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

silence makes
memories scream

plane trip to the city
we are merely lights
to one another

thirty hour trip
rationing out my chewing gum
must get home somehow

irish pub, sydney australia
bad music - empty chairs and tables
i buy another beer

two food stands
one busy, the other
hopeful and sad

i hate this song
i hate this pub
one more beer, after this one

i love her
i love myself
saturday night in a bar

standing on the street corner
everything is fucked
my reflection on the parked car

drinking water from the bathroom sink
this cheap hotel room
and my six-pack of beer

the city at dusk
illuminated
by rattling trains and trams

so many people
with things to do
- I watch them

the autumn leaves,
in the front yard
like sunburnt vomit

a familiar stranger
sits next to me
- we smile and nod

stop for a beer
after work -
she's waiting for me

the writer's pen
inks his jacket -
like a smudged tattoo

the city at dusk,
so many buildings -
what are they doing?

cold at the bar, all day!
i look left and right,
and put on my beanie

inner city tree -
you've lived such
a cosmopolitan life

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

some strange, strange dreams
knocking me out - unconscious
disrupting my insomnia
no greys between my sun and moon
so much detail behind so many strange, strange dreams
im stuck and twisted in blankets
in twisted dreams
i'm always late
i must be insane by now
with a sleepy moan
i return from the space-stars
back to earth
no proof to suggest
today isn't the first day in existence
and everything else, just implanted into our so called
memories
maybe i've just been sent here for today
by my other world
by my home
to do something today
and im just borrowing this body for fifteen-hours
to come to work
do my thing
ignore everyone around me throughout the day
but in doing so
somehow set everything right
by writing this
back on track and moving towards their inevitable once again
god's work
and when i return to sleep tonight
i'll return to my home world
wherever or whatever
that may be
and tomorrow morning
simon lawlor will wake up again
without me inside him
and tomorrow, i'll wake up as someone else
somewhere else
and live their life for a day
live it naturally
and in doing so fix what they don't realise to be broken and wrong
im just a spirit who drifts from one person to the next
transported through dreams
to make this world right
to nudge and bump you all
back into your sad-little lives
thats what make's me god
i drift in and out of everyone
one person at a time
and orchestrate this infinite madness
through all the absurdity
trying to drive it all into some kind of meaning
i try not to waste your time
and in turn, in doing so
i give the whole shithouse a sense of meaning
so tonight, as i go to sleep as simon lawlor,
i will say goodbye to all his friends and loved ones
and he himself
i will thank lady-elle for another amazing dinner
as he does
i will go for a run and enjoy the pain he suffers
as he does
and go to sleep deeply
as he does
and dream myself into someone else tomorrow morning
and live their life
and do what comes naturally
simon's a good guy, really
i know he means well, at least
he just sometimes struggles with the life you all share with him
he sees a lot of truth in this world
and therefore the absurdity can frustrate
and break him apart
he's a good guy
and never wants to hurt any of you
that, im sure
anyway, im sure i'll see him again
but tomorrow morning i'll be guiding someone else
and simon lawlor will mean nothing to me
at the slight, slight chance i do encounter him again
i'm sure existence has some instinctive way of reminding
and connecting us
that we were both once touched by god simultaneously
an unknown
unquestionable connection between two people
mutually accepted
before moving on

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

i have nothing to argue about - i am wise to my head mutterings and more often than not, accept them for what they are - and when i don't, when i take them up to the country town dance hall all late tuesday night, and admit my faults and mistakes the only way you can outside a country town dance all early on a wednesday morning - the cold morning air at first taste, as the black sky becomes dark blue and the miserable birds sing their songs, unaware of just how fucking hot it's going to get later on - up above, a young woman reads a book entitled "lonely planet" as the man next to her drinks a scotch and coke and imagines having sex with her - especially cunnilingus - she's flying away and reading up on far off distant lands, and thinking about how she's going to describe it to all her friends and co-workers - she better be quick - she's only got two weeks holiday, and two minutes before he makes his move

