art intimidating life

Friday, July 13, 2018

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

im the kind of questionable character who takes his daughter into a bottle shop, and makes her enjoy it - she instantly wants to go into the cool-room, so we sneak in there, instantly telling each other how cold it is and finding it hilarious - i drag her to the beer fridges and grab a slab - careful to hold her hand tight to ensure she doesn’t go running down the aisles, catching a glimpse of some cartoon-gimmick craft bier-label that catches her eye, knocking over a derryn hinch amount of of red-wine in the process - the dude at the counter likes my style, or my daughters, and is happy to help us deconstruct the slab of beer and jig-saw it into the storage areas of the pram - with much difficulty - i get momentary pangs of guilt and shame for holding up a line of sensible mothers in fleece jumpers and their net-balling daughters, and my dirty denims and sunglasses aren’t helping - but we get all 24 cans packed into the pram, and my daughter jumps into the seat as happy as a tic-toc biscuit - we head home and make the most of the wind and fly a kite - i think about how many people can see it flying, as we reach the limit of the string and take a seat, letting the wind do all the work - it was a beautiful feeling, and a quiet, loving and thoughtful moment between us i hope to remember

my story won’t be released until im awoken into death

wow - that was a trip - everything makes sense now

how silly - the calming swallow, green and purple blankets

warm denim

tired eyes

no need to pray - just worship sleep

at anytime, it is anytime

the days of the week don’t exist

months, they don’t exist

years, the don’t exist

i measure my life in by the rules and obligations i ignore

not money

not stuff

not advertising

at least once a day, im silent

i move soft in a hard world

though when it rains - the mud is soft

and makes a sound as i walk through it

im covered in mud most of the time

earth-paste

i move closer and closer

the music is getting louder and louder

everyone else - behind me

one or two say goodbye

i read no message - i see no signs

though i feel it all, i explain nothing

every step sweeps through micro-seconds

universal possibilities, and only one is chosen

a continuing infinite never realised

(that is what they mean when they say - all is one)

a constant moving mess of existence

but we’re burning out, casting shadows

we’re nothing but a big bang’s echo

fading, with each wave of realisation that overcomes us

and i brace myself - eyes closed, head tilted sky-ward, limbs loose

whatever, i say - it’s not a dismissive attitude, but all-embracing

whatever comes - whatever goes - whatever is

soak it up warm and deep

the soul is a magnetic-mist, mauve and faintly fragrant

they can move, meld, dissipate

the soul never leaves paradise

however, the mind wanders

i wish my commute to work resembled a simon and garfunkle song, but instead it’s a consistent example of why i distance myself from my generation-delegation, and people in general - my disappointment used to stem from the buzzing-best-selling childrens books my peers were reading, but now i just wish more people were actually reading - now it’s just a meat-freezer full of people scrolling through junk-mail on their phones - and those reading are doing it electronically, for reasons i don’t understand - but im sure a sales-person has given them good reason - however, it doesn't stop me listening to simon and garfunkle - that makes me feel good - until i see someone mentally strong enough to simply sit in this dragging-peak-hour scenario without book, headphones or anything other than their thoughts - some people never bend with the downfall

im waking up jazzed - these days have me hanging, over and over - i open the curtains and think of global warming - i should put some more clothes on - instead, i scan my music collection and can’t decide on anything to play - it was so much easier when i only had 9 cds, and somehow an album for every situation - i don’t sleep, i hide - now, with thousands of albums surrounding me, i can’t decide what to play

ringing a door-bell holds such power - the thin line between party-starter and party-pooper - americanisms go without saying, mostly because they are all cliches - this is my husband simon - this is my house-mate and wife, i say - my thoughts sink and my mind drifts into a silent solo-game of would-you-rather

a duck chased me away from her ducklings - it’s attack pumped a shot of adrenaline through my system - later that day when i returned home along the same path, the mother-duck got shocked by my presence and ran away, in front of her ducklings - it made me feel horrible

memories spill like a ripped bean-bag, and competitive living will kill you

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

i first started listening to Mazzy Star in 2004, I think - It would’ve been in relation to my love and discovering of The Brian Jonestown massacre, who presented themselves to me a year or so earlier, very late one night while home alone - This was a time of creativity for me, and the world was definitely opening itself up, like a well-prepared yet drunk host - Surrounded by friends who were going through a similar experience, as well as a few other who were already well involved, and in far too deeply - I couldn’t wait to join them

