1982

twenty eight is late night triple r's, pain killers, stemless wine glass, ohmygoodness balloons as big as me with air and answers. twenty eight is not great. it's plates of great. plates and plates of plates with cake. twenty eight is

linetimes

sometimes i feel so overwhelmed and uncomfortable with the flesh i carry. it's like walking around with alien-tissue lumps stuck all over myself.

in other news...
the bounce of ginger kicks with lemon
fizzles with the honey floozy
a brimming elixir
jettisons its fever

(this needs work)
ick.

plums. i'll never be tired of saying plums. plumplumplum. plump. lump. umpl.

serenading by hazard lights

today i doubt my compassion. and i worry i'm not drinking green tea. beetroot gives me rosy wee. and i can't help wondering if i was born into the wrong body...i feel more akin to the cnidaria and cephalopod families. there is no evidence there is someone 'out there' for everyone. people who say this are mawkish and i wanna spike them with hairdressing scissors. i'm not symmetrical enough. a smartie is approximately five calories.

cephalopods

cuttlefish are solitary animals.

they are attracted to bright colours.

mourning fresh

this morning my friend stuck a knife in my back...literally. a giant kitchen knife. just a scratch though. we hugged. i cried, in response to the stab and other 'feelings' like possible sunday twinge-heart...

the meteorology reflects it all: freezing but sunny.

no-one will ever read this...i don't think anyone reads this.






that's
ok

inaccuracy

just like saying chocolate makes me feel all velvet-ripple, saying EXAM is like filing the gums off my teeth...

is it the turn of the season? or perhaps my affiliation with all creatures cold-blooded

i love hot.

tea so blistering it singes tongue cells and scorches my oesophagus.

the heat, so intense, it ignites stomach flickers and all the little hobgoblins living down there come out for a searing barbeque - an important social event for them to unite and discuss organ operational concerns.

sex

sometimes, saying 'chocolate' tastes better than eating it.

possibly a ridiculous thought, one so devoid of any real significance that it makes me feel fizzy

is there anything better than writing with a grey lead pencil sharpened to its prime?

i don't think so.

writing with a pencil, all pointy and tippy is enough. i would write all day.

it glides and grazes the page, effortlessly curving the ups and downs of letters and lines. i long to listen to that little scratch symphony...secret echoes, line by line as the lead wears away leaving words in its wake. whether pressure slight or strong, each quiver and quake that grey lead makes, is enough.

i would write all day.

periodic/variable/serendipitous/haphazard

i abhor the word:

R A N D O M

it makes me so full of hate i want to burn live snails.

you can beet an egg

master attain cultivate

my heart's like a kick drum! (the avett brothers)


i think thinks all the time, make up stories in my thinks, stories to console my soul when the knots around love and music and the meaninglessness of it all cause and justify too many loose threads of i-don't-care-rebellion-procrastination-is-my-epitaph-going-to-say-liz-who-understood-primary-mathematics-but-slept-the-seasons-without-someone-else's-skin-and-tense-touch-and-never-gave-love?

my latest, most aware think was this: why are there small windscreen wipers on some headlights?

my favourite part of the weekend: poking sea anenomes. the tendrils tensed around my finger like clenching suction muscles...

a skill used frequently

there's a type of tiredness indescribable. it's not exhaustion. it's not emotional. not physical. is it giving up? is it hot eyeballs, cold fingertips?

huck finn says: 'Everything was dead quiet, and it looked late and smelt late. You know what i mean - i don't know the words to put it in.'

my skin is so hungry and i can't get warm. i'm blood chilled reptilia.

cnidaria

a jellyfish chooses a mate, the male releases sperm from the stomach into the water, which enter the female and fertilize the egg so that the process of a fertilized egg leaving the organism and developing on the outside of the body begins...

differentiation of the primitive

(solitude cannot be confused with loneliness).



'i'm ordinary. but you don't think i'm ordinary and that's why
you
love me.'

white trashed

please, use this correctly
please
please
please, i ask you
use this correctly
use me correctly
glass bottles
only
use this correctly
please
glass bottles only
use correctly
empty
me
regularly and correctly
empty glass bottles
only
use me incorrectly
please
please
please, i ask you

please...

holes in pigeons

Backpacharacters

Backpacharacters is a side-pocket size guide to five types of travellers and the indisputable traits that make them part of the tourist species we affectionately know as the ‘Backpacker’.

