Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Nine

throw it in the fire! - feet tapping and fists downing the bottle of smoke, the flavour of the night - swear and rasp - be held back from the fight, you were never going to win - drink to the mystic of irish folk music - drink to the mysteries of endless love and sex and a never-ending desire build in deep like your standard guilt-trip - let them sleep - turn the volume down - run down the streets and wave until someone pulls over and ask them if they have anything to drink and if not, get in and give directions - the first thing you'll notice will be the car-seat covers - how novelty - like a pathetic drunk a few years before he realises what he's become - the seat's warm and you feel like your intruding - am i intruding? you ask

some movie with subtitles is showing - you turn down the volume and listen to some music as you read the movie - the light from the television guiding you to the fridge for another beer - you play games with yourself in your head and you wonder how long before you can guess what country the film was made in, or is based in - you always assume iceland - island - till you fall asleep on the coach in splendour and wake up in shame - walking yourself to bed at seven am, hoping you'll be able to fall asleep again before you feel guilty need to get out of bed

the kitchen light
left on all day
- empty house, 3pm

the fear of waking up
your loved one
- but then you don't

soft breaths of sleep
- but my head buzzes
with paranoia

walking by the busker
- maybe i should've
given him something

i didn't notice
the ticking clock
- until now

a simple hug;
easily forgotten
- he'll never forget

and then suddenly,
the traffic stops!
- for a moment or two

so many people
under-estimating
the setting sun

what's the point?
the universe is
simply too big!

unable to play an instrument,
he sits in bliss
- tapping his foot

oh music!
your slave pleads of you -
never stop!

a weak handshake
warms the heart
of the pure souls

forgotten and neglected
like midnight clouds
- i get myself a beer

in such a hurry
he trips over the newspaper
- he has work to do

so many clocks, so little time
so many phones,
...nobody

the church -
and now im here
with nothing to write

who loves who,
more than who?
- we both lose

standing by the rubbish bins
his thoughts are as clear
as newspaper headlines

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Eight

in a bed of ash, a welcome depression, a self-serving depression wears him down to a sour-sleep – the sleep saps and tricks his brain into thinking there is nothing, and that's enough – around his room, he hears cars and birds and house-mates, and radios and tvs and doorbells, and microwave and doing the dishes – but he wraps himself up tighter in the thick blankets that are as cold as clouds

you haven’t eaten in forty-eight hours – you tried, just to make your friends happy, only to gag-down a piece of chicken – but that wasn’t eating – that wasn’t food – the phone next to your bed of ash rings in dust – and you ignore it, embracing your selfish and pathetic sulk – you want nothing to do with anyone and you have no idea of who are or, or who you’re supposed to be to them – you imagine their concern for you, and it makes you feel better for nothing more – nothing is working in your favour, and there is nothing you can do about it – you’re riding a train of wrong turns and it’s too late for everything

they’re gone – chasing the sun down to a bar-room full of friends and friends of friends – carefree and careless and by-passing all the meditation in the world to find themselves living this one direct moment with the thoughtless help of cheap and cold beer – he lies on the coach, scanning a collection of typical dvds that tire and bore his mind – he put himself through the opening credits and the opening few scenes of a movie starring Robert de niro, before turning it off – putting himself in a position where there is nothing more to do but stare at the ceiling and walls in your his silence – nothing occupying anything except for his endless doubts, his pessimistic assumptions, and his self-hatred

and so you saddle on up and take seat, carefully avoiding eye-contact as you order yourself a beer - the weight of your miserable thoughts drowns out the pathetic and generic music playing through the speakers on the peeling ceiling of this, the same old bar - running your hands through your hair, you occupy yourself, making yourself flustered and heated - you drink your beer too quickly, ordering another one and feeling guilty and embarrassed - a young attractive girl with dark hair sits at a table by herself and reads a book, taking notes - drinking her drink she exudes a confidence that makes you feel sick - you take another long hard sip of your third beer, desperate for it's effects to dull your senses and thoughts to a bland nub

