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

i hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation since i was a twenty-six year old going to meredith - an excuse to fall out of my mind, with people

i’m now thirty-three, coming to the end of my jesus-year - the weather was perfect, and getting better the closer we got to the weekend - nothing special, and for no reason - but our plans to head down to wilson’s prom not only excited us, but bonded us, as we sat at our desks and did our work, eyeing the time it came to leave it all behind

i kissed her goodbye and enjoyed a lazy morning of music, salad, a bit of packing, and a beer or two - as my friend picked me up, i was honered and pleased and excited to hear him suggest i sort out the music for the trip - a last minute whip-up to cater for a metal-head, a pop-star and a psychedelic princess - dead meadow, comets on fire, beck

i laughed to myself as i saw my friend just throw individual objects into the boot of the 4wd - his way of packing against my pack-less-is-more mentality - the drive down and the sleepy wrong turns were a long one in distance perhaps, but my mind was buzzing and with a six-pack of beer warming at my feet, it felt like we arrived at the booth in no time at all - the gateway to the prom is significant - even as i kid i could tell when we’d arrived, even though we were thirty kilometers away

looking for a camp site was dire, and a little sad to see so many people camping so close together, as though this was actually camping - i needed an unearthly-piss, and eventually just jumped out of the car and let my friends look for a site as i waddled to a toilet block pretending my whole body wasn’t about to explode with psychedelic-beer-urine - yeah, this’ll do, was the general consensus, as we pitched our tents at dusk

i take my beer and walk down to the river - i feel holy and secure - the wall of trees and mountain that face and surround Tidal River appear to me like art-work in an empty gallery - i sit by the boardwalk, and look at Whale Rock like the philosopher i’m falling into - in my adult boozy perspective, i finally see the whale in Whale Rock

seriously, i had been looking at it wrong, or at lest differently my whole life - i can’t shake it off though

i have potent childhood memories of wilson’s prom, and i have to hold myself back from pointing them all out to my friends - none of these memories involve camping though, and all of them involve the john gregory lodge - as we walk past it for ice-cream im silently joyed to see it hasn’t changed a bit - i get a sense of winter-cold and heater-fed-warmth and wet-rain despite being blessed with the most perfect blue sky summer sun-shine

i let my memories spill once or twice to my friends, relieved to unleash some of them, at least

i get up fairly early after nice sleep, and get ready for run - i plan to run out to oberon bay - i can’t remember ever being out there before - the weather is perfect - deep blue cloudless with the morning still waking up - the first 500m i can feel the 500 beers from the previous night, but they soon fade away - im sore, but i feel myself running somewhere between new and old memories - they’re all streaming by, like the blur outside a train window - i know despite the soreness, and the beer slugs, i could run forever if i allowed myself to - hills, rocks, tight little paths paving their way through and over some world-class earth - i allow myself to stop at some points, just to soak up some scenery - other times i just keep running, shaking my head in disbelief

at little oberon bay i interupt two guys who think they have the place to themselves and are screaming and spashing in the water like they’ve seen too many big-m commercials - they scatter up the dunes after they wave to me - i can’t find my way past little oberon bay, so make the mental plans to head back to tidal river along norman bay and run out to pillar point

the tea-trees still tent and cover the track - i still move swiftly in their shade and make it to the point on the brink of dehydration - i stand in sweat and silence as i scan the scene before me - world class - absolutely -  an older man approaches from the bushes behind me and takes in the scene as well - we talk and i do my best to quell the nausea of dehydration - he’s an old retired runner, now just cruising around australia by himself in a van with no sense of time or need - i dig that, and his plans to head down to tasmania next - he wishes me luck on breaking the 4hr mark for my next marathon, and i take off running again - curing my nausea, but eager to get back to camp for a nice cold drink

we all move down the to the beach and my friend asks me if Z, (my daughter), would be old enough to enjoy this - i have to restrain myself from saying - fuck-yes, i’ve been thinking about it all day - we stand in the water as a group of friends and talk and laugh with mindless ease - no-one knows what’s coming next, it all just happens - we drink some beers by the rocks in the shade, allowing the beach before us, and the beer, to intoxicate us into a silly, hilarious, state of mind - i hurt with laughter for the next hour or so as we find inventive and dangerous places to piss