i leave the town at dawn, leave massive amounts of evidence of my visit behind - graffiti, annotated library books, tampered newspapers, murder scenes - every tree i pass by is dead or dying - long flaking branches block ever path i dare to take - some stretching seven, eight, ten kilometres in length - silences makes memories scream, but this sounded much like a nightmare to me - screaming winds and the trees, i swear, the laughed at me as they collapsed, succumbing to their torture

down below, the ants and grubs and creepy-crawlies make this world one ball-mass of rotting spaghetti sex, death and the endless instinctive drive towards self-preservation - to be remembered by the following fools - to be remembered by idiots - i only want to be remembered by the people i love, admire, and kill - i only want to love the dead and speak to them - hear from them and learn - i have nothing to argue for the dead speak to me, they speak for me - nothing wins against death - no word play, no confidence - empowered by a slack shrug of the shoulders, a laugh in the form of a quick breath out of the nostrils - and a turn and meander as i move on into the true, actual, realistic void

eventually a man appears out of the absurdity - sitting surrounded by the dead autumn oranges, reds and yellows - he has a large bulky army jacket on - worn and holy, the jacket looks older than i am - he however has no-one to pass his bottle to
"hello"
"hello"
"what are you doing?"
"i'm not doing"
"hello"

seagulls soon, somehow too delicate to be scavenges - that is until they transform, melt their innocence in kaars and korws - my heart beats itself to death - a phone call from home reminds me of myself at this very moment, having long forgotten where i came from and why i was brought into this life

she pushes her face against the glass screen, like violence without the violence before a crowd of thousands - phones ring constantly from thousands of different phones - judgement day is her primetime profession - the fat, the ugly, the simple, the stupid - consumed by thought free lifestyles - blind to the manipulation that has devoured their whole existence, and obliviously the carry on with their lives

perhaps i should've told him - perhaps i should've offered some help - his bottle is now long-gone-and-empty and his existence a distance memory waiting patiently on death-row - his last meal was a needle in the arm - his first meal much the same - i take a look at the world around me, knowing from here on in, he'll have no idea what's going on - if his mother was to die tomorrow, he'll be none-the-wiser - his death propels my life into importance like a meteor feeling first friction against my atmosphere - adrenalin pumps like sex through my body and im charged and laughing in giant leaps and glides that make - great - time - the stars drip and smear as my speed, my awareness slows this world down

but nothing can ever last for such a small amount of time - squatting like my brothers in evolution, my fire burns a dull slow burn, and im slowly drifted inwards into a sad realisation that it wasn't a meteor at all - it never was - instead of my grand life and times, it was nothing but a falling, crashing, flaming aeroplane the whole time - falling slowly to earth - i just never knew it - i just never noticed

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

anonymous, he walks home after another forgettable and uneventful day - the sun hadn't set, but it being the deepest winter in years the sky had suddenly morphed from it's predictable dark grey to a sudden black and night - wet underfoot, he still took the short cut through the local park feeling safe in the knowledge his leather boots would keep his feet dry - the crunch and slush of the dirt path and gravel underfoot comforted him, along with the knowledge he had some soup ready to warm up once he arrived home - the blinding yellow, orange and red lights of wet-weather peak hour traffic were now nothing but smudges against the mist and fog from somewhere behind the trees.

the park was silent except for the drip drip dripping of the saturated trees and leaves, weeping with the day's rain and the night's mist - if there was anything, or anyone, lurking in the bushes and trees at surrounded him, he was oblivious - quietly thinking his way through his own internal world.

drifting around a bend in the path, he saw what looked like a large fallen branch lying across the path - it had been a couple of days since he'd walked the path, so there was no real concern or suspicion - a black lump around the curve - watching it as he approached, he thought he saw it move, but assumed it was his mind trying to scare him - he lived alone - and he saw it twitch, roll, and sit up

startled, he stopped - it was a young man dressed in black - a black leather jacket - from the corner of his eye he saw a possum bolting through the grass and clawing it's way up a large tree - the young man stood up, taking big breaths of air, and dug his hands into the leather jackets pockets - "what the fuck are you doing here, huh?" - the possum watched from above - "no, nothing, sorry, im just walking home"
"what the fuck, huh? what are you doing here?" he begun walking closer, his hands still deep in his pockets
"im just walking home, please"
"pay a toll or some shit, give us ya wallet"
"please, i don't have much money."
"give me ya wallet motherfucker"
he punched him in the stomach - the click of his ring connecting with a button on his jacket - falling to the ground and splashing into the flooded gravel path