walking down the street, he taunted the cars to swerve violently and crash into him - to put him out of his misery with a near future death out of his control - he wouldn't mind and he wouldn't care and he'll finally be free of endless circles of predictability of life - with each step he took he took a step towards another pointless conversation about something he didn't care about - towards another little thing to do on the endless list of things to do - oblivious to the outside world streaming by him, he drowned his thoughts with the approaching realisation that he simply didn't want to do it anymore

swimming in a an orange haze of confusion, you stumble as you return to your seat to order another beer - the kind and understanding manner in which it is suggested to you that you've probably had enough depletes you - you know they're right, you just don't want to go home - you just don't want to go to bed and you don't want to go to sleep - it's a torturous necessity - against your will, you thank them with a slur for their well-meaning guidance and you stumble your way to the door - the cold night air forces you to realise just how hot and sweaty you really are - the chilled rainy air spikes itself into your sticky lungs as you turn instinctively to the direction home - the streets are full of screams and yells and life that you ignore - staggering and bumping into them, you blink your eyes to focus and wake up at least a little bit - on the other side of the road you see some sense that you'll forget by tomorrow morning - something you never used to do - you focus on the red and blue flashing lights in an attempt to try and remember - however, your certain your mind will just process the chaos as just another bad day for someone else you don't know

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Seven

he decides to break free from the constraints of day to day life, and the whole world is there to witness his change in mind and lifestyle - just a bag and the road and an audience to send him off and someone to say goodbye - that's cool, they tell him - i wish i could do that, they tell him - i want to do that as well, they tell him - they stand around his loaded backpack like it's a newborn snug and bundled into a price-tagged pram - and soon it's time to go – he arrived early at the train station and bought a bottle of cola – taking it into the public toilets at the station, he quickly skulled back a third of the bottle inside one of the cubicles - careful not to drop anything on the floor, and carefully breathing so as to not to breath in too much, he refilled what was empty of the bottle with scotch– admitting to himself that this may be a new low, but enjoying the tragic beauty that came with his actions

on the train he’s sitting next to middle-aged woman reading a block-buster novel - he has a window seat and outside the dusk is dying into night all over the industry outskirts of his home town - chimneys and pipes and steam and graffiti that gets weirder and weirder the further outbound the train yanks itself - the woman next to him, reading the book, was the first indication that this trip wouldn't match the romantic and spiritual solo journey he had envisioned in his head during the days he thought about how his life was wasting away minute by minute - as she continued to read, he looked out the window, slowly tapping his thumb on his thigh as he slugged back another sip of scotch and cola

a baby somewhere begun to play incessantly with a toy of sorts that generated a loud, repetitive, electronic sound – the baby’s mother, he assumed, was simply thankful the child wasn’t screaming or crying as she let it continue to play with the noisy toy – the woman who was trying to read her book in silence, begun to turn her head in the direction of the mother and child every time the toy wanged out it’s loud electronic noise – not saying anything, but simply staring that them, hoping that would portray her annoyance – this in turn soon became more annoying than the toy itself

by the time he was on the bus, the cold purple dusk air swam smoothly – he sunk back deep in his seat and rationed out the scotch and cola he had remaining in his bottle, reciting haiku in his head as he watched the trees gush-by and become spooky as the bus headlights paid them little attention and the bus continued to speed down the dark rural highway – he felt safe, content and in control of absolutely everything – he felt certain his fellow passengers could smell the scotch on his breath and the air surrounding his seat, but understood that they didn’t mind - he allowed himself to be simply taken by the bus and enjoyed the movement he was experiencing

the bus driver helped him retrieve his bag from the under-carriage – the dim red light from baggage area recalling the time the isolated sea-side bus-stop was once a crime scene – wishing the bus driver a nice night, he heaved his bag onto his back, and with the realisation he had no reason to care about time or places, he walked himself down the dunes to the beach, stumbling and bouncing as though the sand was laughing and hyperactive – he had indian sitar music playing in his ears – japanese haiku read in his head – and the cold australian friday night dusk charging electricity from the air, sand, trees and breaking waves – he succumbed to his aloneness and spun his head around the millions of stars reigning above, allowing the scotch in his head to spin in the opposite direction

the lazy trees branches brushed and scratched his shoulders and the bag on his back as he took the off-road direction to the small house – from this point of view, the house seemed completely desolate, soaked in darkness and dripping with the black night – trees shielded the stars, keeping their influence at bay – the relief of dropping his bag to the ground of evident by the cool of air on the sweat on his back – fumbling for keys, and jiggling the rusty key-hole, he pushed his way inside disturbing the dust and stale air and begun preparing himself something simple to eat

by 2am he was lost on familiar ground – he begun to doubt his eyes, and doubt whether they’d ever adjust to the brick wall of shrub-darkness that surrounded and confused him – backtracking, he simply couldn’t get it right – about to give up, telling himself it’s probably for the best and that he should probably get to bed anyway, he thought to use the light from his watch to guide himself beach bound, in small five second bursts

he was back on the beach, absorbing and being absorbed with thanks from the isolated darkness, the seemingly infinite stars and cluster-dusts, wall-to-wall – the waves broke with a constant gush the same way they have for millions of years, and he realised he was standing surrounded by a natural entity, and that was the way it was millions and millions of years ago – this sand – these waves – this water – that mountain range – he picked up a small rock in his sandy hands, and it blew his mind wide open – alone, he sung his amazed and boozey thoughts and moved in relation to the waves and water – the stars, nonchalant with the minor spec of insignificance, dancing on a minor spec of insignificance, for an insignificant amount of time

from somewhere after hours of silence he woke up, warm and comfortable, rested after an undeserved good night's sleep - with no idea what time it could be, he found out and walked towards the light - he ate some nuts and dried fruit, and stood on the sagging and weathered sun-drenched balcony - feeling it's warmth, he woke up some more, and amazed himself as he sat in the sun and thought about all the stars amongst stars he witnessed the night before - having never done yoga before, he improvised what he imagined it would involve, performing some moves in his underpants - saddened deep down that this moment was tainted with the slight paranoia he felt wondering if someone was watching him - later he meditated, in the warm morning sun, thinking about the wind's influence on the flying dragonfly

the water was icy - it was still a sunny, sunny day, but the ocean's water cut deep, relentlessly - there was no-one around, but he still felt as though he had to submerge his head and body under the cold water as soon as possible, to somehow prove himself - with no wind the waves were calm and smooth, moving his bobbing body like a dance - closing his eyes he felt the water move around him like spirits - he once again felt the insignificance of the lonely planet,earth - bobbing in a silent space, caring only for itself due to the nature of the existence of the universe - things happen - his aloneness exacerbated these feelings and thoughts, and for at least one moment, he touched on the everything, the all, the answer and the meaning behind it all

the pub was closed, shut down - he knew he'd need a drink and so he kept walking along the road with the knowledge the local store should be open and selling booze - this was and it did, and so he bought six cans of beer thinking they'd be lighter to carry home - taking the long way, he walked along the beach on his way back to the house - the idea came that a perfect way to lighten the load was to drink a couple of the beers, and so he found some unbelievably perfect shade in the high dunes of the beach and sat in the sand and leaned back sipping on the store-cold beers - the ocean in constant motion, the sand competing with the hidden blue-sky stars - he allowed his thoughts to be taken by the three or four beers he drunk in the dunes, having conversations with friends and people he knew in his head - was this a sign of impedning madness, or was this a cure for his undiagnosed insanity that would change the world one day as he always thought it might?

he drunk all night - listening to music, slow and sad with all the doors and windows open so he could hear the music as he pissed off the balcony and often wondered around the trees and shrubs that the kangaroos had longed abandoned - the slow sad music took it's time, just as he did - strolling and stopping to touch and feel the dewy leaves - listening to the twigs and dead leaves snap and crackle with each slow step in the dark, every single moment moving with time towards some sort of inevitable - and with this newly realised knowledge, he drunk one more beer to the clouds above, and remembered the stars of the previous night, and the ocean of the morning, the beers and sand dunes of the afternoon and all the thoughts he thought alone while never speaking a word

he packed his bag late that night before going to bed - he set his alarm for 7.30am to give him 20mins to wake up and walk back down to the bus stop - he slept but it didn't do much - the next morning he woke to a miserable sunday morning - the birds even seemed tired - he slept on the bus, and he slept on the train, and before he knew it he was home - returned - and it was as though nothing had ever happened - ever