at one point i simply interrupt the two friends next to me and, completely off topic, have to point out that “the amazing thing about wilsons prom is the way those massive rocks are embedded into the mountains” - they agree whole-heartedly, and we continue to drink until it’s time to bbq dinner

back home i read an essay by a hero of mine Robyn Davidson about nomads - i think about how being in the bush - at least a little bit - gives us a sense, and reminds us of what the world was supposed to be - a true sense of place

robyn davidson spoke of the dreamtime as a song, as music, something that tells you something and breaks through past/present/future - the australian land is a spiritual, emotional song, where you have to sit back and relax if you want to hear it properly - and as with every work of art, we hear and see it differently - we just have to remember that our emotional responses come from the same source

a couple of days after returning from the prom, i was on the train home and there was this nut-case on the train home - calling everyone motherfuckers and calling the end of the world because of everyones iphones and eyepods - i imagine he is what i would become if i never got away for some time alone, some days to myself - i smile and laugh at him, because he’s full of shit, and im wearing sunglasses - but mostly i do it to make the mother and preteen daughter sitting opposite him a little more comfortable - they’r sitting opposite him and being polite and enduring his pathetic abusive rant - my smile and shrug comfort them - as it does me

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

while i have still been writing fair bit, not much of it has been exposed - and when i say exposed, i mean fully naked in the warm ocean at sunset, with a nice meal and a cold beer waiting at home - most my writing these days is just potent little thoughts  in a messy little notebook - this is because whenever i sit down to write (and whenever i do, i never put any thought into what i’m going to write, incase you havent picked that up yet…) i’m mostly wrestling my natural desire to write about zed, about being a father and raising a kid and hanging out with a kid - and i know that no-one really wants to read that - not really - but it’s impossible to avoid

i used to have this raging desire to talk about running to anyone and everyone - i had to tone myself down whenever someone asked me what i was doing that night… - oh not much, probably just cook dinner, go for a run, chill out - …i really i wanted to go into great detail about how i was planning to approach that night’s 15km run, and what music i had planned to listen to as i approached the 13km mark - i learnt far too late that, generally speaking, no-body cares about music any more - i could sit around all day everyday drinking beers and talking passionately about my favourite bands and albums and songs, but people just want to dress up like hippies for the weekend and hug each other at music festivals

so i’ve learnt to keep quiet and let people be - i keep my life simple and that keeps me happy - however, i get deeply miserable if i don’t (at least attempt to) do something creative with my time - the trippy little videos i make have been taken over by zed - that’s fine, they’re just for fun - photography, while easy and packed with cheap friendly praise, annoys me as now everyone with a mobile phone is a photographer - i lack the patience (and ability) it takes to paint - but since writing has always been a great true creative passion of mine, im disturbed at how zed has affected my ability to do so

it’s nothing negative, and only natural - but every time i sit down to write about the absurd wonders of the universe, and the madness of everyday life, i’m fighting a great powerful urge to write about the smile on zed’s face as she eats a handful of cheese and sways to the music of david bowie in cute little pink pants - the affect it has had on me is utterly profound, and i hate myself for writing that - because nobody cares - all i’ve done is learn something life has known since life began - but hey, we should be proud of the fact that we learnt the earth was round - that realisation is profound - i wish i was around for it, or the moon-landing, and not just acts of terrorism

im tempted to just take a deep breath, lock the door and pump the music and swig on beers and gush out my writing and my thoughts on zed and being her father - spew it all out like unicorns spewing rainbows, just like they do on the internet - screaming how adorable and cool she is when she laughs and runs and screams and talks and kisses and cuddles, as i wrap my arms around the toilet and see a sunny day with the softest clouds doing the rounds under the influence of good vibes - hurling it all into space and let it dissipate to find the stars one day - find a way to articulate the innocence of her perfect laughter, the absurdity of me being a father,  somehow responsible for this little person as i stand back and allow her to spank a kilo pack of sausages in the supermarket as people around her wait for her to finish - and i laugh to myself everyday because of her - and all those little things i've got to do, all those little things i should worry about, they disappear because she’s happy and asleep and warm and fed, and i can now write about how we always remember our nightmares, but never our dreams

