tight conclusion -  that hole you feel in your soul will never be filled, no matter how many lists you make, or how hard you try and map out your perfect life - love, a dream job, money,marriage, house, kids - none of these things will complete your life - travel,site seeing, spiritual retreats - they’re either meaningless and only under-taken to make your friends envious, or they’re never enough - no list can complete your life, because your life will never be complete - nothing you control will make you happy, at least not in the long term - but an awareness of the sad truths of life will allow you to feel a little better at least

i see shadows move where there are no shadows - or at least, where there shouldn’t be shadows - i question myself, and have learnt not  to trust my sanity - their reoccurrence leads me to raise the possibility of ghouls and spectres - i often forget to sleep - and when i do, it rarely counts for anything - I'm surrounded by a warm fog, lost and confused in a cold bland world with nothing to do - i sit and stare at the powerless television - a distant vague silhouette of my reflection stares back at me, and i swear i can see a dark soul, characterless, sitting next to me in silence

she is due home any minute, though each minute passes like a sore and tired year - i don’t know what her reaction will be, nor if she’ll even notice

one lamp in a warm, dark room

i sip on my cold beer

- the glorious nina simone