Mazzy Star was played late at night, boozed and hazy with a true appreciation for red-wine - Whispered secrets swirled around my head gently - Purple paisley smoke and pillows and blankets encouraged me fly, and soften my landing - They had three albums and I devoured them - I remember riding on a bus through the desert of northern Mexico with She Hangs Softly playing on my discman - I remember sitting at a computer late at night while So Tonight That I Might See just played on repeat - And i thought I was the only one who liked Among My Swan, my favourite of theirs

They were quiet both on the record, and off - Didn’t release anything for a decade or more, until Seaons of Your Day was announced - Coloured vinyl the sticker on the plastic covering read - “I wondering what colour it is?” the girl behind the counter asked me - “Purple, I’m guessing” I answered like she was the dumbest piece of shit in the world - I was excited

I never even considered the possibility of seeing them play live - They just didn’t do it anymore - The new fourth album was miracle enough, I simply wouldn’t dare to ask or even hope for more - I had their music in my back-pocket, and that was more than enough

My heart skipped when it was announced they’ve be playing - yes - their first ever Australian shows, and their first shows in 5 years, soon after my birthday in June 2018 - The inevitable nervousness around getting tickets, and the adrenaline of it being an “whatever it takes” type of situation - I had the post-it note at my desk for weeks, reminding me to buy the tickets - Mazzy Star 9am - I lashed out, 5 rows from the front and centre - I treated myself to a couple of extra days in Sydney - Then pushed on with time until the date of the show/s came around - Allowing myself only one listen to each of the 4 albums between now and then

Airport drinking is the best - it’s always allowed, no matter where you’re going, or what time it is - Depending on whether you’re coming or going, it’s either full of anticipation or full of reflection - The sideways glance to a fellow drinking makes it all okay - A beautiful 9am Sunday morning pint of beer before the flight - I board and drink another beer on the flight, reading Dave Graney’s book “Workshy” while listening to his music, and sitting in the emergency-row - Potentially responsible for the lives of hundreds and I floated away

As planned I went for a run around the gardens, Opera House and across the bridge and back, and my natural highs were equalling any bought on from any boozy mindfulness - The sun shone and I sweat in the cool winter air - I spun some spells as I circled the Opera House and looked at it from the bridge, thinking thats where it would all take place

I went record/music/book shopping all day and found some bargains, and some rare finds - Marty Willson-Piper’s Spirit Level, The Church’s Sometime Anywhere, The Stems first album, a neo-psych Beatles tribute album, Philip Glass doing Bowie/Eno - I saw Ricky from the Brian Jonestown Massacre in Redeye Records, and it didn’t even really come as any surprise to me - I knew they were in town - I quickly said hello, and was honestly a little chuffed for him to recognise me - You’re from Melbourne aren’t you? - What are you doing here? - He was interested in what I was buying and I was proud (/relieved) I was buying some stuff by old friends of his (Stems/Church) - I was able to buy The Imajinary Friends album off him on the street outside and have a little chat - That felt good

As a true master and experienced music-man, I strategically drank and toileted to ensure I’d be fine throughout the gig without any discomfort - I took my seat, sitting down with a beer or two and letting my mind relax and settle - I tried not to think and just sat - I then saw Anton and half of the Brian Jonestown Massacre take a seat 5 rows behind me - I was to be sitting in the middle of a psychedelic eclipse, set in motion 15 years ago - Quite a while for a 36yo human man

Sometime throughout the show I decided to buy a ticket for the following night’s performance as well - I wasn’t doing anything and didn’t have any plans, and couldn’t really do anything else knowing I had the opportunity to see Mazzy Star again - I booked a strategic seat, knowing where and how the band would be positioned on stage, and which direction Hope Sandoval stood and sang - It was the best seat in the house - If you were to film the show, you’d put the camera on my lap - i soaked that gig up deep - next to me sat a young guy who reminded me of myself maybe ten years ago - super fucking excited, about seeing Mazzy Star and the seats - his girl-friend reminds me of Loz also, at least in her tolerance in his over-the-top excitement - he’s a little loose, but in a good way - and so am i anyway - i overhear him plead that they play “wasted”, and that makes sense to me, and my thoughts of him - of course, they play it and he loses it for a little while - it’s a great song - but hell, im deep in my purple and black mist and fog - my senses are safely snug, deeply relaxed and finally home

