the moon hangs
as a constant reminder
of how little he has done
with his life
and with the lives of others
he walks into a bar alone
and instantly becomes a philosopher
the world is one man closer to world peace
a little bit of shame
a little bit of regret
but no guilt
as each hour passes
and as people come and go
he becomes mad
insane
unsound
but it makes sense
and it’s a natural shift
and it’s a natural gift
he picks up a girl
and takes her home
she’s cute and wears a tshirt
after he kills her
he fixes himself some ice-cream
sprinkles milo on top
he hires a prostitute
and she finds the body of the dead girl
one second before he shoots himself in the head
_____
i scribbled some stuff down on the way to thailand - ten kilometers in the sky, one thousand kilomters per hour - all that stuff - i completely understand that germanairways-psycho-piolet situation - tempting fate, life and physics - pushing it all over the top in one act of complete insanity - my thoughts become my words, written or spoken - thats how it works for me, sometimes - most of them most of the time they just remain thoughts
more and more though, i wake up on flights with a mild enjoyable sense of panic - i look at my feet and imagine how high up in the sky i am - sleepy and warm, and a little uncomfortable
im writing now because im confident i created a life changing moment for a 9month old girl - im her father, and i looked after her today - after she shat herself while i fed her some mush for lunch, we went for a walk - first we took the long way to the second hand record store near our place - i checked out some bowie, eno, necks, ravonettes, church, died pretty - but nothing for me to buy - she grizzled once for a little bit - i was taking too long i guess - we left and walked down to the lake - when we arrived and i lay down the blanket and unbuckled her from the pusher, the smiles and giggles bubbled warmly
it was a perfect afternoon and people were being so friendly to me, like that time i shaved my beard - i’ve know discovered that the child is the key - ive walked these streets for years, and gotten nothing but anonymity, which of course im quite happy with - however, now i have a daughter, im getting “Hi!” and “Hello!” and “Isn’t it a beautiful day?!” - Nothing has changed though - deep down i know it’s all for her
We stretched back in some shade - i fed her some more mush - but she was just happy smiling and giggling - the natural light brought out the impossible blue from her baby-eyes - i twisted open a beer and let her play with the portable speaker playing some sweet, deep psychedelic tunes - the shade, and the blue sky and the birds warming to our company - and i freaked myself out thinking about it all - how did i get here, sipping beers like this, looking after a little baby girl? - everyday i remind myself, im a father, but it doesn’t do a thing - what a strange way to wake up - i forgot to bring any toys, so we had to improvise - her water bottle, her spoon, my hat, my mobile phone - i sipped on more beer as an elderly couple shared some morning tea at a picnic table not far away - some heavy metal love-birds passed by - the sun moved further behind the tress and we remained in the cool shade
walking home, i felt certain i’d created a life-altering moment for this little girl - some sweet sigur ros music playing at the point the golden afternoon meets dusk, walking down a street lined with heavy autumn trees - autumns first leafs blowing in the opposite direction to us - the golden sun guiding them, and warming our faces - i reach down and offered my hand to her, to see if she was okay - and all i recieved was a soft and lazy finger-squeeze - it really seemed like she was amazed and really taken aback by a truly beautiful moment
____
there are three sides to ourselves - the person we know ourselves to be, and the person we’re trying to be, and the person we come across as to the rest of the world - any denial to this generates a blissfully ignorant type of happiness - a case of being fully aware, everyday, when looking at everyone, generates a sad misery, and a view of the human race and it’s collective intelligence going no-where, in a stagnant mustard sludge
_______
paranoia is the opiate of the masses - gotta be afraid of something in this life, otherwise we might all realise just how free and equal we really are - how one thought doesn’t cancel another’s - how one opinion may be yours, but doesn’t mean it’s right - how one suit doesn’t impress anyone - how one badge can get both shoved up ones arse, or stamped into the ground in a soup of vomit from a public drunkard - i see something i don’t recognise, i see something different - i have a choice - fear or intrigue - i choose neither, knowing there is a life before us all where new and different and unrecognisable things are in front us every single day - if it’s true that everyone and everybody is different and an individual, why do people make me so miserable?
walking down the street, i felt a sense of paranoia - i first walked past a friendly young man, who was unemployed - he was smoking a joint but smiled and said hello and wished me the best after sharing some haiku and discussing the new albums that our favourite bands had just released - i would’ve loved to have spoken longer, but he needed to go home for a nap and i was out for an early lunch/late breakfast - i took a shortcut through the local school - i saw a man walking his dog - i could only assume he was a pedophile, right? - sitting down outside the cafe a young family climbed out of a fwd - black and shiny, with bluetooth and sat-nav - behind me sat a man smoking a cigarette - he tried his best to ensure his smoke didn’t interfere with my meal, but i was too loud and drunk and obnoxious to even notice - later a couple of catholics were on their way to church and i saw them - but i thought nothing of it as their religion doesn’t mean anything to me and they can do what they like - i finished my meal and walked home - i opened the windows and pulled myself a beer from the fridge - as i lay down on the couch, i removed my burqa and my essendon scarf and thought about the planet we live on and the natural environment that belongs to it and i worried myself to the soft jelly core of my soul
____
there is this man who wears a blue shirt, black jeans - he carries a backpack and sits with a perfect posture, like a mannequin waiting for bus - very serious - he sits in the same seat and stares blankly yet intensely into the invisible-vision before him - no book - no newspaper - no music - no phone - when he gets off the train he moves swiftly to another platform for his connecting train service, ill-shaped backpack over one shoulder - he stands and waits in the same position, with his arms folded for his next train
he does this every single time i see him - which is every day
blue and green should always be seen
if you’re walking amongst the trees in the summer time
i walked down this little path and there was a family feeding some ducks - i had a child with me, so i parked the pusher and took a seat, taking a drink of water - i thought how freaked out they would be if i was doing this without the child i had in the pusher with me - if i was just a man, sitting there, drinking water, watching their family feed ducks
a crystal crunched as the sun burst the morning clouds too lazy to get out of the vision that kept the sleepers dreaming - cellophane, tangerine and lemonade - these are the elements of surrender that keep the dreamers sleeping - give in, give up - the impossible thought of now wasting time - the impossible journey towards heaven giving the future far too much thought - a moment, then nothing, then sleep
central simple gentle gravity
mind and soul and false reality
your death-bed realisation
______
there are several things i love about the penguin-classic books- first of all, they are cheap, and cheap enough to buy with loose change - and then there are the times i buy i chicken salad roll and im bolting down the road scanning the prospects for a portal to gather cash - i spoil the party, as im not wearing a suit, holding a plastic box of sushi-rolls, nor a sense of purpose or self-righteousness - they cover so many great stories and so many great novels - you put your penguin-classic into your back pocket, yet you are still at the same bar, the same restaurant, the same pho-bar, the same food-truck, the same point in life on earth, than everyone else - once you are done eating and drinking, you leave, and continue reading
penguin-classics, these days, have those orange-retro covers - they remind me of the authentic ones my mother still has in the family bookshelf - top shelf - after you finish reading one of these new-retro-penguin-classics for loose change, they end up looking like they are actual genuine penguin-classics - after a couple of weeks in the back-pocket, or stuffed in the back-pack behind the flash-drives and external-hard-drives and street-press, or in the palm of your hands that you only realise that you’ve got palmy-sweat when you sit down to chill-out and notice and orange tinge on your palms for no other reason than, oh yeah, im reading that book - by this time you’ve been hounded and scorned and questioned - all for simply having a book in your possession - yes, i am reading a book - and who the fuck is going to steal a book? - the best kept secret in every city in the world are the bars you can sit and drink and read in - you wake up with a couple of penguin-classics scattered on your bedroom floor, lounge-room floor, kitchen floor, laundry floor, hallway floor, garage floor, toilet floor, ceiling floor, attic floor, basement floor, walk-in-wardrobe-floor, potential-nursery floor, sex-dungeon floor, front-yard floor… then you know you’ve had a good time in this town
