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

tiki torches? - jesus christ

 it was a friday night, so so-what?

nothing made sense

so it made sense to go out alone

just the two of them

man, shit - one of them sighed on the couch

yeah, it’s alright - the other one said, sipping a beer at the table

1 - i really, can’t be bothered

2 - yeah, i know, but what else are we gonna do?

1- talk about how much i need to sleep, until it’s dawn

2 - that comes a little too close to complaining about your job

1 - you’re right - let’s go

one wore a tight denim jacket, the other, a workers coat

they drank as they walked down the quiet streets

for the first time that day

they both experienced some sort of real, true, peace

a simple silence

however the sound of their boots walking in winter

and their inconspicuous conversation

only just went unnoticed to the warm, rich houses

somewhere down the driveways

i really don’t care - one of them said

me neither - said the other

a couple of late-workers walked by

on their way home after another late night

alright - one of them said, as they stood before the only bar they could

hello and welcome! - the guy wearing an apron said to them at the door

hey, just a table for us thanks man - one of them said

most certainly, follow me guys, and let’s do this - he said

jesus christ - one whispered to the other

waiter - alright guys, so you looking to settle in, or just have a couple of drinks?

1 - ah, whatever, just a couple drinks

waiter - you bet, i’ll just grab some water for you, happy with tap?

2- ok

waiter - you betcha dude...so tonight we’ve got a great south kempland cab sauv that just melts with the autumn -taught-meatballs that have on special tonight - the beef is locally sourced from a farmer who grew up blind actually…

they both shrunk a little and stared at either the salt or pepper shakers, waiting for the waiter to stop his spiel - neither of them really wanted to see the way he moved his hands as he spoke - moving them in such a warm, soft and comforting way - emphasising texture and comfort - the same way car-salespeople, youth-councillors,  and false-prophets and preachers do

this isn’t a fucking cafe, is it? - one of them thought

2- mate, we’ll just have a couple of beers i reckon

waiter - beers? sure thing guys sounds good on a friday night, doesn’t it?

2 - yeah, carlton draught, thank you

waiter - nicely done indeed, two carltons…

1 - make it two each actually, we’ll save you the effort

waiter - okay then

that was the last they heard from the waiter

after some wait, the four beers came

though hardly a word was said when they did

2- this place… what is it?

1- a place for real-estate agents to come to after work

2- yeah, and for them to cut loose

1 - and stop being fucking pricks for two hours a week

2- those meatballs will do that do you

1 - they should order four serves

outside the window, they could see the passers by walking

an elderly lady with a pusher moved along

she stopped, moved down slowly to pick something up

she had both their attentions by now

it was a ten-dollar note she was picking up

nice one - one of them said

the other gave her a small nod from the window

she smiled and carried on

1 - doesn’t it bother you that “common sense” is just that? - So common, general, and bloody obvious?

2- it bothers me that the “general public” allow themselves to be degraded with such a demeaning label

1- yeah

2- ithe “general public” - i mean why not the “left over filth in that putrid scum-puddle”?

1- they refer to themselves as “us-normal-people”

2- “us-ordinarly-folk”

1- “us-simple-folk”

2-…jesus

1- they are defeated so easily and they don’t care

2- they don’t know it

1- they know it, and they fucking love it

2 - are they sun-baking or are they dead?

1 - exactly

2 - an advanced child is one who has their imagination repressed by the age of two

1 - that should set them up quite comfortably 

2 - better than him

1- whoa - check him out - he looks like he drives a car he thinks impresses people

2 - or wants to impress people

1 - what was it lou reed sung? who really needs a 60 thousand dollar car?

2 - he looks like he’s stumbled across some designer-jeans ad in a magazine somewhere, and thought to himself, i wanna be like that guy - i wanna be him

1 - yeah, as he sucked in his stomach as he stepped out of the shower

2 - i can see his lotions from here

1 - i can smell them

2 - that’s the eclectic-meatballs everyone is ordering

a ridden vibration, rough or smooth, took its time to expand a vision from a cloudy childhood - all memories are cloudy, and childhood is dreamlike - the immense size of suns and stars - the beautiful cold and moving distance between them all - to stream at speed - to move freely, up and down, as a spirit, free from a human or earlthy connection - to expand and move - a complete connection with the natural universe - it stings the human mind at it’s best - the human mind, the human being at it’s worst? it can’t be so

one of them said - it’s like the human race has gone from climbing everest, to walking on the moon, back to running a marathon, 

the other said - and then to reading a book

1 - i know, a full book?

2 - what's next?

1 - taking a walk, i guess

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

i stretched my hamstrings as a cheap australian drama droned on the tv the background - someone loves someone - things shouldn’t be so complicated, i thought to myself - it was cold and dark outside, but i didn’t mind - i was used to it - you see, im the weirdo in the dark jacket who walked the streets at night - i am the reason you’re needlessly afraid to walk home at night— but no - not me - i’m harmless

as i opened the front door, a charge of cold air filled my lungs and stung my body - i run old school - short shorts, light singlet, digital watch - i run ten kilometres every night - strangely, i can’t sleep without it - i pushed through the first step, and begun my stride - light and smooth - up and down the suburban streets - the black night and gold street lights providing just enough to give me a sense of where it is i am, and where im going