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

 

what else is there other than a dull, quiet, sickly familiar frustration? - the answer? - only the daily attempt to avoid it - im surrounded by a large blue exercise ball, that we only really use to sit on and drink booze on - a foam horse, that has currently found a way to stand on it’s tail - a child’s tool/work bench that has only been used to eat cold noodles off, or at the very least stuff down our pants - a circular tube of foam, standing like the king of toys, the same way the rialto’s claim to fame was being on the front cover of the white pages around twenty years ago - and now it’s bed time, and my daily struggle to find the right time to sleep - i never really want to sleep unless it’s completely inappropriate - however, when the time is right, i’m twisting open beers and scanning my music collection

all my life i have had this balloon about to burst in my chest that pushes me to almost do and say absurd and obscene things - the energy i use to hold myself back from pulling down my pants and singing shirley temple songs with tears joy ruin from my eye-liner is immense - it’s exhausting - but i do it 

what truely amazes me about the universe is the term - point of view - this thought that every point in every spot in the eternal universe has a unique point of view - on top of that, anyone who has a point of view has a unique and personal interpretation of that point of view - my interpretation and memory of the top of mount oberon is different (though no doubt just as beautiful) as yours - every point in the universe has a point of view where “something” is happening, or occuring, or merely existing right now - it blows my mind everyday

surrounded by shadows - black statues

their faces twitch from time to time

they are having conversations with themselves in their mind

i recieve a phone call from dennis the sex-fiend

he says - if i dont have to apologise afterwards

i haven’t done it right

I should never answer phone calls from dennis

i noticed a girl wearing a crucifix around her neck

i think about how all the positive aspects of religion

are really just common sense

the rest is just  there for power, control and comfort

i see a bald man with huge head-phones on

$300 headphones for a 99 cent disposable pop song

i call dennis back, and ask him what he is listening to these days

bowie, and a bit of eno

then he says

the other parents at the playground are only staring

because they wish they were the ones drinking beer, right?

I say yes

when the tourist asks me for directions

i cant help but wonder where they

have hidden their passport

i like that i live a life where i still have to assure myself that i have shoes - i got onto a crowded train once and there was a guy sorting out his heroin - for some reason some over-weight middle class mother of too many turned to me and asked loud enough for everyone to hear “is that your friend?” - i said “no, but jesus, what the fuck?” - I’m no super-hero, and neither is jesus, nor familiar with too many hard drug users, but as designated junkie interpreter, i was happy enough to suggest to the guy he waited till he got of the train to sort out his shit  - when i got home i had a couple of beers like everyone else, but kept the tv off as i don’t like the idea of food being entertainment.

i once flippantly wrote that the only things that made me proud to be australian were music and wilsons prom related - sadly, the more i think about that fast-thought, the more it’s true - art and nature is all that australia has to offer me - but our culture is a farce, and flimsy like a younger sibling trying their best to impress anyone who’s noticing - my only faith lies in the fact that the australian bush and outback and it’s spirit, being the most powerful natural spirit i’ve ever felt, will never die and will always crush whatever metro-buzz-fad tabloid media is catching onto today - we can learn so much from it - i have, am, and will - and wish everyone  would do the same - properly - not because some website says it’s cool

