Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Ninety-Five

lonesome, the man chops his vegetables
mushrooms
cherry tomatoes
capsican
spinach leaves
...zucchini
she sleeps, he wanders
she hears his footsteps
hoping they lead and stop at her open door
but he wanders the halls
poking his head into an empty room
here and there
pondering all the previous owners
how many people lived here?
how many people grew up here?
how many memories
good and bad
guided people's lives
formed here, in this room
will this memory mean anything?
will it guide and form anything
make anything
of the life ahead of me?
a happy kind of loneliness
he sits at the open window
eating his pizza
watching a plant take the sun
surrounded by weeds
as though they were groupies
hangers-on
the plant grows, quietly
silently
slowly
he sees himself
growing like a plant
the plant takes the shit
endures the cold rain and hail and summer storms
it lingers in the background
as the beer-garden party
laugh and hug and kiss hello and goodbye
the plant feeds of the earth's nature
it survives
his pizza is good
he can taste it
he wonders if it's too soon for a beer
last night was a big one
she sleeps somewhere between a nap and doze
her laziness is addictive
her warmth is contagious
she only smiles like that
when she sleeps
her sleepy smile
he wonders if he has one
he wants to be a sexy-sleeper
the plant never wakes up
it never sleeps
it just grows, moving with the wind like its music
the plant is always stoned
always high

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Ninety-Four

i have this friend who has hundreds, most likely thousands of records - a lot of them are his dads, but he's spent a lot of time and money searching for and buying records

i spend a lot of time browsing music stores, and im constantly on the look out for new and old bands that play with a certain character and coolness - but most of my music collection is in cd form - it's an impressive collection, despite the fact i now have to justify it to anyone satisfied with streaming their music through a telephone or computer - i've started buying records lately for a number of reasons - one of them being a big fuck you to those people telling me to get a spotify account - i go backwards in media - i listen to no-one and my inspiration comes from the real deal - the source - but my brother got me a record for christmas last year, and so i thought it was a perfect time to buy a record player and some more of my favourite albums on vinyl - and man, it changed the way i listen to music, both physically, obviously, and audibly, and changed my vision on some albums i'd listened to hundreds of times throughout my life

i started holding "record nights" - originally it was going to be a record party, where i invite all my friends over to my place and i play all my records for them to enjoy with beer and wine and pizza shapes - i quickly understood that no-one gives a shit, so thought i'd just invite all my music-loving friends, but i don't like to force friendships on people - so it ended up being one-on-one records nights - two people (just so happens they've all been all male so far...) sitting around listening to mutually adored albums, start to finish, with the light dimmed, the lamps glowing, the curtains closed every night it isn't a full moon, incense burning slowly and blue smoke curling in reverse (it somehow fits and drifts perfectly to all types of music) drinking beer, wine, whiskey and eating pizza shapes - they're late nights too - wild nights in dark smokey corners of our most beloved subconsciousness - but when it came to this one friend in-particular, i knew his shadows stretched longer and darker than mine - and so i went over to his place, with some records slung in a bag over my shoulder, a pie from bakers-delight in my stomach, and a short train ride to a place where i once knew a girl

a great guy and great friend that i have for no reason whatsoever - we sat around and started drinking early - he told me that rowland s howard originally grew up in nunawading, my home town, and that made me so happy - i couldn't believe it - i texted my brother, who knows this kind of stuff, and asked if he'd heard about it - he hadn't, but it's true

we got talking about record stores while listening to sound as ever by you am i - it was then i heard this amazing little anecdote that i can't shake from my thinking

there is a feeling you get when you stumble upon some great, forgotten, album in a record store - it's a feeling you can't find on any of the streaming service - ...service - i know i recently felt it when i came across jim morrison's an american prayer on vinyl in great condition for a great price - i came across it when i found the fauves' drive through charisma (with bonus disc) at dixons - hell, any fauves album at dixon's - it's a chill and a warm feeling all at once - it's a stab in the guts and a warm tight hug simultaneously - it's like when you see twenty bucks moving down the footpath of a busy street, wondering if you should believe your eyes, and wondering if someone is going to claim it, or pinch it before you - it's a nasty feeling and a motherfucker, in a miles davis kinda way - so we were talking about this one record store in melbourne that i frequent often in my lunch breaks from work, and one my friend visits regularly - it's a great place - small, but packed wall to wall with the best music around, sourced and scoped and sort after by the best - the walls are tattered with band and gig posters - there is a live sized cardboard cut out of dave graney looking cool in a baby blue suit, hat and tie - and so anway, we both talked of our love for the place, and the people who run it, and the people who keep it alive - and my friend told me of this one time, he was browsing through this record store, and it all got too much for him - there was just so much great stuff there, available - so many great bands, so many great albums, it was too much for him - and so in some overwhelming sense of frustration, he had to leave - he had to get out of there - it was too much for him - get some air man!

anyway, i don't like to use the word beautiful that often, but i thought there was something beautiful about that - sure, people can get overwhelmed by a field of flowers, by the chance encounter with an echidna, a surprise party, an act of kindness - but being a music lover is lonely work - buying records and cds is lonely work - hours and days and weekends spent flicking through shit - every time i see what they have in the way of Lou Reed or REM, i cop a face full of james reyne - and so when you strike gold, or when it reyne's down around you, it's truely a beautiful thing, and a great way to spend that twenty bucks you found on the street

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Ninety-Three

the sunshine, dancing in the jungle
the green vines move like smooth jazz-men
smiling silently
behind their black shades
a soft warm breeze
shifts the fallen leaves
spinning the jungle dance-floor
into a blissful confusion
where are we, and what are we doing?
not really knowing for sure
keeps us holy
infinite
there is a celebration going on
somewhere over the green valley
somewhere over the cool clear water
moving like lime jelly
i hear the horns
i hear the whistles
i hear men chanting
and i hear women cheering
i close my eyes and face the scattered sun rays
streaming through the leaves and vines overhead
i feel their vibes
their dances pulse through the jungle
in-synch with my mellow heartbeat
with my misty mind
and holy thoughts
can they see me?
can they feel me?
do they know im here?
i climb a tree
and take share in it's ripe fruits
they are intoxicating
and i no-longer take part in this existence
my mind slides
deep into the melt
of it's past
my memories of distant lives
embody and embrace
in an array of impossible colours
time is forgotten
and a perfect eternal dusk
hazes my visions
and i dig it all
cradled in the branches
into a euphoric half-sleep
where lucid dreams
whispered cosmic truths in my ear
the jungle-nymph-seductresses
universal arts appearing before me
and everything so simple
somewhere behind our eyes
outside this reality

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Ninety-Two

i remember spending my weekends walking around my suburban neighbourhood - i would've been in my later teen years - nights were often spent hanging out with friends, or holed up in my bedroom listening to serious music, trying to read as many classic novels i could get my head around and understand - during the day id lounge around and later on i'd walk around - i worked a couple of nights a week at a local service station that no-one went to - because of this i'd often be up all night and sleep in until midday - there was something so satisfying waking up in a brightly sun-lit room - no alarm to say so - the rest of the day with nothing to do - still warm in my jeans and tshirt


one of the great pleasures i got out of joining the work-force was being able to buy any album, any cd, i wanted - i no-longer had to wait an agonising week and a half for another pay-allowance from my father so i could gather up the remaining $5 required to buy "waiting for the sun" by the doors, or something like that - now that i worked, i could buy whatever i liked, whenever i liked - blowing all my pay on music - it was a liberating feeling - still is

i loved music, and still do - i love having a large music collection, and scanning it at any given time, not knowing what album im going to end up listening to - just keep scanning till something gets my attention - and i think there is something in that - i don't pick what music to play - sometimes it's just time to put on a richmond fontaine album, like i have right now - in hindsight, the day im about to tell you about would've been a great richmond fontaine album kinda day - but i didn't even know their music back then - i knew their vibe, just not their music


where i grew up, there is this long wide straight road on the outskirts of the residential neighbourhood - along this road lined numerous factories, warehouses, junk-pits, empty lots, quarry-holes, that all had the "protected by a guard-dog" kinda vibe, despite the fact they were all vacant or abandoned - in one pocket between a factory and an empty lot, you got a great view of the city skyline, from 20km away - everything always looks hazy from 20km away - there were always jokes about the "saturday night drags" racing down this road illegally, which wouldn't surprise me as there were always pretty impressive burn-out marks tattooed all over the bitumen- im not sure ive developed some of those imagined memories, but im sure i remember hearing some of those saturday night drag races as a kid in bed, with the window open above my head

one weekend i was walking along this road on the way to the most local cd-store - it was a 20minute or so walk, but that was meant nothing to me, and still doesn't - i was used to it, and it was the way of my life - and still is - there are no footpaths along this road, so i walked along the road, a lonely figure, im sure - like tex perkins on the cover of "sweet nothing", or trying anyway - before long, midway down this long wide industrial, the dull grey clouds began to spit, and 50m later it begun to rain - i don't like umbrellas, as they just seem a little too careful - i'd like to think i have other more important things to worry about - so i let the rain fall on me, as i still do to this day - i didn't care - i wasn't doing anything - i don't think i even had any money on me - i was just walking down to the cd-store to browse all the cds there - to have a look - see what's new - see what's in the bargain bin, and see what's still in the bargain bin - to look at the band names like tom waits, you am i, the church, wondering if i'd ever be chosen and fall into their worlds

behind me a heard a car cruising down the road towards me - i moved to my left, closer to the gutter to get out of it's way - and as any lonesome wander can sense, i turned around when i realised this car was slowing down behind me - it pulled to a stop beside me - it was a taxi
- hey mate, where abouts are you going?
- no sorry man, i don't need a lift, im okay
- it's raining mate, come on, where you going? - his voice raised a little as the rain shifted up a gear
- just to jb hi-fi, but i don't have any money
it was at this point i felt embarrassed - internally i yelled at myself saying i should've said the train station or something - who goes to a cd-shop with no money?
- it's okay mate, get in, i'll drop you off

i got in, in the front seat - something i rarely do anymore as i'd prefer to just chill in the back seat by myself, and let the driver text and call whoever he wants to - i reminded the driver that i didn't have any money, and i was serious, but he was cool - he just happy to get me out of the rain, and reminded me that it wasn't a lot drive to where i was going anyway - so i took the lift, too young to really appreciate his kindness, and to appreciate how rare an act like this is

i remember it had pretty much stopped raining by the time we got to the cd-store, and i felt a little pang-of guilt due to that - he left after i quickly thanked him, and i took to browsing the cds - by the time i had finished not buying anything, the rain had kicked in again, and i begun the walk home

whenever i tell people this story, they immediately joke about how the taxi-driver was probably trying to "pick me up" or something - i always joke back saying - no, i swear he didn't want anything.... i mean, i gave him one kiss, but that was it - but it's true, he was just helping me out in the rain - this was probably twelve years ago now, and it's one of those strange memories im never going to be able to forget - it just lingers in the back, in the same way i do now every time i get into a taxi

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Ninety-One

i made a strange self-indulged-soundtrack for myself - to remind myself of who i am, was, will be, and want to be, after i found myself allowing something like DARK to affect my out-look and view of the winter-clouds during the 3pm dusk – i hated myself for it, even if lasted for a short while – im listening to it now - it really helped – i have my apathetic shrug back, that cloaks me against the rest of the world and all the things people make so important – i don’t know why, but whenever im wearing my apathetic cloak, people keep patting me on the back – saying things like, good job – you’re so weird – does anything bother you? – you’re so laidback – they like me better when i don’t give a shit – anyway, another world (live) by antony and the johnsons is track two, after a barely audible sigur ros piano tinkering at track onXXXX, when I was living in northcote - sitting in my strange large and empty kitchen, with a spring sunset glowing slow through the window – i was listening to i am a bird now on repeat, as it had finally gelled with me – i must have listened to it five times in a row - i was drinking long-necks of melbourne bitter all afternoon, and i was writing to you – i remember wearing a black singlet, looking at my clock regularly, knowing that lady-elle was on her way to hang out with me soon – anyway, that beautiful scenario will never escape my day dreams whenever i listen to that album – and that’s the connection to what I am doing right now




ive been alone and ive been flocked – i have no issue with being either, as long as i have the choice – i was running a 30km run through the bush out the back where my family have a house along the coast – i was 10km inland and completely alone, with no way of contacting anyone other than the warm breeze - i had gotten to that place on earth on my own two feet and nothing else – around me flew singing birds – it may have been me disturbing their day that make them “sing”, or it may have been the sun - the first time it broke through warm in months – tree, after tree, after tree – i turned green corners and reached the top of a small quiet mountains to see the trees and mountains continued onwards to where the sun’s glow shone brightest – i was high and holy, alone and in pain, and completely in control of my life at it’s bare and complete minimum – eventually, i came across a group of three trail-bike riders who were resting at the top of a small hill – they watched me struggle as i ran up the hill towards them – at the top, one of them said “you’re fucking keen, aren’t ya?!” – i asked if any of them had a beer, knowing this would make them laugh - which it did – i kept running, deeper into the pain i control and tame so well




i am reading a controversial book at the moment, though it’s topic of controversy isn’t really that shocking any more – there is something almost common about a teacher/student relationships these days – they’ll be encouraged in five years time, with waiting lists – this one is about a female teacher, and a fourteen year old male student – im reading it because several bookshops have refused to sell it, and that’s enough for me – and it’s not bad to be honest – interesting reading when im eating my dumplings for lunch, or the decent yet expensive falafel salad I’ve recently discovered – i thrive on reading controversial books on the train, and in highly populated public areas – the death of bunny munro, while not so controversial, had a fucking awesome front cover that definitely woke up some of my sleepy eastern suburban train-family – charles manson’s book, in his own words, also got a lot of attention – or perhaps it was my laughter – anyway, i feel differently with this book – i think it’s because im often surrounded by high-school students on the train, and i know if i was a male high school student, i definitely would’ve heard about this book, and read it a couple of times, and demanded my friends and certain teachers read it also – anyway, necessary or not, it was making me uncomfortable – i got the idea of seeing if i had any books that were the same size, and had a dust jacket I could remove, and use over the top of this one – i knew it was a long shot – most of my books are old and torn and forty year old paperbacks – though every now and again i’ll buy a book online and it would arrive as a hardcover – the secret diary of laura palmer was one of those books, and the dust jacket fit perfectly – it was a work of genius – i felt like a member of a some sort of rebel group within the berlin wall who had just fallen softly in the sweet spot between luck and coincidence – i could now read about the manipulative celeste price and her endeavours and accomplishments against the young jack patrick, all the while people around me would be under the impression that i was actually reading the secret diary of a cocaine addicted sixteen-year-old school girl, who uses sex to comfort her life, while attempting to tame the embodiment of pure evil as it’s grasp upon her soul draws closer and closer

how many forgotten suburban wisdoms, like an hot-ex-girlfriend, striding in slow motion through a party you didnt think would involve her, or that you;d be invited to - you turn to the appitisers, and smile warmly to the caterer girl - she is sweet - a nice smile working an innocent job - her family will ask how it went - she'll wake up tomorrow morning, warm with the curtains open - her friends will be hungover, hiding from their silly parents - next door, a hard drinking intellectual will be listening to patti smith albums really really loud  - the screen door swings open with a violence only seen in poetry - bang! it means something! - he swings deep, patti's voice echos into the suburban night - how many sensible mothers does he wake up? how many weak fathers dread him and empty-holiness? - walking home, he stops and back-tracks - is that a twenty-cent piece, or a spot of bird-shit? - it's bird-shit - and if so, where does he find his holiness? - good friends make him so lucky - the secret world of music, a gift - the love of another, unspeakable - his spirit, a soul, open to every night that screams dark over the world and makes a safer place for the outsiders making street corners a place to drink, smoke, hang, read, meditate and get laid - the alleyways, once belonged to the outsiders, now sap the hip of what's on offer - and so it's there, in the empty suburban car-park, trying not to scary to the last cute girl to leave the twenty-four-hour-gym, trying not to allow my mind to overcome itself by the simple sight of venus rising in the sky above us - the moon, the stars, the dark sky and the sound of the suburban-football-team training for some bullshit final they're going to lose - or win, but no-one will care in no time - i listen to a song that captures what i think me and my friends are about - but i dont fool myself, as my friends continually fool me - surprising mostly, inspiring a lot - a lot more than i let on - yes - without my friends i would be cunt - they inspire me to be open, and allow me the freedom to be wrong - it's a wrong, a feeling i feel my heartbreak to when i hear - everything's fucked - by the dirty three - i listen to that song, and i think of my time walking the streets, the real streets, seeing the stars, the only stars, and wondering about what all the people i know are doing at that very moment - image that - a strange, hairy, boozey man in denim and leather, laughing at the stars - hugging himself warm - learing at your sister - pissing in your front yard and at one with the universe - reading himself humble - there is no need to be angry, he thinks to himself - there is no need to be jealous, he thinks to himself - there is no need to always be happy, he thinks to himself - there is no need to be alive, he dreams and talks in his sleep - his warmth escapes into the cold glass of the window, open curtain - is that stubble on his face? - are they underpants? - focus inspires another day of music - wonder around like you rent the place - light a fire - cross your legs - and with one big deep breath, your mind is open - and we're lost....  i dont want to be found - i have echos that wave into the corner of  my-void, right now - but from here, i have no promises - i just try my best - another distant echo, reminding me of the shy butterflies that split as i cruise.

– i remember writing to you

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Ninety

the boozey haze breathed from him like a warm fog - now beyond fatigue, he felt high - the lamp that sat on the other side of the dark room, pulsed and throbbed a dull orange glow - the rain poured outside like red wine, as he sunk back deeper into his black coat - warm from a night of wine, he hadn't left the room in three days - he closed his eyes, and heard music grow like rich green vines clawing it's way to a glimpse of sunlight - there was a funeral in heaven - the angels are dead - he'd open his eyes unaware of how much time had passed - somehow, the wine never seemed to run out - there was always more - there were deep green empty bottles scattered around the room - a couple by the window - a couple by the door - one smashed at the foot of the coffee-table - and several standing on guard at his feet, like loyal soldiers, willing to kill and die for their great-master of the soul-lands - loaded, and wasted, he drifted deeper into varying states consciousness and unconsciousness

when the rain finally stopped, he leaned forward and poured himself another glass of red-wine - his hair hung  long and greasy, in strains over his dulled eyes - the glass was sticky and smudged, and sipped deeply at the wine like spiced-blood - the room, one big shadow - the air begun to move, a hug-goodbye and never to be seen again - a sweet musky scent - blinking his eyes, stretching them wide, a vision of the girl parted the haze - her long blonde hair floated, moving like syrup - everything was fluid - her white dress could belong to no-one but her, and her body - her face with a quiet smile - she knew everything - the music returned, and she begun to move to it's sound - a distant choir of sad voices recalling the death of the everyday-saints - a sloppy piano played - sad and drunk - defeated and over - she spun and smiled in slow motion before him - his heart beat deeply, watching her he knew she was happy - she had no say in it, but she was happy - each time she spun her smile passed his mesmorised-gaze - her smile, deep within herself - her blonde hair in a slow celebration - her dance, a tantalisation

the birds sung sadly as the sun slowly rose - dew grew like poison as a new day begun - he woke up, his mouth open wide - running his thin fingers through his hair, he yawned the cold morning air into his clouded lungs - half a glass of wine sat cold on the table in front of him - he threw it down his throat, and stared blankly into the void in front of him

***

im the arrogant prick at the footy
drinking beers, proud of myself for it
heading on home after a few more
listening to deeply dark and serious music
music with intention
i read fucking tolstoy on the train home
surrounded by the sedated fools
i walk the wide industrial streets
of my suburban home town
looking to the stars with an endless and philosophical mind
im the knock out
the down and out
the timeless one and the last one
im the 4am bowed down bar-room boozer
alone - training for a marathon
im the married man fancy-pants
the ladies-man, one on one
i flirt with them all
im responsible for all the unspoken understandings
the only laws i respect are the unspoken ones
and the universal truths of the soul
the 5am lava lamp and party lights
the red wine and the rain comes down hard all night
my head in a haze
a comfortable, manageable sadness
alone, no questions, no answers


***

i spend the day alone
indulging in a world
of victimless crimes

go jaywalker, go
you and i know
you have nowhere to be

the writing is on the wall
my head is in my hands
i should know better
but all i know
are god's grand plans

alone and drunk
the streets are dark
and i am free
when i wake up
to the policewoman
talking at me

my memories
are wasted
in heaven

the constant struggle between
the good life, success
and the truth

the sadness of the elderly gardener
raking leaves
in the strong cold wind
the happiness knowing
someone is paying him to do it

only the lonesome are in control
the rest of us rely on others

the stillness
of this empty room
i dance in

i walk with my head down
my eyes down
hiding myself from the billboards

the sign says "free lemons"
i take one -
my first lemon!

under the thumb of a drunk-god
i return
to the scene of the crime

the cool air on my face
makes me realise
i haven't been outside in four days

we're going to need
a bigger war-memorial

a silly sadness
can't be ignored
- i have no reason to be happy

i act dignified
in front of the elderly
in the hope
they feel it was all worth it

day and night
this lonely planet
just floats in space

the clouds move like smoke
on my birthday
celebrating the dark, lonesome writer

another split beer
one more memory
everytime i put on this jacket

a misty red-wine
this dim-lit lounge
i sit on your warm spot on the couch

this red-wine
tastes like...
...dim the lights, light some candles

sunset city
your clouds
could cure god's hangover

cheap sad haiku
you're not worth the beer coaster
you're written on

i wrote the story of my life
on the back of a beer coaster
and ordered another wine

i saw the story of my life
float slowly by
in the clouds at dusk

the self portrait of the artist as a thirty-one year old man...

Returning - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club from ArielDeJ. Morales on Vimeo.


i see myself, lying in bed, having woken up half an hour ago - my mind, returning home, after another 6 or 7 hours wondering the cosmos, testing the waters - preparing my inevitable spiritualism - i guess i just have a few more days to wonder through, to think myself through like a daily conundrum - each day is one step closer to the realisation, and the truth that lies behind our day to day life, our self-importance, and our consciousness

frustrated and saddened, really - each day i can clearly see that i truly wasn't made for these times - like something has gone wrong - im an alien living in an alienated society, but something's not right - all that i love changes and all that i love about those things are destroyed to make things simpler - technology is king, and forces everything from history, quality and logic to step aside - and im weird, crazy, and an outsider because i choose to shun and i crack the whip screaming "get behind!"

it's the beautiful and cheerful sadness that keeps me going - some people call it love-sickness, i call it life - the tiny acts of good, friendship, kindness and humility that mean nothing, and rarely go noticed, but it's those things that keep the whole shit-house standing - that keeps the dirt-farm muddy - that allows us to sleep soundly - that keeps the wolves inside each and everyone of us, warm, fed and cosy

The National- Heavenfaced from Jess S on Vimeo.

my wolves are mellow - well trained - hard drinkers too - when confronted with the frustrations and absurdity of daily life, they take notes - they keep their distance and watch from the corner - watch from the rooftops as storm clouds intermingle above - they refuse to associate and they keep their patience - this is the situation, and here i am lost within it - so what?

running has become one of my great loves in life - a solo pursuit, with nothing and no one to praise or blame but myself - it's me against the world, and i take on the physical and goddamn mental challenges that running long distances throw, pound, and whip you with, and i never give up  - i run by the daisy-chains of expensive cars stuck in traffic jams or getting themselves into accidents and anger - i run by people sitting at bus and tram stops, with their heads bowed to their phones doing things i couldn't care less about - they have time to waste, so they text their friends - i run by the houses cooking indian food and i laugh to the indian gods for taunting me in such a cool, fun and friendly way - i run by the houses who have a woodfire burning, as it's dark and cold outside, and run hard fuelled by the thoughts of gas-fire-places and how they take precedence these days - i run through the parks at night, watched by the nocturnal animals who never scutter away, but sit curiously- they're not afraid, and it seems they know exactly what it is they're witnessing - a man taking on the limits of the world around him, fuelled by a world so self sure, poisoned by popularity, and blinded by the screens in front of them

sad music shares my burden - true, sad music, and sadness isn't depression - sadness is something beautiful, and truthful - some call them happy-tears - i feel a sense of love when i hear a true sad song - that unspeakable truth, that connects you - some call it duende - and it is the true fuel for my life so far, and it keeps me here each and every day i have left to wander, meander and think my way through this strange life on this beautiful and absurd planet

and then when night time comes, it's just me and the stars, and i go to bed real late - im left tired and sore, having run as far and fast as i can, mellow and thoughtful - i play my sad music and let it soup over me like warm jelly - it feels like im not alone, but i am - the best of both worlds - loved, hated, forgotten,  i have it all - i think about my spot, sitting there in my chair - the lights dimmed, a blanket to keep me warm - there i am, sitting in a chair, in a lounge room, in a small house, in the eastern suburbs of one city, in one country, in one small corner of this tiny marble-eye floating in an endless black void - all those stars mean something, you know - they are actually out there shining, burning in a universe so vast, the human mind will never be able to full comprehend it's magnitude - and that suits me just fine - it keeps me patient, inspired, and it helps put things into perspective - and that perspective puts a smile on my face as i lie down to go to sleep, deeply, returning home