For those familiar with tramping the land carrying half your body weight, sleeping with cockroaches and eating oats for breakfast, lunch and dinner, you’re certain to have shared a six dorm bunk with a Backpacharacter. They are individuals belonging to a distinct flock of travellers who eat, dress, speak and photo-take as one. Here is an introduction to these types so you may become familiar with arguably the most interesting tourist attraction on offer
.
The Boardshort Bachelor

Sex: Bloke
Age: classic 18-35 bracket with the bulk of them in their 20’s
Stays: at the acclaimed party hostels. They book accommodation offering all the essentials: beer parties, beer bongs, beer Olympics, foam parties and pool side bars. They spend days at a time nursing hangovers til three pm after nights of debauchery and drink special indulgence.
Dress: a bare tanned chest and knee-length, offensively colourful, surf branded boardies worn just above the bum crack so that white strip of tan line shows. Shaved head or scruffy unwashed knots. Thongs. Dark sunglasses. A beaded surfy style necklace.
Likes: Wet T-shirt Babes, toga parties, porn, Utes, jaga bombs, fights, meat, tools, swear words, sport.
Drink: beer or beam.
Quote: ‘F***en c***ts…’
Photographs: their mates’ bare white arses, their own shit in the toilet, their mates throwing up, them and their mates holding pints of beer and wearing Hawaiian leis.
Tattoo: a massive tribal style tat on the shoulder and/or the Southern Cross on the calf.
Places of interest: the beach, the bar or wherever Contiki bus drops them off.

type 2

The Wet T-shirt Babe

Sex: bimbo
Age: teenage or wannabe teenage
Stays: where the Boardshort Bachelors stay
Dress: bikini, tiny denim skirt or shorts, cowboy hat. A tan.
Likes: Boardshort Bachelors, tanning, comparing tans, spray tans, fake tans, real tans, wet t-shirt competitions, attention, white pants, calling each other ‘babe’, shopping, painting their toe nails.
Drink: goon and juice.
Quote: ‘Oh my god!’ I can’t believe I did that! I was like, sooo drunk.’
Photographs: party shots, group party shots and says, ‘That is so going on Facebook,’ more party shots and says, ‘That’s a profile pic!’ party shots holding the camera high up to get a flattering angle, the bikini shot with coastal look out background, party shots pouting or sticking out pierced tongue.
Tattoo: Swirly scrag tag on lower back or a (highly original) butterfly on the hip.
Places of interest: the beach, the bar, reflective surfaces or wherever Contiki bus drops them off.

third

The Wannabe Risk Taking Adventurer

Sex: man or woman
Age: approaching 30…or 40
Stays: budget, budget hostels. Bunking with the plebeians on a bedbug ridden foam mattress is an adventure in itself and a far cry from the comfort of their crisp white sheeted king size bed.
Dress: will alter look to appear slightly bohemian and adventurous, leaving the pressed pastel-striped business shirt behind. Sports a shark tooth necklace, neglects hair, piles on wristbands and anklets, experiments with wrap around pants and a pierced nose or eyebrow.
Likes: (wants to like) adrenaline, sky diving, bungy jumping, scuba, kayaking, paragliding, bobsled rides with the Latvian bobsled team, their new found appreciation and admiration of ‘nature’ and ‘culture’. Talking about the pivotal moment they realised they’d never ‘lived’ and needed to get in touch with their impulsive side.
Drink: Singha in Thailand, Guinness in Ireland, Brahma in Brazil, Corona in Mexico etc.
Quote: ‘I live for the moment,’ or ‘Yes!’ or ‘This beats a day in the office.’
Photographs: documents everything with digital camera in video and stills. Will purchase overpriced photos of themselves and their terrified face mid bungy jump. Also keeps a comprehensive travel journal, ticket stubs, brochures, currency, sugar packets etc just to prove they’ve been/seen places.
Tattoo: an impulsive symbolic tattoo as reminder of their intrepid journey on a body part easily hidden so ‘work’ don’t see it and just in case they regret it in a few months.
Places of interest: high mountains, fast rivers, deep seas, rough roads, untouched plains, thin air, comfortable chairs.

lost in four

The Lost Soul

Sex: loner
Age: 20something-ish
Stays: hostels on the edge of town. A tent. Somewhere…anywhere…
Dress: earthy colours, pretty much the same thing every day, perhaps a touch of tie-dye.
Likes: incense, spirituality, enlightenment, drugs, deep conversation, experimentation, discussing their current writing project, telling you about their past which is often painful, telling you about their harrowing year of suicide attempts and torturous break-ups, running away, finding themselves, karma, meaningfulness, star gazing.
Drink: a warming shot, a spliff.
Quote: ‘It’s not meant to be.’ or ‘It’s meant to be.’
Photographs: nil, they don’t own a camera. They are there to ‘experience’.
Tattoo: the name of their dead friend/relative/rock star in Latin so only they know what it says. Strategically concealed to evoke mystery and an impassioned conversation if a glimpse is stolen.
Places of interest: dreams, hammocks and walking tracks.

and fifth...

