Who is like dog?

Love, lust and guts.

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 17:38:00 +1100

Lust
is nothing more
than the merging
of the toxic them,
and the poisonous
you.

Hopefully
the acid
neutralises the base,
or one dilutes the other
and the journey ends
there
before a kiss goodbye.

If not,
it’s a catastrophic explosion of
blood,
sweat and
jizz
and while you’ll hate their fucking guts,
loathing
their existence for time,
it’ll be an experience you wouldn’t
trade for anything.

But in love,
the layers crack off,
like a shell falling away
to reveal
the embryonic source of self.

The two can meet,
return to God,
and exist
in everything
and nothingness
at once.

If you meet such a person,
and recognise such a feeling,
chase it,
grab it,
hold it,
fuck it.

Forever.

Do. Not. Let. Go.

Adolescent rhymes.

Fri, 22 Mar 2013 14:49:05 +1100

I’m out of excuses
And all out of lies
Can’t pretend anymore
What isn’t mine

The hearts talk
Under our voices
Then listen to others
Don’t make our own choices

Take time apart
Let the pain manifest
The gold’s covered in dirt
The pain moves to our chest

We can’t be friends
When we want to be lovers
But we forget what we want
When we listen to others

I hear it in your voice
Let me talk to your heart
It’s bullshit you speak
You know what we are…

(In love).

Pretend smiles.

Fri, 18 Jan 2013 17:04:45 +1100

wake, sigh
turn the alarm off
moan
splash face with water
exhale
“you look like shit”

one more week and I’ll sort it out
one more week and I’ll quit the job
one more week and I’ll get sober

straighten up, old mate
because this fake smile
is about to expire…
and they’ll be onto you.

I, monster.

Sun, 13 Jan 2013 22:45:53 +1100

I didn’t ask for it
but I fell in love with a girl
more than I could fucking handle

but the biggest error
was her loving me back
loving more than I deserved
as if she was delusional
as if I could ever see myself the way she saw me

so I berated the woman
tore her apart
until she saw me for the monster I am
put her in her place
and she got the fuck out of my life

so I sit here
alone
with memory glimpses of the love she showed
missing her every day

The slow, easy death.

Sun, 13 Jan 2013 22:22:00 +1100

there are nights when the pen sits in front of you
but there is nothing to write
the guitar’s in the next room but you can’t hear a song
the phone is in reach but there’s no one to call
at least, no one who understands
there’s nothing to wake up for tomorrow

so you choose death

but with friends and family who care
and you love them enough not to put them through that
you reach for the bottle of wine
light a cigarette
and take the slow road

the slow, easy death

hopefully,
beneath rock bottom
you hear the song
see the words
feel a stir
and you fucking pay attention to it
because that,
that,
is all that’s left

take a piss
have a little dance
and do it again tomorrow night

Fake static.

Mon, 17 Dec 2012 19:30:20 +1100

[Drunk when I wrote this. Don’t remember any of it. Looking at the time and date of the note it was 9 days ago and I was in a cab on my way to meet someone. More grammatically incorrect than most of my writings, but truer.]

The most honest I’ve met. Chew your role. Tell the people. Time to go home. We’re all miserable. White eating black eating white eating black and so on and so… and real or not it’s real.
You have to face it
It’s time to go home
No more distraction
Time to close up
A minute ago
Get home safe
Goodnight
Goodnight

Photo

Mon, 17 Dec 2012 19:20:51 +1100

I fell in love in London, with a girl I knew for fifteen minutes. And we never spoke a word.

Fri, 07 Dec 2012 15:44:00 +1100

It was my
last day
in London.
She sat down
opposite me,
and as my
breathing,
heart,
raced,
pounded,
exited my chest…
It was her.
The one
on the other side of the world,
I knew I would meet.

A little bit woman, a little bit lady, a little bit girl.

Divine.
Tortured.
A perfect mess.

She needed rescuing.
We held
eye contact.
The sadness
polarised us.

I’d been riding the
public transport
hiding my
public tears,
having hit
rock bottom
(as you do
after six weeks
of drinking).

I was done.
Sex no longer
meant anything,
and just to feel
that girl’s breath on my neck
would have killed me.
Consumed by bliss.

If you love someone,
set them free from your world,
I daren’t bring her into mine.

I typed out a note,
held it in front of her
as I stepped off the train.
The romantic in me
hoped she’d follow.
Better for her,
she didn’t.

I fell in love in London,
with a girl I knew for fifteen minutes.
My only words to her…

I concur. What I would do to have the opportunity to pick your mind, probe it. Yet, I know I would just be disappointed.

Wed, 24 Oct 2012 16:14:17 +1100

If you’re pretty you can blow me, Sweetheart.

I am intrigued by you. Yet, I find that everything you are is an illusion of some sort. C'est la vie.

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 09:51:47 +1100

I agree. Not so much an illusion, but we’re all so limited by our humanness, and perception of true conscious potential. Art, music, sex, dance, meditation, drugs etc are all vehicles to freeing us from the mediocre beings that we think we are. (Ironically, those vehicles can hold us back). So “illusion” away I say, it’s better than… this.

Nah…

Mon, 22 Oct 2012 14:54:41 +1100

Nah…

It’s Tuesday,and you’re beautiful.And it’ll be exactly the same tomorrow… only...

Tue, 16 Oct 2012 15:32:34 +1100

It’s Tuesday,
and you’re beautiful.
And it’ll be exactly the same tomorrow… only Wednesday.

Regrets.

Tue, 16 Oct 2012 02:17:25 +1100

It washes over,
showers down.
Pours when it rains.

Suffice to say,
nothing left
to say,
or ask.
Walk. Leave. Turn back.
Not in that order.

But question it
everyday.
Whatever decision you made,
that’s the one you’ll regret.

Photo

Sat, 13 Oct 2012 07:23:00 +1100

Romance rules.

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 21:00:00 +1100

how often do you watch porn?

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 20:57:39 +1100

I don’t. I whack off to grey heads.

That look…

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 20:44:30 +1100

That look…

I like this.

Tue, 09 Oct 2012 19:20:00 +1100

I like this.

Thank fuck for originality. This is...

Wed, 03 Oct 2012 15:51:32 +1000

Thank fuck for originality. This is glorious.

claytoncubitt:

You’ll want to be on headphones for this one.

Hysterical Literature: Session One: Stoya

Stoya visits the studio and reads from Necrophilia Variations by Supervert.

Stoya’s thoughts on the session.

Update: Supervert’s thoughts on the session.

View also: Hysterical Literature: Session Two: Alicia

Perhaps a little too honest.

Mon, 17 Sep 2012 06:17:00 +1000

Behind every dumb decision,
every stupid thing ever said,
all the good relationships turned to bad,
stable jobs sabotaged,
money spent, wasted, on ridiculous shit,
intoxicants taken into my body,
sad feelings when I should’ve been glad,
happy and not mad,
anxious,
depressed,
unfulfilled,
self loathing over loving.
Ruined the best fucking thing I ever had.

It propels me to trip up and fuck up.
Experience life in all it’s disgusting shades.

Art.
You motherfucker.