ink-jet-shine

are there crackly twigs of happy elements in dressing like a total hobo all layered and mixed up patterned?

need the nurse drag this needle across my arm? my achey breaky arm...i just don't think you underarm-stand...and if you jab my arm, my achey breaky arm it might blow up and bruise...LIKE IT HAS!

right now i'm tired-drunk. one of my least preferred emotional laneways. i mean, i wish i was crying litres. and one third needs to cuddle or talk or look at someone in real life. the other third, the rational-all knowing-strong-independent-practical third is squeezing eyes together and squinting tiredness away. and the last third is the dreamer.

i want to pummel myself to playdough. i'll stab myself using my own cheekbone, it's so sharp and deadly.

merry christmas to all and to all a good fight.

loopholes and cheapsouls.
;)

hambones & thespians

i need new adjectives.

i respond using the same handful of overused, exhausted superlative comments. i find myself in dire need of word bank deposits before my vocabulary is overdrawn resulting in under funded expression and blatantly dull dialogue.

it shames me to admit my verbal reactions seem to cycle around words like: AWEsome!, Amazing, my goodness, that's AMAAAYZZing, brilliant, absolutelyamazing, great, that is super cool, wow, wowthat'samazing, how exciting!, soooooo gooooood, sogood. Incredible sneaks in occasionaly. by simply documenting these - my (i must take ownership and be responsible) - expressions, i am left feeling bland, conventional and unable to let the meaning i want to mean, mean what it's really meant to mean.

all because of YOU... adjectives.

i am choosing to will myself to experiment with new descriptives, to alter the awesomeness and phase out my amazingly numskulled word choices. i aspire to lend myself to more thoughtful articulation...with a whimsical edge. perhaps with words like: nifty, breathtaking, sterling and quaint. what do you think? the film was uhh, breathtaking, sterling performances, nifty jokes and the costume design...well, quaint.

thankyou very much, you've been remarkable and extraordinary.

scrubs and sightseeing

today. i'm unsatisfied. and this seems like an unjust statement considering the morsels of bliss and revelry and spice my imagination and soul has chewed to bits:



the sky is such a mysterious cliche and the implication of romance in every little tinged orangey purpley cloud clump is just not enough anymore. tonight it was the positioning and leaks of techno-apricot cruising through the grey suits...made me run in a wiggly line. weaving through fence posts by the 96 line. skipping down fraser street with my eyes closed and into a frenzy of strained breaths before the pep and trip of being unbalanced on cobblestones triumphed. wow.



satisfaction of some ilk simmers in i suppose. 'spring cleaning' - as it's known - can, i've discovered, bestow such a feeling of acheivement. (gosh, i sound like a perfectly happy house mother advertising 'gleam clean' wearing a crisp shirt and smilingly shaking her head at her 'cute' little backpack wearing, rough n tumble child and he grubs up the walls a bit so mum has a task to engage in for the morning.) there's something about peeling strips of grime out of the crevice where the floor meets the skirting board. there's something special about that. it licks my sensory cravings like nothing else. oh and the way polished glass winks and flashes its shimmer like a red carpet bimbo. it's kinda like working a piece of stringy mango flesh out of your tooth gaps. amusement? success? all two? all two. satisfied? unsatisfied.

everyone's chewing on the wrong side

i'm just so intrigued by how we favour one side of mouth in which to masticate. perhaps it is the side corresponding to our preferred hand. alternatively it's the side without an ache, a cavity, a filling zinging on tin foil. either way it's a set of pegs breaking down something - hopefully nutritious - before it waterslides down, landing in acid, like some toxic water park ride.

there's this ringing, this beep, electronic cheep. it goes fast. faster than my heart. faster than my running heart. individual snips of sound higher than stoned, so close together - a stream of potency.

stop.

stop.

you're stabbing into my fleeting thoughts.

stop.

kg/cal/kg/cal

it's a body it's a body it's a body it's a body it's a neck supporting thoughts it's jaw tense and grinding it's a jaw grind and tooth mind it's a body it's all around grinding on thoughts unsupported

skin so much unengaged skin and flesh fat flesh fat cluster distrust lack lustre crush cluster flesh pest rip skin rip pin rip flesh

enliven

i felt the flutter twice today.

there were kids climbing trees. two little girls, playing amoungst branches. imagining. laughing, making up games, pretending to be sailors. so charming and delightfully risky.