i smell the warm curry dinners cooking - i smell the woodfires burning - i sense the soup - every now and again, i get a glimpse of the fuzzy neon blue as families watch their cheap australian dramas - there is a great feeling of satisfaction runners like myself experience - its the pumping speed of your legs and the muscles that fuel them, against the calm flow, the patiences and control of the air in your lungs - in, and out, slowly, while your legs move and act like mad-men on the loose, after years in the hole - but nah, there’s nothing going on here - there’s nothing crazy about me

i’ve been chased by dogs - swooped by birds and attacked by ducks - i’ve been spooked by possums, and sure, i’ve done my share of spooking too - i’ve had near misses and close calls - ive given sweet-girl-p-platers stern shakes of the head as they run their red-lights - i’ve puked outside a church, as an alcoholics-anonymous meeting came to a close - i hear the yells from passing cars - some complimentary, most not - i’ve seen it all, while you were sleeping

though there wasn’t much to that night - a lazy moon somewhere, some fading stars struggling against the clouds - i felt good, though i’d be lying if i didnt admit to feeling a little nervous - it was wednesday night, and with each turn, left or right, i was jolted with a thrill knowing i was getting closer - i was on my way - i was heading in the right direction

her house was down a dark tree-lined street, and it was bin night — shrubs and bushes lined her driveway - as i stopped before it, i felt the sweat on my face and shoulders cool and chill - my breath filled the air in front of me, as i walked up the driveway as if i owned the place - its the only way - my nerves held my breath, but i so desperately wanted to breathe - i wanted to breathe the same air she breathes - but for that, i’d have to wait

upon nearing the back gate, i noticed a car lighting up the dark street behind me - knowing the best reaction was to stay calm, i casually opened the back gate and entered the backyard - i thought i’d blown it - i prepared myself to bolt and run away - over the neighbours fence, through their garage and back out onto the opposite street, just as i had seen and planned on google-maps, in case of a situation like this - i waited for the call and question, but nothing came - i crouched in the darkness behind a small tree in the backyard, and turned around to see a young man, delivering a pizza

i heard his knock on the door, and i heard the quick muffled footsteps inside move towards answering it - hearing her movements warmed me - pizza night, i thought to myself, relieved, but still shaken with stiff nerves - no matter how much i strained, i couldn’t hear their exchange - i so desperately wanted to know what kind of pizza she ordered - my head lowered, my eyes closed, but i couldn’t make it out - margarita perhaps? supreme maybe - definitely not bbq-chicken - eventually i settled, thinking margarita made sense - that was her favourite, i could tell - spiced and scented herbs - with a loud thank-you and see-ya later, the pizza-guy stomped back to his car, reversed out the driveway, and drove away - leaving us alone

i swiftly moved to a more secluded bush - the light from the kitchen window lit the backyard up in dim shades - i could barely make out what was in front of me, but that was how i liked it - the element of surprise

the clothes-line was perhaps four meters away from my sanctum, exposed in the centre of the backyard - as though it were on display - parading - a cool night breeze passed over it’s treasures - i watched their movements and took a deep breath - it was fully loaded - i had planned this well, and felt a sense of pride - i took my moment, and i soaked it up - as if moving on instinct alone, i dashed from my leafy den and took to the clothesline - my altar -  my holy grail - my goddess

i pulled out the plastic zip-lock bag from the back of my shorts as i crept - standing up amongst the shirts, skirts and tea-towels, i found myself surrounded by an intoxicating cloud of underpants - bonds were her favourite - i could tell - while i was in the opportunity to gather many pairs, i practised discipline, and snatched the one pair of black bonds with a small pink pattern, and snuffed them into the small plastic bag, fumbling a little as i zip-locked them up

stuffing the bag back down my shorts, i noticed from the corner of my wide eyes, a temptation too strong to ignore - the matching bra - it dangled loosely by one of the straps, the night air moving it gently - dare i? - it would raise suspicion, im sure, but the feeling of recklessness was too strong, and it excited me - so i took it to some next-level-shit

as i tried to calm myself and prepare for the casual walk back to the street, i noticed the shades and shadows morph and move across the grass - from my hiding spot, i looked back towards the house and saw her standing before the kitchen window - she posed, pouted and turned a little, looking at her reflection in the window - she chewed a piece of the pizza slice that she held in her hand - i still couldn’t make out what type it was, but i was determined to find out - i watched her and felt my soul warm and sweeten - she wore the perfect pizza-night pony tail, and a loose fitting shirt - i wondered and imagined hard, thinking about what type of underwear she was wearing that night   at that very moment— though no matter how hard i tried, i couldn’t work it out - i gave up - those will have to wait

arriving home, i stopped my watch and saw that i ran a pretty good time - not surprising, i guess - 4min 40second kilometres over 10km -  inside the heater felt too warm - on the tv a young woman sat on a couch, being consoled by a woman i assumed was her mother - some kind of heart-break i guess

“good run?” my wife asked, sipping on her glass of wine, sitting on the couch

“It was actually - pretty good time - freezing out there though” - i sat down and begun to stretch my legs out - the plastic bag in my shorts made a slight sound, but nothing noticeable

“it’s even freezing in here! i can’t believe you went out tonight” - she had a blanket wrapped around her

“i’m starving” i said - “have we got anything for dinner?”

“there’s some left of lasagne if you want it.”