moaning like mourning mother - gasping for air like the buried alive - vision of actuality exploded in slow motion - the young man kicked him in the chest, despite a feeble attempt to protect himself with his hands - the final blow defeated all instincts he had to defend himself and so he lay beaten on the wet ground - the young man padded his pants and jacket pockets until he found the wallet, brown worn out leather, fat with useless receipts and faded movie tickets - ripping it the young man stuffs it down his pants - "now i know where you live bitch" - and with a stinging slap in the face, he ran away, sloshing his way down the path - still gasping for breath, his cheek freckled with wet gravel, he opens his eyes, nice and wide, only to see the possum still clawing to the tree, looking down at him, staring at him - eyes wider - weak - his mind is thrashed with a lifetime of degrading and humiliating memories that he can't shake - painting his thoughts a sour red - he begins to cry - his tears stingily warm against his face - he rolls onto his back - lying flat across the gravel path like a fallen branch from the trees weeping with the day's rain and the night's mist

***

sniffles
folds the newspaper
one last cup of coffee
before the last time
before it's time to wake up
follow the leader
in sexy whips and chains
follow the leader
games children play
as the grown ups watch the ocean
turn around
up-side-down
a distant heartbeat
causing the waves
to crash and burn
louder at night
as we try and sleep
the same waves crashed
millions and millions
of years ago
the same heart beat
beats us to death

all the thoughts
behind a dinner party
behind the conversations
behind the hugs and kisses
rolled up and delivered
in a simple tablet
take once a day before a bottle of red wine
side-by-side effects
instant madness
inescapable thoughts
complete loss of mental and physical control
should not affect speech
painful truths
realisations
loss of love and affection
may experience sense of utter loneliness
participant may in fact drift through void for an eternity
taking more than one tablet a day
unknown

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

he's the bushy man in a suburban pub - he's got no-one to drink with, so he smokes outside alone - the condom machine graffiti reads - packets hide, check inside - there are no women in sight, not on this side of the bar anyway - two weeks ago, someone's wife commits suicide - it's been raining so i find a seat by the open fire - my jumper is too hot, but im too cold without it - i see an old local man play pool against a young asain girl - he wins and so they play again - no-one enjoys themselves - it's a sunday so the beers are having no affect - there is an uneasiness that swirls warmly around the bar as we all know the young girl pouring beers behind the bar is young enough to be someone's daughter - i zone out as much as i can - horse-races are called through a prison of crackle and static on the dusty old radio belonging to the old man sitting next to me - his name is dusty - i don't think he's even listening to the call, just enjoying his beer by blankly staring deep into the bar-mat - before an even younger girl hands me the sandwich i ordered on a plate - it looks better than i expect - a retarded boy collects the empty glasses from my table and i order another - outside i see the rain and the trees down and drenched the empty car-park - a cacophony of wind rain creating natural random dances - we're waiting around to die, i think to myself - all too gutless to live, all too gutless to die

rain stained mail - typed letters typed by computers themselves informing everyone of just how much money they owe to a name - so much demand

i find some crystals - just enough to turn the oceans into jelly, volcano spewing lamb gravy, the chunks that somehow dodged the lava tumble into dust and powder - most deadly to the civilians - one plastic world, wobbling as one plastic world - everyone works together to make sure that wars don't begin due to an unexpected "unbalancing" - a still silent world bobbing about it's business, smoking and drinking alone, oblivious to the billions of fearful cancer-cells that hide and wait, hoping they will survive this era of existence