there was a family playing scrabble around the kitchen table. during my walk through the streets. i peeked through a curtainless window. there they were, snug in the glow of living room light with heads full of triple word scores.

postage prayed

princelike, squinteyed bloodline.

it's summer inside and your car roof is sticky-taped together.

your dog does not match your sunglasses...different styles altogether.

you're so continental and i'm so disinterested and too skinny for cigarettes.

no finger of yours was made for more than one ring.

it's almost a tshirt day til the wind hooks like a maniac, like happiness.

with every bit of neck exposed, i slept like a bell last night.

those lap splashes of for-sale-sign red and sheet-liquid white.

birds flying out like antique miracles, winter rockets...they fly, zoom.

spillspillspill
unedited understand unedited

the sharp

he doesn't have a job right now but would like to be a garbage collector, bar tender or a tram driver. most of all, he wants to test video games - all day long. he repeatedly runs his fingers through his wavey-dense hair, it's dark chocolate and middle parted. his hair flicking technique is so shampoo tv commercial but so accidently narcissistic.

today he ate chicken parmigiana and watched porn. he saw the new harry potter film and proclaimed the acting to be the best so far. he's never read the books, you see, he's too busy reading books about how to get rich.

his dance movements are fluid, arms sort of floating and bending. head bouyant, rolling. he carries a pointy chinese fisherman style hat...

gold buttons

this morning i'm watching the 112 glint under this rare sun dollop.

i'm reading people seeking people and men seeking women: full figured, slim, friendship, let's be discreet.

red and green and blue and black and gold...my palette today.

this afternoon, i'm thinking and pining for vodka to link with my throat and wisp my brain for a little while. so what about popcorn? and guitars? and some cleverness up my velvet jacket sleeve.

sundays. days sun. un-say.

image-ine

today i'm feeling like rejecting my clothes. i feel like wearing jeans and sneakers and big loose jumpers and hoodies and giant scarves. i feel like neglecting my hair. i want to wear dark eyeliner and hobo gloves. i'm feeling uninspired and unattractive...and like going back on my popcorn diet.

i want to cry in an airport today. and i want to change the shape of my face. it's so squarish. ?

there's this 10cmx2cm bruise the colour of stormy skies and sunsets on my left shin. it hurts on the inside. when i walk i feel it, i feel my jeans pressing against it.

lately, i'm not drinking enough water.

bubble

i’m worried and fucking terrified yet somehow bursting at the rib cage with what i am fairly certain is love of some ilk. and believe it or not, i feel ‘happy’ around 80% of the time (approximately). Presently, i am feeling a little rushy-buzz zap when i listen to a certain band reasonably loud and simply dance, meaning moving body parts and perhaps jumping here and there. i felt the toast-roasty warm fizz in my guts this morning upon finding a fallen banskia flower on the footpath. it was fever-pink, i picked it up and twirled between my fingertips before keeping it my pocket. free colour, texture and scent - a priceless moment. i also get the whir when i walk through streets looking up. have you tried this? tree tops, architecture, clouds, all moving with your eye gaze will giddy you into a dizzy rumble. could spot a birds nest – if you’re lucky. i did. it was giant. i stared at it for a very long time, because i’m not in a rush.

turbulence without flying

and i've missed you like tingles for two weeks. nothing compares. nothing races my heart and throws my breath around like you. i can cut myself in two and carry no weight.

you make me vomit and spit. you churn these organs so hard, they twist away from my rib cage. the pain is needles. pangs. stabs. feels. so. good. i want you to lurch me into unilluminated hemispheres. jolt me and strangle all these nerves. i'm expendable.

it's dazzle vision and sidesteps now. it's short cuts and long way rounds. it's sweat and hair in my iris. don't leave me again. don't go...i need you. i need you like tingles.

little, little colours

cupcakes cupcakes cupcakes baked love lovemakes cupcakes day so crazy stray chocchips frostdips lipslooped fruitpips poplips tulips truth in glitter x

unprotected

there's these little fragments of you everywhere. that glinting loop and luster. and transcendent scent slipping down my pillow case.



oh and last night a dragonfly flew into my room...

white coats weighting

in a sound proof booth with eskimo head phones listening for high frequency beep biiip biiiiyp

press a little red button every time. and then the laser and the bop bop knee hammer.

height and weight. weight. weight. weight. weighting.

cover one eye and an H is an N, an N an H...oh dear.