The Over-Prepared Tourist.

Sex: m or f (although sometimes hard to tell due to mosquito net hats etc)
Age: parents/grandparents
Stays: eco lodging with composting toilets or a simple 4 bed dorm. Will often befriend and then pester receptionist for information regarding tourist attractions and day trips. Usually the eldest traveller in a dorm of young revellers. Asleep by 9pm.
Dress: a fixed slick of sunscreen, sunglasses attached to a chain, a hat (wide brimmed or peaked with a neck flap), kaki pants with three length alternatives (long, three quarter, short), shorts tan (white thigh), long sleeved light-weight shirt, t-shirt tan, sensible walking shoes, sensible beach sandals (worn with socks for evening alternative), sensible hiking boots, backpack with fabric souvenir badges, divers watch.
Likes: hand sanitiser, maps, detailed itineraries, lonely planet books, insect repellent, disposable ponchos, first aid kits, binoculars, waterproof camera bags, Nalgene water bottles, 60+ sunscreen, mini torches, sewing kits, chapsticks, organising their day the night before, a good nights sleep.
Drink: bottled water or some kind of drink from a sachet of powder mixed with bottled water.
Quote:
Photographs: mostly ‘things’ rather than people like plant life, wildlife, views and signs or them next to the sign.
Tattoo: their children or grandchildren have tattoos they don’t know about.
Places of interest: coral reefs, rain forests, mountain summits, historical landmarks, botanic gardens, whale watching boats, penguin parade, ferries, good quality sleeping bags.

automatic lights and lawn mowers

today is monday. it's 10.43 in the morning. my oats are in my chest and i came to university without a pen. i am a failing brain. i am an unprocessed police check ready for an express yourself next day delivery adrenalin ping. there's so much bed hair in this computer lab, all on my head.

i came to university without a pen.
with no pen in my bag, behind my ear, hanging out the corner of my lip like a ciggy, i came to uni.
rode the 86 from the south end of bourke street without a pen.
i'm at university without a pen.
no pen.
liz: 1
pen: 0

anti oxidants

sometimes life is so great, in that blueberry way...little blue globe jewels marbling their juice in yoghurt.

and in that three in a row shins album way, listening with no-one while a little bit of autumn blows in the window.

blood chocolate

the clock's stuck in daylight savings time. that digital red glow. time.

blood...specks of calorie
dripp
pping.

the devil's weight

items found on clean-up australia day

porn magazine x 2
porn dvd x 1
one x-ray of a hand
the shell of a stereo
bottles
bottles
bottles
bottles
a sticker in quite good condition

with a head full of

blood nose bluster...
copper-clotty & crimson
paper roses



fire boots feet...
tangarine blaze flame
blow-your-guts-out
kind of hot

applied culture analysis

the sunglass
tense darkness
those frames
sc
af
fo
ld
ed
around your face
a
str
uct
ure
for a hairdrop
security like
schoolgirl
longsocks
we're both on
long-winded ground
here
both...knotted
up
like packed-up
outdoor umbrellas
blocked
clocked
clicked
and influenced
by knocked
knock-knock jokes

they don't **** you like i **** you

i was half drunk when someone told me your name.
i couldn't hear it...with the music being so loud.
i think i shook your hand. or maybe smiled.
i dunno...
i know you were more interesting to watch than the band.
but you weren't doing anything. just standing there.
i told you i liked the drawing on your tshirt.
'it looks like a tree mixed with a spider web.'
you said, 'i drew it. there's supposed to be a face in it.'
i tried to make out a face in the black scrawls...

teres

there's something about crying. it's so good but i'm crying about something so sad, but good-sad.

like picnics...i love picnics. when i go i think, i really like a picnic i should have more picnics or go to more picnics but no one has a picnic regularly. so i don't go. but i would...