***

later i walk inside and smell dinner is cooking - who won the footy? - another week of finding money in the most absurd places dawns on me, being another sunday night - televisions left on, their light warm family entertainment nauseating me - i sit on the couch, struggling to shrug the need to re-read a certain book just because and ever since a close friend asked to borrow it - dim lounge room lights, they make me sleepy - another sunday beer does nothing - i lie down and stare at the walls and ceiling - to hell if i even knew it - hours of thought spawn from blank lounge room walls and dim-lounge room lights - sunday evening and their last minute beers

he arrives home later, and im asleep at this time, despite the fact i had no idea what the time was - look what i found - he is angling a large piece of glass through the loungeroom door - i focus through my sleepy-fuzz - what have you got? - it's large broken piece of glass - he's already cut his hand on it at least once as i can see the unmistakable violent red has dabbled itself over a quarter of the glass like the hand-print of a blood-soaked skeleton - i catch a glimpse of myself in the glass, before i realise it's not broken glass at all, but in fact a large a broken mirror

he places it in the corner in the room, not before spilling some more blood on the floorboards and walls - where did you find it? - we both look into the mirror, angled just so we can't see ourselves, but only each other - it's somehow been cracked and broken in the most perfect shape a broken mirror can be - even the blood seems to have streaked, dabbed and smudged all in the right places - it's edges, short sharp, long straight, curved and smooth, all in corners and places and directions that seem simply perfect and make perfect sense for a broken mirror - he stares into my eyes but i ignore them - his are filled with pride and achievement, im sure - mine, i can only assume, are filled with admiration of such a perfect result that was thrown to chance - i care not for the reflection, only for the beauty and divinity of the edges and curves and the blood of my friend - such perfection not meant for existence but only for twitching minds and a warped sense of time and space - a paradox to stain life as we knew it

it would make a perfect wedding present, if i was ever to get married - with the sense he was still staring at me through the reflection he was given, i ask if we know anyone who is getting married anytime soon - it's forgotten, and we both agree to nail it to the wall as is - half the dusty lounge-room wall now nothing but cracks, sharps, blood, and my vision of holiness

three years later and im engaged - living in her house, but living my life all the same - all the same, nothing has changed - and she's wonderful - i went to visit him maybe two weeks ago - he still has the mirror and still stares at my reflection whenever he gets the chance - i ask if he's ever thought of changing it, if he's ever wanted something different to stare at - he says he's never really thought of it before and that he didn't really care, and i believe him - we laugh at the fact that im actually engaged and he offers me the mirror as a wedding present - i decline but pat him on the back as a sign that i appreciate the offer - we share a couple of beers and promise to catch up again soon - we shake hands and i start my walk home in the mist and fog, red, orange and yellow of autumn - wiping the blood off my hands, i think myself as the luckiest man on earth, and carry on with my life

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

the dust and syrup were still clinging to my mind and sleep, but somehow i knew Elle had already gotten up to get ready for work - movement and professional-shoe footsteps on the floorboards up and down the hall - i'd worked out it was saturday morning, so i snug deeper to rest until i felt right

i was asleep when she came in saying "i need your help" - in asking what was wrong Elle told me a possum had committed suicide behind her car - "just roll over it, i'll clean it up later" i said as i snug down again - she painted a picture that portrayed the possum carcus directly behind the back wheel of her car, and if she was to roll over it, the effort to clean it up would be monumental, not to mention traumatising.

it felt good to get my limbs going again as i put on some tracksuit pants and stumbled down the hallway to take a look at the problem - the morning air was cold on my skinny bare hairless chest, and the sight of the lifeless possum, lying on it's side with a small splurt of blood coming from it's open mouth woke me up pretty quickly.Elle had the shovel ready and handed it to me as i stepped out the front door - "what do we do with it?" i asked, liking the idea of finding a spot to bury it, and liking the idea of digging a grave - i don't know why but we had the sad idea to put it in the rubbish bin - Elle had drapped a large plastic bag over the opening of the bin, so all i had to do was hoist the possum up with the shovel and tip it in - i regret not digging a grave

so i started trying to slip the shovel under the body - prodding and shifting and trying to find some leverige - it was at this point one of our neighbours stepped outside to pick up the newspaper or some shit, and so he was gifted with the sight of me working this possum carcass with a shovel wearing nothing but a pair of tracksuit pants at eight on a perfect saturday afternoon - seeing me shirtless wasn't something he hadn't involuntarily seen before, but digging at a dead possum was something new, and different.

