Friday, September 19, 2014

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