there is an early 2000’s feel about the Brian Jonestown Massacre concert at the forum - sold out with familiar faces - im in a strange situation and state of mind, and i choose to enjoy it thoroughly - it fascinates me that one of the most fascinating things of the show for me was seeing Anton play facing the crowd front on during Drained (i think) - i later find out Jane takes a great photo of Sam and I engulfed in the encompassing-psychedelic-wilderness

i cash in my christmas present on my birthday, and Loz takes me to hobart for Dark Mofo - little hugs for little people, and we’re off - sky-bus bound - soon after landing we find ourselves in the best pub in the world, the new sydney hotel, and saddle up at the bar for lunch - Loz and I buzz and fuzz with excitement as we order lunchtime drinks and lunchtime food and anticipate the long weekend we have ahead of us - we talk fast and answer quickly, about the pending gigs, shows, concerts, friends, family and the things we’re gonna do next - it’s the first of many open-fires i meditate on

i see Blixa, and Loz sees Archie - we eat Ethiopian under the neon inverted crucifixes and my hot spiced ginger cider almost matches her hook-turn-gin-mixture - nothing beats the mutual haze of two mellow minds indulging in time and toxins together - outside it’s freezing cold, so we catch some fire and pocket our way to bed

the best friends in the world point out second-hand book shops to you - and this one was a beautiful one, i over-hear the shop-owner say he’s stuck there 7 days a week to stay cruising - he openly admitted he’d die there, in his book-shop - we dig our own graves he says, mid-70s at least - his passion seeped into the 90 genres of books his shop contained - he unfortunately caught me browsing the history section - not my area of expertise, but within 5 seconds of his spiel, im lost and have to be honest with him - i am lost - but i’ll be back in time

i wonder grounds of the night-mass - it’s rainy and muddy and the twin-peaks room and music tick my box - im alone and equipped with some beers - weird scenes behind lydia lunch - the bondage room was tough - lazer-devil-minx a fine line between freaky and funny - red-painted pussy stamps a collectors item - im safe an anonymous in my black hood and shadows - some people talk to me and it confirms my suspicion of good vibes in an evil place - the best kind - the best kind of kindness - anonymous

Loz and i go and see einstürzende neubauten - i see garath liddiard at the bar before the show, he supported Mazzy Star both nights, so i sense another connection of inconsequence, linking my endeavour together - neither Loz or i really know what to expect - i tell her that i was sitting in these exact seats the night before watching some bloodsport wrestling with a few hundred drunken night-massers - possibly chanting “lover-boy’s a cunt - lover-boy’s a cunt” - neubauten come out and construct - loz points out that i resemble one of the men in the band - unfortunately it isn’t blixa - where is zoe when i need her - they are a beautiful menace - slow and/or industrial, the rickety old hobart theatre was both shook and upheld by some new and obscure constructions

in the rain afterwards Loz tells me she would never have seen an act like einstürzende neubauten if it wasn’t for me - at once i get both a warm-loving and a sick-psychopathic sense of accomplishment - im glad she dug it as much as i did - and it makes me think maybe i’ll end up being an alright father after-all - we rush to see them dig up Mike Parr and enjoy the ridiculous anti-climax of the performance and the media frenzy - we pocket our way back to our bed

i see and make eye-contact Dylan Alcott at hobart airport for some reason, as Loz and i wait for our flight home, at hobart airport - i sip on my last tassie-beer for a while watching the visuals of an andre rieu concert on the miserable muted airport-tv - the concert disgusts me, and im saddened to see anthony hopkins in the audience - i have my book closed in front of me, knowing i’ll fall asleep at any attempt to read - loz is deep in hers - so i just close my eyes and drift away - when all else fails, i close my eyes and drift away - and then im flying - always drifting - sometimes thinking - never stopping