 not that anyone cares, but i bought my first bowie albums with a sanity gift voucher when i was around twenty-one - it was a 3 CD set consisting of Hunky Dory, Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs - I loved certain songs, of course, but  only I liked the albums from a distance. - They were at times a little full on for me - For me, at my age in the early 2000s - I wouldn’t have hacked it in the early 70s, that’s for sure - (the 60’s would’ve been my blossoming beard time) - But it was maybe around 2010 i the albums really started to take form for me - i got my bowie passport - those early albums truly are from another world - the way five years, track one off rise and fall… fades in like it does is like a landing - touchdown - welcome spaceman - it’s incomprehensible how anyone can produce a song like life on mars? - it’s truly one of a kind - his vocals on heroes is probably my favourite vocal performances, right next to lennon on walrus, and kilbey on hotel womb -  but it was only in the last 6 months or so, thanks to some dude at work who opened is music collection up to me (digitally) that i was exposed to bowie’s later work - (all of his work actually - this guy had every single one of bowie’s releases there for my taking - every one) - so i was really getting into outside, reality, heathen, earthling (littler wonder video clip flipped me out on rage one night) - i bought the next day the day it came out, and did the same for blackstar - i had two beautiful lazy and boozy days and nights playing it around five times - i kept thinking, this sounds like a cure album - i loved it - anyway, come monday i received a strange facebook emoticon from a friend of mine on a comment i made labelling bowies new one “a killer” - i had no idea what this weird smiley face meant, as just as i was about to google it, i thought “fuck it” and moved over to twitter, where i saw the news that david bowie had died - i felt it deep - i thoughtlessly posted ashes to ashes (the song that really turned me on, one night the dandies played the video on rage - it was the bulldozer that got me) on facebook, and quietly felt sad all night - and i haven't stopped listening to his music since i heard that news - i haven't stopped reading people's comments and hearing people thoughts on it either - i liked michael stipe's the best - the most matched mine anyway

his thoughts on ashes to ashes: 

"It’s so audacious as a piece of writing. You can go into any bar in the world, and if they play that song, watch people around the room. Each will sing along to a separate part. There’s about seven parts people sing along to. It's the audacity of not only writing about Major Tom, but then making it this flawless mess."

and on his death: Right now, it feels as if the solar system is off it’s axis, as if one of our main planetary anchors has lost its orbit - That said, I am certain that wherever Bowie is now—I want to be there someday."

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

real australians say cunt

What is ridiculous though, is when I found out I was to be having a daughter, I absent-mindedly filled my ipod up with female musicians – I also found myself watching and studying young girls out and about, thinking to myself that I was soon to be responsible for “one of those” – I was conscious of how much of a nut-case this must have made me look - 

my distant generation are now bringing out the babies – sometimes they get it right, most of the time I see a whole new world of well-meaning parents preparing their kids for the world of rules and regulations that await them – an endless cycle of meaningless control and punishment – shit, im no expert, but admitting so pays me something – instinct always beats the rule-book, which is sadly a global best-seller, soon to be made into a movie – every movie

we have no nostalgia, because we longed for the past before it even became history

we dream and long for things that aren’t even our to dream – it could be considered life imitating art, if only it wasn’t the sickly warm and clever stylings of commercial television feeding us buzzwords and snappy modern phrases – our opinions are obvious and tired

blessed are the meek, when they’re not being pillaged by speed-freak-disciples clawing at each other, just trying to stay ahead of the person next to them – learning everything they know from the modern world – every one of their opinions stolen from someone else, whose opinion they merely agreed with – that’s all it takes, apparently

my disowned generation are writing down “bucket-lists”, which are merely a list of european cities with sky-diving and the aurora borealis thrown in somewhere  - I despise the thought and the mention of these lists – burn them all, and see what life presents you – try and understand that it is endless

my disowned generation believe in themselves far too much, drunk on cyber-confidence and high on social-network recognition – self-doubt is an underrated tool – used properly, it can open your mind to a brand new world of possibilities and truths – I want the world to treat me as though I know nothing – I want to be a blank canvas to everything and everyone, everyday – being a master of your environment, taking ownership of your life, is always ugly situation - and when you wipe away your hollow, blind confidence, you’ll find it’s impossible too.

we eat our breakfast for fifty dollars in a café that has been designed to look like a dusty warehouse because it makes us feel as though we are a part of something different, and doing it together, when we could easily eat a bowl of cereal at a bus stop

our longing for community is only strong because it is where we can show how far we’ve come, talk about what we’re doing, and wear our new jeans - our success is a self-righteous one, a feeling that we’ve impressed people who really don’t give a shit – each other

our harsh-judgements are veiled with fashionable, trending, “disgust of the week” concern for the environment – this is where I stand, they’ll tell you, as they sit in the confines of their lounge-rooms without a television, plagued with wi-fi anxiety

3 common sayings I regularly disprove:

there’s no such thing as a silly question

there are no wrong answers

actions speak louder than words

you never stop worrying about your kids

diamonds are a girls best friend

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?”