touch toes, breathe deep, open shut them, give a little clap. open shut them, open shut them. put them in your happy
thoughts.

i wonder if my weeeeeee was still warm when i gave it to the nurse?

tick box, x box. 1-2 cigarettes per day? average? head injury? allergies? exposure to power tools?

the most important thing here is a clipboard. the laughter and joy typical grafitti evokes in me! diagrams of cock and balls, tash waz 'ere 98, the blonde nurse is hot - i'd shag her!, peace signs and traced lines, etched dents and something unusual...a diagram of a box, in three dee like a coffin without a lid.

black tracks

all i do is bite nails, sculpt blu-tack, suckle tea and agonise over which earrings to wear today/tomorrow/yesterday/tonight. i snap split ends and drill gorges and tunnels in my cauliflour head:




watching a species live by and by the clocks and ties and i spy...though the tram window. with disorientating eyes something starting with why.

??
??

are you wearing an ego today?
will you play coights with that doughnut?
how will that nourish you...that screen...how will it?
where are you going to stick that knitting needle?
where will you flick that twitch?
stitches will unravel...coats, hats, gloves.

doves die and my spying eye is reluctant to roll, to shutter

to cry.

insert apex here

and it will be easter. a time to jam handfuls of little chocolate ovals down my throat, before smoothing and flattening the foil wrapper. it's an important part in the eating of the egg. ironing creases of an aluminum scrap with ones finger tips is an art. oh, the shimmer, the glint of chocolate's apparel. silver style at it's best.

and with easter comes this glorious gorge of milky, sugary clumps. and with easter comes the commemoration stabbing myself in the wrist with a snapped wine glass stem...

polish, polish polish. this cafe is so busy we are making lists. waiting lists, waiting lists, complaint lists. waiting lists. polish polish. the cloth works and twirls and de-smudges these wine vessles. i must work with haste. nimble fingers, rushing mind, scraping chair legs, strong. soy. flat. de. caf. whites. wine in throats. food in teeth. people in impatient spirits. and snap. the solid glass stem snaps and delves into my wrist.
in.
d
e
e
p.
stab.
out.
hole.
blood.
and it happens so fast, i don't feel anything at all. a crisp, clean puncture is remarkably, a pain free ordeal. until i see the ruby lagoon on the cafe kitchen floor. it's swelling and flowing into channels between the tiles. so i grab my wrist. curling my fingers around, covering the flesh gully. claret sqeezes between my fingers. drips down. down my arm. avenues of crimson syrup. drizzle. splash! trickle. splash.

and my face is chalk. my knees quiver...

meat for vegetarians

you haven't lived until you've sliced through a fresh, raw mushroom with a sharp knife. the feeling is indescribable. i could slice mushrooms for hours. slice, slice...oh it feels...like...there's not mush room left to take this any further

you just need to breathe really hard

today i'm walking and using digital print machines. there's police and so many cameras. computers. there's a screen in my eyes right. this. second. right. NOW! phone text. speeeeeed type. oh, my mobile telephone's brain predicts words i may be thinking. mind reader. so why do i imagine lashing chocolate biscuits with peanut butter? why do i think of...

8, 6, 2

ladybugs flip
butterflies die
spiders limp

romance

i wonder if i were to simply bang on sadness the way i thump the side of a fuzzy tv...would it clear things up? if i attached one end of jumper leads to some bliss battery and the other to a bit of organ in my guts...

or i'll clean out my wardrobe, think about diets then go sit in an airport to cry.

diamonds are never

bruises are there to be pushed. they're impromptu scars the colour of sky preparing for rain. a reminder for a week or so that something pressured that area of you so much it stained. you're like a bruise. you know, you left a little patch of the remnants of popping blood tubes under my skin. and then you faded away. and i didn't cry. my heart didn't start flopping out. no tears juiced up. you were easy to throw away. later, it was anger that fell out of my mouth. but it all landed on the carpet and spiralled up in a vacuum. dust is all it was. just particles. and i can't help it...but now and then i miss you like crazy. and i have these thoughts i try not to document but always do. and eventually they fossilise and get discovered and dug up and polished and re-assembled so some kind of exhibition will have relics. so push my bruise. push it. hard. so that pain starts tumbling out of my eyeballs and washes down the plug hole...