“nah” i said, standing up to stretch out my calves “lets order a pizza”

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

the eternal fucking sadness of a lonesome highschool girl, sitting on a train

its like they’re realising the burden of their gender

due to modern-day-fuckwit men

staring at them from the distant corner

of their crowed-feet-eyes

i think im missing out on all those weird, yet essential, pre-sleep thoughts and visions that may be vital to a healthy human, being - those thoughts that came to people like paul mccartney - but im alseep within a minute of going to bed - i guess i just have those thoughts while lying on the couch watching repeats of the Wire and Breaking Bad

Food for thought - You can’t hide booze in a tight fitting jacket

my latest regret is not eating a piece of birthday cake at my daughters first birthday - at least i didn’t on the day of her party - i just sipped on my beers and allowed everyone else drag her away from me, as though i'd recently watch the new kurt cobain documentary

my other recent regret is one i found after mapping-out a new running route - it went by my old bus stop, the one i walked to when i was always fucking sick on my way to high-school every morning

anyway, before and after, a girl younger than i used to sit at the bus stop and her grandfather used to walk with her and sit with her every morning - he used to talk with her, ask her about what she was doing, being interesting and ultimately give her a…mighty grandpa wave… as her private school bus took off somewhere down towards canterbury, or somewhere up the mountains - he was always so nice to me, and i was at the fucking peak of my teen self-loathing-content-teen-misery - i had no reason to give this old man attitude each morning, other than it was seven-am and i was a fuck-wit teen listening to the cure, or the REM songs that took themselvse too seriously - i was a real prick to that man, and he didn’t deserve it - i was fucking cold - i now run by that bus-stop and imagine his grand-daughter is probably quite switched on, and living happy - i hope he is still alive as i write this - it may soothe some regret i’m stabbed with every time i run past that bus-stop - but probably not - as i always say, you shouldn’t trust anyone who doesnt have any regrets - they are either lying to you, or fucking boring

behind my mind, somewhere happily lost, floats a void heavy with time and history - everything all together all at once - it beams and pulses, powered by it’s own existence - every time we meet, they collide, creating our encounters as they appear to us - significant, only if we don’t think about it too much - people stare, and people talk - i see them from my hiding spot - walking hand in hand through a pointless life - reading newspapers and talking about it - drinking coffee and enjoying the sunshine whenever they can - i retreat to my sanctum, drinking myself through another day - cars moving around - i can’t believe so many people have so much to do - it’s not possible, not really - the pressure we put on ourselves to spend this time and serve this life as best as possible is tiresome - fuck the sunshine - fuck my youth - i think, therefore i am delusional, deranged - Thoughts unsound - The truth is filthy, and natural - the meaning of life is grotesque - if we were to all leave, walk away, what would be have accomplished? - a couple of sky-scrapers and a whole lot of torture, masked a couple of cheap scented candles - rough sex, start a fire - the poets are angry and knocking on your door, and it’s too late - there is nothing we can do, despite the fact every action we take changes everything forever - and if that’s the case, what are the chances we’ll get it right? - giving up is easy, and the right thing to do - lie down, take to the sky and contemplate it - drown all your aspirations in a sea of doubt and despair - the simplest answer i can give you is that it’s okay to be sad, and it makes sense to be so -  there was the captain, drinking with the band as the ship sunk to the depths of hell - one of them anyway - this fucking mirage - bells and wolf-whistles to a whispered generation

oh warm snug - where are you most of the time? - once in a while, in head, sauce, body and soul - something to live for - sports commentors are history makers and sports followers are the war makers 

a man in his late thirties reading a book entitled "the balkans"

a high school girl sitting alone on her phone

and me -

im somewhere in the middle

and i finally fit in perfectly

how did i get into heroin on my birthday? probably having nothing to do on it, and trying to find something significant

there is one lost art in music-collection that gets forgotten - going into the store, buying a cd, and opening it outside the store, putting it in your discman and walking home - thats how i first heard the dirty three - debut album

The Harold and Maude soundtrack must be one of the most perfectly compiled albums of all time - I remember listening to a lot of Cat Stevens, and most likely the Harold and Maude soundtrack, during the increasingly boozey weekends spent while living alone - It was during these weekends I found myself thinking more and more about getting married, which eventually i did - My window was open at all times of the day - The air was always so cold inside - I layered myself with blankets and madness - Kept strange hours and wandered my room until something presented itself - A book, an album, a weird-movie, a thought – Years later, I heard the vile words of a postie who's bike had tipped over and scrambled the mail he was to deliver that day - Rarely had i heard such cursing preceding such anger - Everyday was overcast, but it never rained - These people would follow me home, and i swear i saw a gun resting on somebodies brick fence, but i chose to ignore it - I always get a little thrill out of seeing familiar places on the news - A little old lady went missing down the road from here I live - Concerns her dementia led her into the nearby lake, I guess – I’ve slept out there myself – Walking, wandering, meandering, rambling – Finding myself here or there – I slept as the possums echoed through the trees – Small branches and large twigs, stretches of bark falling to the ground, breaking a silent night wide-open – You may find it surprising that ducks are quite nocturnal as well – Ducks are night-owls, good friends at least