Friday, January 12, 2018

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

the journey of a rain-drop - what a ride - with every one, i thank the world like a ghost haunting the hallways - creaky floorboards with nothing better to do - the last effort of the first order - trip and fall, splash and crazy, creating life with a zest to end it all - find a vibe, and ride it all the way baby - good or bad, it'll take you somewhere without any priority or expectation - the memories of the last time, the anticipation of the first - a villain to remind you of all your failed endeavours - the image you portray to those who ignore you - a faint sign of effort and care, lost to the insignificant relationships that time takes a dagger to - slits it's throat, and now you're all alone - soaking wet in the rain

there are 3 words that i often get called (not including shit) - they are:

selfish

stubborn

lazy

selfsih: can i start with a phrase/quote i heard from a hero of mine, damien echols - it went something like: the only people who call you selfish are people who are upset you’re not doing what they want you to - that sums it’s up perfectly i think - i think people should be more selfish, or at least less ashamed about the times they are selfish - i want everyone to do as they wish, and as long as that doesn’t hurt anyone, there is no problem - i hate obligation, and i seeing people act under obligation - i hate seeing people act and talk they way they think they should - people forget the power they were given by society when they turn 18 - you can do whatever you like

stubborn: i consider myself a thoughtful person - the beers give me a rest from time to time, as does running, and standing in doorways too - i’ve thought enough to know what makes me happy in this life - it’s likely to change, but i know what i like, and therefore know what i don't like - with that knowledge i have trust, and i keep that as the universe and my thoughts that drift through it never fail me

lazy - you wish you were as lazy as me - i’ve had afternoon naps sleepying beuaty would wake up for - cold air, warm blankets, golden sun, falling leaves, open window - the perfect afternoon nap - a cosy lounge-room sunday spent drifting in and out of sleep - a football game you wont see the end of - waking up to the smell of dinner of cooking - moving slow enough to see the clouds drift and form and move on, no time for sunsets here - i’ll be napping - i’ve spent whole weekends without saying a word, without leaving my house, without wearing pants - i lie on the couch and watch a movie i know word-for-word - i play some music and drink beer, looking at whatever takes place outside the window - leaves, fence, bird, wind, sun, clouds, rain, child learning to ride a brand-new bike and failing, over and over - why do we work so hard? - do we work so hard so that we can work even harder? - just leave me alone

take care, by big star comes on - im sitting in a bus travelling slowly through the outskirts of greater geelong - it’s almost 7pm - the light and atmosphere in the bus is miserable - the people scattered in the seats in front and behind me, just as miserable - out my window, a dark deeper than the suburban darkness im used to - this is geelong - every now and again, a green neon light catches me eye - i see subway-restaurants, where 16 year old girls sell salad rolls to graffiti-artists and skate-boarders - i think about the words: take care - and i think about the vulnerability of people i know - i see a car in an otherwise empty and isolated car-park, and i assume some guy in a suit is paying someone for oral sex - i flood myself with psychedelic music to try and escape this miserable vibe

im in what they call a "good space" - it's all good space, really - inspired, productive, sleeping and eating well, positive, exercising, drinking, reading, prioritising, writing, keeping things simple, and keeping secrets from social-media - it's the good life they’ll never know

i ate my dinner on the street the other night - im not talking al-fresco, im talking, standing in a doorway, overcoat on, cold and rain, eating a hamburger on the footpath because it was the cheapest and fastest thing to do - it reminded me of mexico city, where i pretended to be kerouac, and acted like morrison - im now thirty-five - no need to pretend anymore - no time either

i see the moon clear on winter nights - hazy clouds moving through a high-wind that i can’t feel - down here, im warmed by the trees and their shadows - i’m warmed by the tunes and the music i find - it's like a sauce - there are songs that simply engulf me - the thickest warmest blanket you could imagine, on the coldest night of the year - and wood burns perfectly

becoming a father makes your life far more meaningless than ever - the truth is you become a father and you truly understand how meaningless your life is - your life becomes meaningless because you simply don’t care anymore - i was listening to a lot of lou reed, and it was like listening to pale blue eyes for the first time all over again

i often walk past this building, and the way it’s built allows for you to look down to the lower floors below foot-path level - i walk past this building on my way home and often see this young long-haired guy with glasses working his job in front of a computer - i first noticed him when he was resting his head on the desk and possibly asleep - other times he’s browsing the internet - most times he’s just sitting their on his phone wasting time - i often imagine what his perfect job/life would be