bubbleblower

i'm so obsessed with licking the corners of your teeth. it's the little upside-down calcium summits that nip at me and make my heart hang and swing in the wind. you're such an understatement. who knew i could feel stomach hurricanes? impossibility is curving and shaping up to be truth. i just want to think about you. and love. and the unexplanations of time. to have these, so many of these, pinches me in the nerves and smashes my chest in. the luckiest pain i've ever felt. and you, your toes and lips and physical is untouchable. wild. edged. roughed. untouchable is all there is. when really, we're just chinks in bridges and tunnels and elusive little pieces of architecture.

prix palms

maybe twas the rain, but this afternoon albert park lake was wearing lip gloss.

and i ran the loop with a grin between my hot cheeks and a less busy mind.
there were swans.

felt the 'good' sting of mud bullets splatting my calves. i was a jogging pollock.

melbourne came out in its best angles, leaning on the storm's wake.

then sun cracked and bled between mist lines to flatter the sky line's
blades and drape a bit of tipsy light all over...

in love in trolley

on the bright side of the tracks. two sculptures of woven metal. grids of empty steel noughts and crosses games welded together. these shopping trolleys glint and lay on their sides beside one another. how they wish their metal would melt and bend so they could spoon and perhaps hold each other rather than holding someones fortnightly groceries. they need too. they were structured for each other and dumped down the same ditch from the same sidewalk. although left comes from coles, right from safeway. rivals. opposites. magnets. these two were not destined for flying off the end of a jetty or an alternative ride home for drunk fellow. no. their destiny lays here. on a patch of side track, express between malvern and south yarra stations. and how do i know? i know cos when the trains cease to run through those gentle hours of melbourne night, these two live. they date by the lone pink flower between armadale and toorak. and i know sparks and fireworks expolded the stuffing out of that matress just before hawksburn.

monkey hands

juicy cakes, raspberries, candy kisses. a little black belly.
bubbles and bursts.

floating.
drifting.
spinning, gliding.
bouncing through pastel paint pandemonium.

jiving and jovial. springs and somersaults.

potent. parted.
pitch-black envy.
link. lap. lick. loop.

loiter like.
butter. blocks of drips.
fall.
slurp.

missing hips.
passionfruit pulp.
missing hip holes.

spit and splash. sleuth and shades of gleam green. painting rain.

slink.
ache.
smile.
ache.
slice. little black wrists.

plunge and burrow to bones. skin. plead.
parachute.

plunge.
limp and flip.
dripping and bleeding.
gulps of impatience.

little black hands.
vrooms. vibrates.
shivers. shakes.

shatter. snip.
shatter.
snip.
shatter.



snip.

legs legs legs legs legs legs pincer

this morning i steamed an earwig.

someone threw a fridge at him

i'm not sure but perhaps the humble fridge is taken for granted. let's say 'thankyou' and find appreciation for this piece of cold that's there in the inside.

liquid golden

it nips me in the senses. the honey in my belly button going bounce, bounce, pinch. across tongues and in and out of gums. a spoonful lets itself in. and this is gold liquid. this is sweetness and sex and liquid love looping. gold. golden so. delicious. sticky and dippy and melting down sense. sticky, stick on and gloss, make me a second skin...

and beer. gold hearts plus fizz. give me your drunk legs. beer in my throat. beer in the sun behind the clouds. beer in my eyes and behind my eyes. in the shower. in my voice. spilling and tipping and tapping, overflowing. beer in my phonecall to you. my dreams. my night out. my morning out and this morning in...

ellemennopee

oppress peddle pop pimento impress mip ped depress pimpernal pim

change here for

highlights from my view of the train tracks...

• 1 small piece of blue plastic. broken, cracked.
• somebody's hat (weather beaten) (not the colour it used to be) (weaved into the tracks) (actually, it's part of the earth now).
• the word 'ERG'.
• tubing, particularly orange tubing. empty arteries of the city.
• the word 'MONSTA'.
• somebody else's hat, in quite good condition.

l's & r's

i especially enjoy saying the names of fruits. they are such deliciously juicy words...so succulent in fact, i want to eat and suck and chew on the words themselves. here are my favourites...

plum
apricot (poppicot apricot!)
apple
lychee
mango
cherry
banana (also incredibly fun to type) (try it backwards...ananab!)
grape
peach

my first time

today, on the train, i sat with a bunch of guys sniffing spray paint out of plastic bags. we had a nice conversation about our place of birth, the importance of a supportive family and my apparent resemblance to shakira.