We walked into a dumpling café/restaurant – we had been there plenty of times before – it’s surrounded by plenty of others like it, though this one is small and less flashy, less neon and less popular than the rest – but it’s cool –we’ve formed a small sort of tradition out of the place – late Sunday lunch – stop off at the bottle shop a couple of doors down and come out with a couple of ginger-beers in a brown plastic bag – anyway, we walk in and sit down and the first thing I see is a young girl in tears – she is sitting opposite a young man with long black muso-hair – he looks like the gentle kind of outsider – he is holding her hand and remaining silent – simply allowing her to cry – it’s hard not to stare, and I don’t – when they did come into my line of sight, I didn’t get the feeling they were breaking up– I thought maybe it was a death, but I couldn’t be sure – I couldn’t imagine either of them were enjoying their dumplings, and inside my mind I was pleading for the young guy to insist they leave, so he could get her somewhere more comfortable – yet they just remained – her tears falling over her red face, his hair hiding half of pale face painted with concern – eventually the young man asked the old waiter for their food to be packaged to go – the girl insisted on paying for their meal, and so the young man waited and stood near our table, holding the remains of their failed lunch in a weak plastic bag – we had our kid with us, and being so inquisitive by nature, she sat and stared directly at the young man waiting beside our table – she was unwavering – the young man gave her a small baby-wave, which brought a smile to my face – I gave him a quiet discrete nod, which I think he appreciated – I felt a sense of respect for this young guy – sticking it out with this girl in such a miserable state – in public, and he didn’t care – more news of the earthquake in nepal spewed onto the news later that day – the focus of the story confused somewhere between the 2500+ people killed in Kathmandu, and a handful of Australians who may have lost their lives in a related avalanche on everest – I couldn’t help but think about my time in Nepal and all the crackly and loose buildings throughout it, and how little it would’ve taken for them to collapse – let alone a 7 plus pointer on the richter scale

The answer to all the problems in this world is an easy one – basic, and could probably be summed up in one word (by someone more articulate than myself) – the one main problem with the world is that people are too far gone to recognise how simple the solution is, if we want it to be –people are too far hooked on their religions and politics and opinions and conflicts - john and yoko understood this – an alcohol low, the sun-rise –a greater understanding of the things that cause us to be outraged, and a greater awareness of how ridiculous those things are – wipe away this desire to simply prove people wrong and this desire to win, and help and educate and inform, peacefully – compete with no-one, and where did this idea of “attacking the day” come from? – our interaction with daily existence should resemble more of a lone-dance, or an afternoon nap, rather than attack

Raising a child is easy, except for when it comes to getting them to wear pants – Where does this aversion to pants come from? It’s like Wrestlemania trying to get those things on them - The best thing about raising a kid, so far, as been seeing her reaction and retaliation to the continual zerbitts/rasberries I give her on a nightly basis – Her retaliation consists of putting her mouth on my leg and screaming at it – It’s the best she can do

A messy-hair Monday morning

Sitting on a train,

Telling myself I’m a good person

2am, Sunday night

The television talks at me

-A bad influence

I imagine a catastrophic train-accident

Two trains colliding - maybe

And the subsequent carnage

What would happen and where would I end up?

I brace myself for a stabbing

A punch deep in the stomach

Every time I walk past two men 

Yeah, bigger and tougher than me

I sit down at a café and I imagine a sudden explosion

Ripping the street and store-fronts apart

A deafening blast and the screams and moans and panic that follow

I look forward to the day when a new warehouse opens up in an abandoned café.

When I read a book, I often shake my head in amazement over a certain phrase or sentence, but there is always this small sting that makes me think, I should’ve come up with that.

When I listen to music, I often shake my head in amazement thinking to myself, “How the fuck do they do this? How do you write something like that?”

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

the moon hangs

as a constant reminder

of how little he has done

with his life

and with the lives of others

he walks into a bar alone

and instantly becomes a philosopher

the world is one man closer to world peace

a little bit of shame

a little bit of regret

but no guilt

as each hour passes

and as people come and go

he becomes mad

insane

unsound

but it makes sense

and it’s a natural shift

and it’s a natural gift

he picks up a girl

and takes her home

she’s cute and wears a tshirt

after he kills her

he fixes himself some ice-cream

sprinkles milo on top

he hires a prostitute

and she finds the body of the dead girl

one second before he shoots himself in the head

_____

i scribbled some stuff down on the way to thailand - ten kilometers in the sky, one thousand kilomters per hour - all that stuff - i completely understand that germanairways-psycho-piolet situation - tempting fate, life and physics - pushing it all over the top in one act of complete insanity  - my thoughts become my words, written or spoken - thats how it works for me, sometimes - most of them most of the time they just remain thoughts

more and more though, i wake up on flights with a mild enjoyable sense of panic - i look at my feet and imagine how high up in the sky i am - sleepy and warm, and a little uncomfortable

im writing now because im confident i created a life changing moment for a 9month old girl - im her father, and i looked after her today - after she shat herself while i fed her some mush for lunch, we went for a walk - first we took the long way to the second hand record store near our place - i checked out some bowie, eno, necks, ravonettes, church, died pretty - but nothing for me to buy - she grizzled once for a little bit - i was taking too long i guess - we left and walked down to the lake - when we arrived and i lay down the blanket and unbuckled her from the pusher, the smiles and giggles bubbled warmly

it was a perfect afternoon and people were being so friendly to me, like that time i shaved my beard - i’ve know discovered that the child is the key - ive walked these streets for years, and gotten nothing but anonymity, which of course im quite happy with - however, now i have a daughter, im getting “Hi!” and “Hello!” and “Isn’t it a beautiful day?!” - Nothing has changed though - deep down i know it’s all for her