when awarded free time, standing in a doorway with a distant stare heading nowhere but the carpet a few feet in front of you is not a waste of time - you are still “making the most of your day” - some people wear black padded vests, new york yankees caps and go out for breakfast, or drive to a winery for lunch and social media photos - but if you want to stand in the doorway and just stare blankly and enter the void and become a part of the nothingness, that’s okay, and just as worthwhile as anything thats handed to you on social media - all that stuff is like a street-vending gym membership being stapled to your forehead by someone who doesn’t realise you run marathons without anyones help

these are the thoughts that wake up in the doorway:

routine silence, crowded by a weird sense of importance - the things we get used to, become our entitlement - holding back and never showing the watchful eye what it really wants to see - what it's expecting to see of you - what it expects you to do and say - the thoughts they see in your eyes - they know it, but can't explain it - love, hate and the hee-bee-jee-bees

my senses tell me everything i need to know - i touch what i need to hear - i taste what i need to smell - i see nothing, but feel it all around me all the time - i removed the door bell - you'll just have to wander and see where you end up - lost and forgotten farms, where the cattle have set things right - you can hide behind that cow, i told her and she laughed - don't take a photo, this always happens and it doesn't matter - we don't need to show the world anything - the universe turns on itself with every breath you give and take, changing the course of a forgotten future, and unwritten history

a satisfactory survival of the fastest and talkative - the slow and mellow and quiet ones will inherent the earth, while the meek run off with your sister - excuse me, while i kill your lies with the ease and comfort of a denim jacket - water off a duck's back, but the weather it clearing up a little - it's time for a walk - so if you see me as you drive by in your car, give a thought to what it is you're doing, and who you're doing it for - it's them who will kill you in the end

Friday, August 4, 2017

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

I'm walking on the beach alone

it's winter - grey

but not so cold

or windy at all

the tide is so far out you could forget

what planet you were on

ahead of me on top of the cliffs

was a lighthouse

tall and white

an icon

at the top, i see a small group of people

tourists walking around the outside railing at the top

they are nothing but little black dots

and I'm sure i am just the same to them

i imagine myself

in all the photos

they would be taking

from the top of the light-house

a long stretch go beach

and a little black dot

in the middle of it all

death is a

a pervert in the bushes

jerking off

to the thought

of our stupid little lives

head for the sea

and find the city

build a sand castle

and find an office

take a swim in the ocean

- and get fired

my mind is racing

my body is dead

i lie here

eyes fading and lifeless

i have seen too much

one table

one candle

one beer

one chair

no light

no-one, but me

but i am no-one

i am nothing but dead

if not dying

dying for nothing

after a life living for nothing

i stare at my feet

the ground beneath them is still

dirt and rock

my shoes are new

my socks are worn and old

i have no-where to go

so i just sit

and look at my feet

nothing else

-they say the eyes are the windows to the soul

peaking

my week and emotions

colour and weekends

flavoured intoxicated

it brings a heavy weight

warm and soft

a spirit blanket

tucked in and safe

heavy head

pumping heart

misty soul

invisible body

nothing else / everything else

no time / all time

the void / the infinite

me / me

me / us

us/ us

a heady trip

72 years

spent wanting to be elsewhere

72 years

avoiding bad books

bad movies

bad music

I'm nowhere between sleep and awake

i sleep somewhere between

messed up and dead

and you'll find me nowhere

I'm walking but not really moving

the ocean is always moving

but not me

I'm still

surrounded by constant movement

i ignore it mostly

when i can

but not when I'm at the beach

i can't ignore it at the beach

fire always moves too

flames

glowing coals

pulsing and radiating

by nature - it moves

to kill, destroy

and warm

i sit still and watch fire

- like the ocean, it's constantly moving

and they don't change

these are the same flames

the same waves

ancient humans

dinosaurs

witnessed

and watched

standing before hell

lights down

television on

when surrounded by natural beauty

people get out their phones

- when the cops say

"there's nothing to see here"

people get out their cameras

what corporate sponsered viral video will "restore my faith in humanity" this week?

death is a

a pervert in the bushes

jerking off

to the thought

of our stupid little lives

the sad truth is

when everything is good

when everything is horrible

- nothing really matters

rain, hail or shine

i don't care

because it's going to rain, hail or shine

2039 death bed:

"i wished i lived more without searching for validation on social media"

i heard a flute

like a monkey eats a banana

give it to me

don't cry

don't scream

devour

it's our time

to take

to be arseholes

to laugh

to play

that little spider on the wall

just got a lesson in

Midnight Oil

don't seize the day

- listen to it

in the valley of death

i walk

- don't run

bored on a train

crowded

i was forced to watch

i remembered myself

as a hard drinking artist

wanting to say fuck you

to as many people as possible

i was forced to watch

my peer - a middled aged man

squash the person next to him

reading off a tablet

until he starts loading some fantasy computer game

with jewels and trinkets

I'm on my way to pick up my three year old daughter

and a six pack of beer

- it's friday night in melbourne

***

take care comes on - by big star - im sitting in a bus travelling slowly through the outskirts of greater geelong - it’s almost 7pm - the light in the bus is miserable of course - the people scattered in the seats in front and behind me, just as miserable - out my window, a dark deeper than the suburban darkness im used to - this is geelong - every now and again, a green neon catches me eye - i see subway-restuarants, where 16 year old girls sell salad rolls to graffiti-artists and skate-boarders - i think about the words - take care - and i think about the vulnerability of all the people i know - i see a car in an otherwise empty and isolated car-park, and i assume some guy in a suit is paying someone to suck his cock - i flood myself with psychedelic music to try and escape this vibe - im in what they call a good space - have been for a while - inspired, productive, sleeping and eating well, positive, exercising, drinking, reading, prioritising, writing, keeping things simple, and keeping secrets from social-media - the good life they’ll never know

i see the moon clearler on winter nights - hazy clouds moving through a wind i can’t feel - down here, im warmed by the trees and their shadows - later i’ll build a fire - i’m warmed by the tunes and the music i find - there are songs that simply engulf me - the thickest warmest blanket you could imagine, on the coldest night of the year - wood burns perfectly

so becoming a father makes your life even more meaningless - it was, of course, meaningless anyway - but the truth is you become a father and you truly understand how meaningless your life is - this isn’t meant to be read in a dinner-party “oh our kids are just ruining our life, isn't it funny” kind of way - your life becomes meaningless because you simply don’t care anymore - i didn’t care anyway, and so now i’m really fucking free and flying

is this my black denim phase?

i’m seeing the clock tick 1am

it’s funny that 3am and 4am occurs everywhere

i sit here with some ananda shankar playing (on a list) with the light dimmed, the movie adaptation of on the road plays on tv, and the fire is red hot but on it’s way to sleep - i take swigs of beer between my words and the music before me - outside the cold and clouds and the night - i hear the trees, and they are endless! - roos, birds, wind, echos of the ocean

***

when awarded free time, standing in a doorway with a distant stare heading nowhere but the carpet a few feet in front of you is not a waste of time - you are still “making the most of your day” - some people wear black padded vests and go out for breakfast, or drive to a winery for lunch and photos - but if you want to stand in the doorway and just stare blankly and enter the void and become a part of the nothingness, that’s okay, and just as worthwhile as anything thats handed to you on social media - all that stuff is like a street-vending gym membership leaflet being stapled to your forehead by someone who doesn’t realise you run marathons without their help

i just found myself staring into the distance, leaning against a doorway with a beer in my hand - im playing lou reed’s ecstasy album for the first time in ages - i always loved it - i look at the photos of him in the album-artwork and think how young and healthy he looked - i pull out my copy of lou-lou, the one he did with metallica, and think about how much he aged in 11 years, and how he’d be dead in 2013 - i knew i was going to like that album as soon as i got feeling that everyone else was going to hate it

these are the thoughts that i wake up to in the doorway

i often walk past this certain building, and the way it’s built allows for you to look down to the lower floors below the foot-path level - i walk past this building on my way home and often see this young long-haired guy with glasses working his job in front of a computer - i first noticed him when he was resting his head on the desk and possibly asleep - other times he’s browsing the internet for whatever he’s into - most times he’s just sitting their on his phone wasting time - i often imagine what his perfect job/life would be - the romantic would paint him as a successful artist who also runs workshops for underprivileged kids to keep their creative spirits alive - the truth is he probably just wants to play video games and sleep with the olsen twins - he shops at coles before going to the cinemas and eats of whole packet of corn chips and half a 1.25lt bottle of coke to himself

there are 3 words that i often get called, and all of them shouldn’t be deemed dirty words - they are: