the eternal fucking sadness of a lonesome highschool girl, sitting on a train
its like they’re realising the burden of their gender
due to modern-day-fuckwit men
staring at them from the distant corner
of their crowed-feet-eyes
i think im missing out on all those weird, yet essential, pre-sleep thoughts and visions that may be vital to a healthy human, being - those thoughts that came to people like paul mccartney - but im alseep within a minute of going to bed - i guess i just have those thoughts while lying on the couch watching repeats of the Wire and Breaking Bad
Food for thought - You can’t hide booze in a tight fitting jacket
my latest regret is not eating a piece of birthday cake at my daughters first birthday - at least i didn’t on the day of her party - i just sipped on my beers and allowed everyone else drag her away from me, as though i'd recently watch the new kurt cobain documentary
my other recent regret is one i found after mapping-out a new running route - it went by my old bus stop, the one i walked to when i was always fucking sick on my way to high-school every morning
anyway, before and after, a girl younger than i used to sit at the bus stop and her grandfather used to walk with her and sit with her every morning - he used to talk with her, ask her about what she was doing, being interesting and ultimately give her a…mighty grandpa wave… as her private school bus took off somewhere down towards canterbury, or somewhere up the mountains - he was always so nice to me, and i was at the fucking peak of my teen self-loathing-content-teen-misery - i had no reason to give this old man attitude each morning, other than it was seven-am and i was a fuck-wit teen listening to the cure, or the REM songs that took themselvse too seriously - i was a real prick to that man, and he didn’t deserve it - i was fucking cold - i now run by that bus-stop and imagine his grand-daughter is probably quite switched on, and living happy - i hope he is still alive as i write this - it may soothe some regret i’m stabbed with every time i run past that bus-stop - but probably not - as i always say, you shouldn’t trust anyone who doesnt have any regrets - they are either lying to you, or fucking boring
behind my mind, somewhere happily lost, floats a void heavy with time and history - everything all together all at once - it beams and pulses, powered by it’s own existence - every time we meet, they collide, creating our encounters as they appear to us - significant, only if we don’t think about it too much - people stare, and people talk - i see them from my hiding spot - walking hand in hand through a pointless life - reading newspapers and talking about it - drinking coffee and enjoying the sunshine whenever they can - i retreat to my sanctum, drinking myself through another day - cars moving around - i can’t believe so many people have so much to do - it’s not possible, not really - the pressure we put on ourselves to spend this time and serve this life as best as possible is tiresome - fuck the sunshine - fuck my youth - i think, therefore i am delusional, deranged - Thoughts unsound - The truth is filthy, and natural - the meaning of life is grotesque - if we were to all leave, walk away, what would be have accomplished? - a couple of sky-scrapers and a whole lot of torture, masked a couple of cheap scented candles - rough sex, start a fire - the poets are angry and knocking on your door, and it’s too late - there is nothing we can do, despite the fact every action we take changes everything forever - and if that’s the case, what are the chances we’ll get it right? - giving up is easy, and the right thing to do - lie down, take to the sky and contemplate it - drown all your aspirations in a sea of doubt and despair - the simplest answer i can give you is that it’s okay to be sad, and it makes sense to be so - there was the captain, drinking with the band as the ship sunk to the depths of hell - one of them anyway - this fucking mirage - bells and wolf-whistles to a whispered generation
oh warm snug - where are you most of the time? - once in a while, in head, sauce, body and soul - something to live for - sports commentors are history makers and sports followers are the war makers
a man in his late thirties reading a book entitled "the balkans"
a high school girl sitting alone on her phone
and me -
im somewhere in the middle
and i finally fit in perfectly
how did i get into heroin on my birthday? probably having nothing to do on it, and trying to find something significant
there is one lost art in music-collection that gets forgotten - going into the store, buying a cd, and opening it outside the store, putting it in your discman and walking home - thats how i first heard the dirty three - debut album
The Harold and Maude soundtrack must be one of the most perfectly compiled albums of all time - I remember listening to a lot of Cat Stevens, and most likely the Harold and Maude soundtrack, during the increasingly boozey weekends spent while living alone - It was during these weekends I found myself thinking more and more about getting married, which eventually i did - My window was open at all times of the day - The air was always so cold inside - I layered myself with blankets and madness - Kept strange hours and wandered my room until something presented itself - A book, an album, a weird-movie, a thought – Years later, I heard the vile words of a postie who's bike had tipped over and scrambled the mail he was to deliver that day - Rarely had i heard such cursing preceding such anger - Everyday was overcast, but it never rained - These people would follow me home, and i swear i saw a gun resting on somebodies brick fence, but i chose to ignore it - I always get a little thrill out of seeing familiar places on the news - A little old lady went missing down the road from here I live - Concerns her dementia led her into the nearby lake, I guess – I’ve slept out there myself – Walking, wandering, meandering, rambling – Finding myself here or there – I slept as the possums echoed through the trees – Small branches and large twigs, stretches of bark falling to the ground, breaking a silent night wide-open – You may find it surprising that ducks are quite nocturnal as well – Ducks are night-owls, good friends at least
We walked into a dumpling café/restaurant – we had been there plenty of times before – it’s surrounded by plenty of others like it, though this one is small and less flashy, less neon and less popular than the rest – but it’s cool –we’ve formed a small sort of tradition out of the place – late Sunday lunch – stop off at the bottle shop a couple of doors down and come out with a couple of ginger-beers in a brown plastic bag – anyway, we walk in and sit down and the first thing I see is a young girl in tears – she is sitting opposite a young man with long black muso-hair – he looks like the gentle kind of outsider – he is holding her hand and remaining silent – simply allowing her to cry – it’s hard not to stare, and I don’t – when they did come into my line of sight, I didn’t get the feeling they were breaking up– I thought maybe it was a death, but I couldn’t be sure – I couldn’t imagine either of them were enjoying their dumplings, and inside my mind I was pleading for the young guy to insist they leave, so he could get her somewhere more comfortable – yet they just remained – her tears falling over her red face, his hair hiding half of pale face painted with concern – eventually the young man asked the old waiter for their food to be packaged to go – the girl insisted on paying for their meal, and so the young man waited and stood near our table, holding the remains of their failed lunch in a weak plastic bag – we had our kid with us, and being so inquisitive by nature, she sat and stared directly at the young man waiting beside our table – she was unwavering – the young man gave her a small baby-wave, which brought a smile to my face – I gave him a quiet discrete nod, which I think he appreciated – I felt a sense of respect for this young guy – sticking it out with this girl in such a miserable state – in public, and he didn’t care – more news of the earthquake in nepal spewed onto the news later that day – the focus of the story confused somewhere between the 2500+ people killed in Kathmandu, and a handful of Australians who may have lost their lives in a related avalanche on everest – I couldn’t help but think about my time in Nepal and all the crackly and loose buildings throughout it, and how little it would’ve taken for them to collapse – let alone a 7 plus pointer on the richter scale
The answer to all the problems in this world is an easy one – basic, and could probably be summed up in one word (by someone more articulate than myself) – the one main problem with the world is that people are too far gone to recognise how simple the solution is, if we want it to be –people are too far hooked on their religions and politics and opinions and conflicts - john and yoko understood this – an alcohol low, the sun-rise –a greater understanding of the things that cause us to be outraged, and a greater awareness of how ridiculous those things are – wipe away this desire to simply prove people wrong and this desire to win, and help and educate and inform, peacefully – compete with no-one, and where did this idea of “attacking the day” come from? – our interaction with daily existence should resemble more of a lone-dance, or an afternoon nap, rather than attack
Raising a child is easy, except for when it comes to getting them to wear pants – Where does this aversion to pants come from? It’s like Wrestlemania trying to get those things on them - The best thing about raising a kid, so far, as been seeing her reaction and retaliation to the continual zerbitts/rasberries I give her on a nightly basis – Her retaliation consists of putting her mouth on my leg and screaming at it – It’s the best she can do
A messy-hair Monday morning
Sitting on a train,
Telling myself I’m a good person
2am, Sunday night
The television talks at me
-A bad influence
I imagine a catastrophic train-accident
Two trains colliding - maybe
And the subsequent carnage
What would happen and where would I end up?
I brace myself for a stabbing
A punch deep in the stomach
Every time I walk past two men
Yeah, bigger and tougher than me
I sit down at a café and I imagine a sudden explosion
Ripping the street and store-fronts apart
A deafening blast and the screams and moans and panic that follow
I look forward to the day when a new warehouse opens up in an abandoned café.
When I read a book, I often shake my head in amazement over a certain phrase or sentence, but there is always this small sting that makes me think, I should’ve come up with that.
When I listen to music, I often shake my head in amazement thinking to myself, “How the fuck do they do this? How do you write something like that?”
F***! Finally caught up with this, and it was just what I needed to hear
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