We stretched back in some shade - i fed her some more mush - but she was just happy smiling and giggling - the natural light brought out the impossible blue from her baby-eyes - i twisted open a beer and let her play with the portable speaker playing some sweet, deep psychedelic tunes - the shade, and the blue sky and the birds warming to our company - and i freaked myself out thinking about it all - how did i get here, sipping beers like this, looking after a little baby girl? - everyday i remind myself, im a father, but it doesn’t do a thing - what a strange way to wake up - i forgot to bring any toys, so we had to improvise - her water bottle, her spoon, my hat, my mobile phone - i sipped on more beer as an elderly couple shared some morning tea at a picnic table not far away - some heavy metal  love-birds passed by - the sun moved further behind the tress and we remained in the cool shade

walking home, i felt certain i’d created a life-altering moment for this little girl - some sweet sigur ros music playing at the point the golden  afternoon  meets dusk, walking down a street lined with heavy autumn trees - autumns first leafs blowing in the opposite direction to us - the golden sun guiding them, and warming our faces - i reach down and offered my hand to her, to see if she was okay - and all i recieved was a  soft and lazy finger-squeeze - it really seemed like she was amazed and really taken aback by a truly beautiful moment

____

there are three sides to ourselves - the person we know ourselves to be, and the person we’re trying to be, and the person we come across as to the rest of the world - any denial to this generates a blissfully ignorant type of happiness - a case of being fully aware, everyday, when looking at everyone, generates a sad misery, and a view of the human race and it’s collective intelligence going no-where, in a stagnant mustard sludge

_______

paranoia is the opiate of the masses - gotta be afraid of something in this life, otherwise we might all realise just how free and equal we really are - how one thought doesn’t cancel another’s - how one opinion may be yours, but doesn’t mean it’s right - how one suit doesn’t impress anyone - how one badge can get both shoved up ones arse, or stamped into the ground in a soup of vomit from a public drunkard - i see something i don’t recognise, i see something different - i have a choice - fear or intrigue - i choose neither, knowing there is a life before us all where new and different and unrecognisable things are in front us every single day - if it’s true that everyone and everybody is different and an individual, why do people make me so miserable?

walking down the street, i felt a sense of paranoia - i first walked past a friendly young man, who was unemployed - he was smoking a joint but smiled and said hello and wished me the best after sharing some haiku and discussing the new albums that our favourite bands had just released - i would’ve loved to have spoken longer, but he needed to go home for a nap and i was out for an early lunch/late breakfast - i took a shortcut through the local school - i saw a man walking his dog - i could only assume he was a pedophile, right? - sitting down outside the cafe a young family climbed out of a fwd - black and shiny, with bluetooth and sat-nav - behind me sat a man smoking a cigarette - he tried his best to ensure his smoke didn’t interfere with my meal, but i was too loud and drunk and obnoxious to even notice - later a couple of catholics were on their way to church and i saw them - but i thought nothing of it as their religion  doesn’t mean anything to me and they can do what they like - i finished my meal and walked home - i opened the windows and pulled myself a beer from the fridge - as i lay down on the couch, i removed my burqa and my essendon scarf and thought about the planet we live on and the natural environment that belongs to it and i worried myself to the soft jelly core of my soul

____

there is this man who wears a blue shirt, black jeans - he carries a backpack and sits with a perfect posture, like a mannequin waiting for bus - very serious - he sits in the same seat and stares blankly yet intensely into the invisible-vision before him - no book - no newspaper - no music - no phone - when he gets off the train he moves swiftly to another platform for his connecting train service, ill-shaped backpack over one shoulder - he stands and waits in the same position, with his arms folded for his next train

he does this every single time i see him - which is every day

blue and green should always be seen

if you’re walking amongst the trees in the summer time

i walked down this little path and there was a family feeding some ducks - i had a child with me, so i parked the pusher and took a seat, taking a drink of water - i thought how freaked out they would be if i was doing this without the child i had in the pusher with me - if i was just a man, sitting there, drinking water, watching their family feed ducks

a crystal crunched as the sun burst the morning clouds too lazy to get out of the vision that kept the sleepers dreaming - cellophane, tangerine and lemonade - these are the elements of surrender that keep the dreamers sleeping - give in, give up - the impossible thought of now wasting time - the impossible journey towards heaven giving the future far too much thought - a moment, then nothing, then sleep

central simple gentle gravity

mind and soul and false reality

your death-bed realisation

______

there are several things i love about the penguin-classic books- first of all, they are cheap, and cheap enough to buy with loose change - and then there are the times i buy i chicken salad roll and im bolting down the road scanning the prospects for a portal to gather cash - i spoil the party, as im not wearing a suit, holding a plastic box of sushi-rolls, nor a sense of purpose or self-righteousness  - they cover so many great stories and so many great novels - you put your penguin-classic into your back pocket, yet you are still at the same bar, the same restaurant, the same pho-bar, the same food-truck, the same point in life on earth, than everyone else - once you are done eating and drinking, you leave, and continue reading

penguin-classics, these days, have those orange-retro covers - they remind me of the authentic ones my mother still has in the family bookshelf - top shelf - after you finish reading one of these new-retro-penguin-classics for loose change, they end up looking like they are actual genuine penguin-classics - after a couple of weeks in the back-pocket, or stuffed in the back-pack behind the flash-drives and external-hard-drives and street-press, or in the palm of your hands that you only realise that you’ve got palmy-sweat when you sit down to chill-out and notice and orange tinge on your palms for no other reason than, oh yeah, im reading that book - by this time you’ve been hounded and scorned and questioned - all for simply having a book in your possession - yes, i am reading a book - and who the fuck is going to steal a book? - the best kept secret in every city in the world are the bars you can sit and drink and read in -  you wake up with a couple of penguin-classics scattered on your bedroom floor, lounge-room floor, kitchen floor, laundry floor, hallway floor, garage floor, toilet floor, ceiling floor, attic floor, basement floor, walk-in-wardrobe-floor, potential-nursery floor, sex-dungeon floor, front-yard floor… then you know you’ve had a good time in this town

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

I like how children mix soft drinks together - concoctions like fanta, lemonade, and creamy-soda - I do the same with soup, and call it minestrone

i see the sunset through the last dance of swaying trees - i see wind painted clouds morph like giant lava-lamps in the sky - i see two young teenagers, excited and blessed with each other’s friendship, walking home from a cd-store, holding copies of strange days by the doors, or disintegration by the cure, or horses by patti smith, and i know and understand and share their excitement - it’s a beautiful dusk

I’m trying my best to work out the exact time I took a deliberate step backwards - backing out any significant participation in the free-flowing world around me – studying philosophy really messed me up, but that took around four or five years to really take affect – the chronic push to see ridiculous movies wore me down to exhaustion eventually I guess, but that just led to my solo sessions, late on Tuesday nights, that I instantly grew fond of – I doubt my taste and love for music had anything to do with it – I don’t give a shit what anyone else listens too, and when I partake, there is no force or influence in the world that can, nor would want to, stand in the way of the events that take place in my misty mellow mind – perhaps the rush of phones stirred some upset – I hated seeing those I hold in high-regard succumbing to the quick fix and fast answers of google maps and urban spoons – though it was an oceanic force and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it – simply sit and wait till they’re done – I’ve leant to voice my opinion and let the issue go – it very rare to be able to change anyone’s mind these days - it’s never really my intention, but it should always be a possibility - far too often it’s not

so somewhere along the way I’ve stepped back from life – I’ve distanced myself from people – not my friends or family, or those people who are in my life for whatever reason – and not the copious number of cool people I encounter during my movements – but when it comes to people in general, and life when it presents itself, I take a step backward – part of it is due to a chronic disdain I have for people, generally speaking, and the life and world we’ve made and caused ourselves – and part of it stems from the lure and temptation I feel towards letting existence and time and chance (and ultimately truth) take place and unfold before my perspectives – I want to let people and let the world go, and i just want to see what happens

I know I can see the best and worst in every good and bad experience we share, and so I am not afraid – I honestly believe that at least one moment thinking of death at least once a day is a healthy thing – it teaches you to really appreciate everything and everyone around you, all the time – it will all end one day, and we simply can’t take a second for granted – isolation and mortal thoughts help you realise this

so where does this leave me? – walking to work this morning, I was struck with a very clear image of what my perspective looks and feels like – there is this movie called “almost famous” – there is a shot in this film where the boy-child-music-journalist is sitting on a hotel room bed, and he has a gang-lust of teenage-girl groupies dancing a circle around him in their underpants – he sits bewildered and amazed and shocked and excited, out of control in the hands of an ultimate beauty, as they ballet around him in soft-slow-motion – it’s that sense of bewilderment, amazement, shock and excitement that I feel every time I slowly step back from the world – alone with the world unfolding, revealing it’s strange truth, and dancing in it’s underpants, all around me

that’s the best I can do to explain why I am the way I am, and why i’m happy doing the things i do - thanks

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

everyday you waste
is a day of rest for the gods
every word i write
from now on in
will one day be read
by my baby daughter
what is my life now,
what are my thoughts now,
after hours?
it is to find the perfect song
for each and everyone i know
sleep all day
drink all night
and feel good
and dont worry
and be happy
- it’s easy
everyday you waste
is another easy day at work
for the check-out chick
the bar tender
the police officer
the bus driver
the tram driver
the doctor
the chain music store attendant
the librarians
the dudes at the bottle shop
the butchers
and girls at the cafe
but a wasted day
is a hard day
for the poets
the musos
the pizza delivery boys
the posties
the remaining few video store guys
the best friend you havent seen in ages but decide to call
the girls at the bottle-shop
i walk and wonder until i find myself
at home again
i eat a meal
it’s warm
it’s soup
i sleep
and wake up
i read
and i sleep again
when i wake up
i ask myself
when did such uncool things become so cool?
but i just shake my head
and turn to the old-timer sitting next to me
i nod, and take a sip of my beer
and endure the ccr playing through this shitty bar
but it’s okay

at five years old, she stands before a waterfall - the cliffs, high - the rocks, jagged - moss, everywhere - she stands in gumboots, red - they have spots, pink - gasing forth, he sees some water fall over it’s edge - a piece of water, she contemplates - a unit - how liquid morphs, and how it’s nothing without the other - it falls in slow motion, as she follows it down to the most cruel of crashes - a continuing splash of violence - her father calls her, and she turns around - her frame of thought dissipating as she does so - skipping playfully towards him, rain begins to fall - one drop falls sweetly on her lips as she giggles uncontrollably

she sits with a perfect posture - the type school boys see in those kinda-hot-type school teachers - she wore black, and that’s not to be mistaken with wearing it - her lips smacked with red lipstick, but she was the type to pull it off - and she read in peace, and turned a page in a way only the girls next door could - opposite her sat her boyfriend - he sits with his elbows on his knees - his forearms are muscular, biceps too - but his fists push into his cheeks and mush up his face, which has all but given up with boredom - she turns another page, and his t-shirt reads “travisty”

the trees bend with the breath of a city - he finds another way to try and break up with her - you’re too much like my sister, he says - it’s okay, she says - i dont mind, she says - the city cops some rain, and everyone does their best to avoid it - the conversations bring it on down, like a piece of mind forever forgotten