i couldn't get it - the jelly-like layer of fat that possums - apparently - have under their thick fur made it difficult to get the shovel underneath - not to mention the instinctive hee-bee-jee-bees that comes along when dealing with a dead body of any kind. we were both cringing at each attempt i made, but the poor thing was just nudged and prodded like a sleeping father on christmas morning

team work deals with the dead quite efficiently - Elle picked up another shovel and together we were able to move it onto the shovel i was holding - kind of like eating peas, or spaghetti - as quick as possible i dumped the body into the plastic bag that then fell into the rubbish bin - lid slammed shut, and it was time for Elle to head off to work.

by the time our neighbour had returned holding a newspaper (or some shit) i was spending some time cleaning up the blood off the two shovels - good morning.

that day i walked down to the local bakery to buy some lunch. i packed my stuff and went to the football with my friend and brother. later that night i went to another friends place to drink some beers and play poker. all this time i was haunted by the dead possum that lay lifeless, in a plastic bag in my bin, never to be seen again. rubbish night was two nights away, and it's presence didn't really leave me - every time i walked past the bin, i knew that there was lifeless body two nights away from entering the void - in an effect to prolong it's existance, i imagined what would happen to it as the rubbish-collection truck took it away - but i couldn't let myself think too far down that path

after telling the story, my brother suggested that i should've just kicked it away. kicked it aside and moved on with my day. go bombers.

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

neon lights and petrol stations - rain and roads and the slash as cars drive by, one by one - the indescribable misery one feels when it's abnormally darker outside than usual - the loneliness of a tired saturday night - thursday's temptation - the imagined whinning of a possible bedroom mosquito - the thoughts of fish - the confusion of nocturnal animals - the invisible growth of suburban trees - the left-overs of a family-dinner you missed - the dancing curtains on windy afternoons - a coincidence mutually agreed to be best left unsaid - your best friend's favourite song - your memory - the way a young man wears his uniform after work - a nice tie - your mum's life - your fear of death - the comfortable itchiness of a woolen jumper - the predictable daily rotation of earth - your next-door neighbour's perfect dive into a backyard swimming pool - the silence of a peak-hour train - the possibility of life on other planets - the moon's effect on the ebb and flow of the tides - this beach one billion years ago - the formation and wobble of green jelly - plants and shadows - a newspaper delivery - your effect on everyone around you - the instinct of insects - being alone in a room somewhere - using someone else's toilet - skimming randomly through a newspaper - the disappointment of sleeping in - a restless tongue - the tolerated snoring of a loved-one - the right place, at the right time - eavesdropping - burning firewood - making good time - a welcome light - a clean shave - useful tools and a job-well done - dreams and hypothetical riches - the fractiousness of a grandmother's kitchen - the static and crackle of am radio - the lazy drift of clouds - the realisation that it's not raining anymore - an anticipated phone-call - a warm scarf with a tough jacket - soup - a comfortable silence matched with a mutual appreciation - the well grooved folds of a second-hand newspaper - meeting your friend's new boyfriend - riding a bike, nice and slow - one thousand butterflies - a two dollar coin surrounded by fifty and twenty cent coins - sitting at the bar, a long long way from home - feeling happy and listening to the blues - leaving for the airport at four in the morning - arriving at the train station and seeing that you have a 3 minute wait - a quick bite to eat on the street as people walk by oblivious to you and your lunch - seeing someone you know on the street, and deciding to let them go and leave them be - the second after you wake up, realising it's saturday - going to bed completely exhuasted - the slow cold stare of a tree-high possom as you arrive home late at night - good news on the news on the news as you eat dinner on the couch - the song you'd forgotten about on your favourite album that you hadn't listened to in years - a bottle of expensive champagne, shared, enjoyed and drunk, for no reason whatsoever - a lift home with a friend of a friend - drifting in and out of sleep on the couch in a gentle fog of confusion - mindless scribllings on scrap paper as you talk on the phone to someone you see every day - hearing someone talk in their sleep - the simple happiness of household pets - the smell of sunshine and beer inside a local pub - buying rounds - the empty promises of best friends - a passing comment you adapt into life-long advice - pulling up a chair - the homely stains on the carpet