messy bushland, the bark rots and seeps into his jeans - the sweat on his back trickles down his spine slowly - he hasn’t spoken in four months - but looking at the might dying in the tree before him, he whispers a low mumbled, fuck - he wipes the blood from his lip, not disliking the taste - it reminds him of the institute - the tournament - the loss - a bird calls in the distance, and he raises his head in it’s direction - as a tear falls down his cheek, he slowly, but surely, begins to urinate in his jeans - an unholy warmth follows a necessary sadness, somewhere behind the sunset

behind the cafe he squats - with a turn and a switch he takes the photo - her breasts are real - she takes a seat and orders the chicken salad, after questioning her diet, her weight, and her relationship with her father - sipping on the cool water poured from a stripped down bottle of red, she toys with her phone - one long scroll of insecurities and falsehoods - the scent of cigarette smoke taints the air from the table behind her - another passing thought forgets to stop at the point in question

he took bad poetry and make it almost - he didn’t rhyme, but his name was similar - do or dont, he couldn't care less - he could see smiles -  he could hear frowns - everyone felt sad - the guilty sun floated around and spun like handsfree hipster space junk

i hear the sun - i feel the moon

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

there is no greater high than inspiration
there is no greater person than the artist
the artist must be quiet
the artist mustn’t require attention
recognition must be shunned
the psychedelic arts are the only true arts
the hippies are saints
and the loners are gods
the outsiders smoked and drank
as the big bang
banged
behind their backs
this party requires double-denim
this party grooves on smooth
the girl of your dreams
the man in your nightmares
yeah… i saw them hallucinating in the back room
whose cowboy hat is this?
it’s bin-night every night
there is no daytime
the universe is one eternal night
interrupted by the occasional flash
francis leach gave me a dirty look for drinking a beer as i walked down swan street richmond
heaven was yesterday
heaven was tomorrow
talking our way through the second course
laughing our way past another fatal car accident
the dead have no reason to hide
the dead have no shame
the dead are deeply in love
leave your umbrella at the door
this rain is water
it falls from great heights
splish-splash
his friends gather around him
like empty beer cans
crushed and hollow
he’s drunk - she’s holy
he turns up when he wants
like an empty beer-can
he plays his guitar when he wants
just like god, and she listens
like mother nature
her open ears and open mind

on xmas day i cracked the shits because i found myself in the eastern peninsula traffic, and i should’ve known better - we’re better than this, i said, side glancing out the passengers side window -  i drank beer in the passenger seat and sulked in silence as the most resilient and perfect and strong and admirable lady-elle did her best to cheer me up from my needless misery - you am i music played on the car stero, which bought both solace and torment - we’re better than this i stressed to lady-elle, texting my mother to let her know we’d be late - the traffic cleared up within two minutes and we arrived on time - my xmas present to my mother that year was a photo framed picture of the baby in lady-elle’s tummy - “what the fuck is this weird arty photo simon has given me for xmas?” switched “…oh my god” - i knew it was real from then on - she was the first to know and from then on i was on a slow humming buzz, as if i knew something the world didn’t know

when i was a kid i wanted to be a writer - when i was a kid i also wanted to be an astronaut - as a thirty-two year old man, i write and spend my time looking to the skies and listening to space rock music - though deep down i think i want to be a conductor - they dig music - they dig music hard - i think id be good at it - im slim enough, and i have long hair - and i’ve been training since i was nine - music is a serious and hard drug for me - no one takes me seriously when i say that - but it will seriously blow your mind if you knew how much of an affect music has on my body, mind, soul, spirit, life, being, happiness, sadness, love, vision, perceptions, sensations, emotions, relationships, behaviours, thoughts, demeanour, appearance, friends and loved ones - i walk the streets at night, naturally high, holy and dangerous while you sleep - somewhere between a perfect circle
it’s no secret my brother gave me aufheben on vinyl for xmas before i even have a record player - what isn’t known until now is that it was a twelve dollar second/third/fourth hand copy of heyday by the church that made me realise and understand that buying records was no trouble, and fucking rewarding - i looked at the front cover of heyday on a cold sunny morning, still sleepy and it shocked me - the eyes of steve kilbey on that album cover held me for at least an hour - it was an image i recalled from my childhood - yes, somewhere, sometime, my cousin was involved im sure, and it was an album i bought with loose change and didn’t really pay much attention to for a long time - kilbey’s eyes on that record cover, and his mona-steve smile, smoked by childhood memories and a distance between this music and it’s cosmic source, and the song tantalised, swayed my limbs and their instincts into an impossible composition - my mind remained the same as it always was

the best people are record store people
honest, pure, simple, passionate, hairy
they understand a world of peace
love, art, understanding, friendship
ecstasy, smoke and booze
and for record-store people all these things are daily life
non-record store people look at them, at us, and laugh
its just that it takes them so much longer to register
and before too long

when i saw acid mother’s temple at austin psych fest, i experienced the most amazing, the most psychedelic, and the most euphoric moment of my entire life - movements like grand and holy ancient wizards, before you very hazed and lazy eyes - at first we sat - next we moved our heads up and down - a confirmation of a simple, and communal, yes - i gasped, and our movements became deeper - the eternal ‘one’ was rising on the horizon like a perfect dusk in reverse - our movements caused us to stand, and we popped up and opened like sunflowers, yet every one completely unique, a different colour, and facing our own individual sun - hips, shoulders and souls grooving like spiritual-group-sex - the music soared, a relentless kamikaze mission to heaven - i felt the need to scream, and i saw someone by my side doing just that - just facing the stars and simply screaming, giving his soul a universal voice - their drums and screams and guitars were lit on fire - my chest heaved, chanting yes, yes, yes, yes… - i knew all well i was to be the father of a baby girl - i being the only one on earth who knew - i was alone, high and holy, surrounded by a fog of brothers and sisters, who didn’t care, and knew exactly what to do - i’ve never felt like that before, i said to the man next to be after the show finished, staggering as if i’d returned from the most beautiful, pleasurable abductions - i know, i know he said - pink lady lemonade, pink lady lemonade, pink lady lemonade….

it was soon before i moved out of northcote that i was taking a piss in the northcote social club - it was a weekend or something, and i was alone, and i was down there having a beer for the sake of it and you never know who you’re going to remind someone of - i was there at the bar alone, and by this time im trying to look hard done by and dark and mysterious and troubled, and by this time i start to wonder if i am no longer pretending, and if i am now actually all of those things - it’s late and i was getting into died pretty around this stage and man, they powered my little unit in northcote in those days - so i get up to take a piss, leaving my jacket on my seat, in more of a mess than i was - in the mens i straddle up to the urinal alone and start to piss - at every urinal i go to i read the graffiti and piss-wall-scribblings and everytime i see some hand-writing that i swear must be my brother’s - i scan the gig guide and before too long im not alone - i hear the laughter of the happy groups of friends outside - and they’re too perfect, even for this - he is in tight jeans and making a mockery of sneakers i was forced to wear against my will as a kid - the same goes for his jumper - a wildly colourful and ill-fitting woollen number that looks ridiculous - his beard looked stranger and more unkept than mine, despite the fact i hadn't shaved in weeks due to laziness and beer and a learned addiction to relaxation - his glasses were black and bold and made nerds cool without being nerds at all - his beanie robbed the soul the last remaining true football fans allowed in the ground these days - everything came to this point and i turned to him and said…
…hows that working out for you?
what do you mean? he said
that bullshit-look your going for, i replied
he kept his silence, in that way people do when they’re getting sledged unnecessarily by a drunken dickhead
it ended there, and i walked back to my seat at the bar, skulled (sic) the rest of my pint, picked up my jacket, made sure my ipod and notebook were still in the interior pocket, and headed up high street back to my unit, after saying a “thanks mate” to the dude at the door only because i want to be one of the good guys, despite realising i was behaving completely against any sense of coolness i think i possess  - i wish i could’ve let him be - i wish i hadn’t let it bother me - i wish we pissed in silence, reading the gig guide or the anal jokes scribbled on the men’s room wall while a beautiful autumnal acoustic song sung in my head amongst the tantalised stars and mellow foggy willow trees - but we didn’t, thanks to me - i gave him a hard time and i hated myself for it -  it wasn’t me, and it was unnecessary - i felt like i was battling tourists in a place i loved to live, and i knew i was a fighter, and i knew i fought hard and kept it creative, but i knew i was losing, and a loser amongst the hip

echoes from the empty milk bottles
she failed to run tonight
but her lungs scream hollow
the dirty dishes, the overflowing bins
and the recycling bin is nothing but beer bottles
he sips on another - his team is losing
how he is going to balance another one
on that pile of bottles?
how will his team get up,
from twenty-six down,
three-quarters into the forth?
it doesn't matter -
the hunter falls sleepy
too much to eat
waking up hungry
too much to eat

hamilton island was lady-elle’s idea, and before i knew it i was in shorts and members of staff were treating me like middle-class royalty - i found a pool-side bar to get drunk at, as rugby-guys splished and splashed, flirting with the last fifteen minutes of the bar-girls shift - the dudes worked during happy-hour - i watched the storms move in -  i was able to find some bush tracks and took lady-elle to a secluded beach that was ours and the kookaburras - she rationed out her muffins, i made sure we had enough water to walk home safely

my trip to new zealand, the farm outside of mangonui, was beautiful and ridiculous - i can’t even recall how or why or how i managed that one - so simple - so beautiful - my god - books and the sun and the shade it creates, and the cool breezes and having absolutely nothing to do - i spent so much time inside my head - day after day after day in silence - in thought - it amazes me, looking back on it now, how given the right circumstances and situation, the simple passing of time can be intensely pleasurable - so much so, it erases everything else, and nothing matters

at first sight
you’re safe and warm
life stripped down
before your eyes
a lazy lap dance
a cheeky kiss on your lips
your feet, cold
your head, burning
it’s raining outside
and it couldn’t possibly get any darker
and you couldn’t possibly get any more drunk
so you head in for a drink
someplace quiet
it sounds like the angels are tired
your head, it’s thoughts, and tex perkins
you scan the bar
only saints, sinners and drunks
nice, lonely people
succumbing to their lives
the hard way

it’s a clear day - the horizon still fades with fog, with each step - trees fall and make a sound - trees fall and make the sound of one hand clapping - a young girl walks amongst them - eyes like leaves, the highest green leaves - feet moving like mud - the soup of soggy twigs and water-logged strips of bark path no direction underfoot - in her pocket is a small note-book - the first twenty pages are scribbled with impromptu poetry - the last few pages tagged with a phone number and a receipt reference number - she is unemployed and very attractive - her jeans, simple - her jacket, old - she breaths morning air, smelling the earth, remaining intoxicated - from time to time she sits - a large rock - a patch of grass - a fallen branch - and she ponders the thought of mother nature losing her virginity to an act of violent rape