I want to scream.
I want to run through
the city at peak hour
naked
just to see how people will respond.
I want to get in the car and drive.
Just drive.
I want to sleep more.
Dream.
Get so good at dreaming
it’s more real than this
and do the stuff I can’t do
like fly and
breathe underwater.
I want to stand at the front of a bus,
a full bus,
on a rainy Monday morning
and yell
“it doesn’t have to be like this!”
Most of all,
I want to believe it.
May 28, 2012
(Untitled)
April 8, 2012
Tastes like forget.
Sit down to this bottle,
commence with civil sips.
Tastes like forget.
Responsible
gulps and refills,
it’s not enough and the
wine turns to
beer turns to
shots,
sipping on spirits.
I’d be all right
if I could sleep in a different body for
the night.
Cheap drinks
shared with
cheap women.
Bullshit conversation,
singing and laughing,
bedding and laying.
Fuck. Vomit.
“Fuck”.
Tonight it tastes like forget.
Tomorrow, regret.
April 2, 2012
Shooting stars.
We turn the channels
to be informed,
check
what state the
world is in.
Who’s fucking who
is having who’s baby
is getting divorced
got murdered,
engaged.
Like an unavailable
toilet stall.
Stinky shit,
intentional sniff.
Looking outside
as if they know better.
Those voyeuristic
masochistic turds.
Remember when the
stars were beautiful?
March 21, 2012
Wind.
Wind always makes me cranky.
More so than rain.
Rain makes me stay inside,
grateful for shelter,
enjoying the sound
of the drops tapping the roof
with perfect random beat.
Wind gets all up in my face,
like a bad mood that can’t be ignored.
I sit inside, looking out
at what would otherwise appear to be
a perfectly, happy day.
Perhaps that’s what it’s like looking at me.
More so than rain.
Rain makes me stay inside,
grateful for shelter,
enjoying the sound
of the drops tapping the roof
with perfect random beat.
Wind gets all up in my face,
like a bad mood that can’t be ignored.
I sit inside, looking out
at what would otherwise appear to be
a perfectly, happy day.
Perhaps that’s what it’s like looking at me.
March 20, 2012
I need to get this shower head fixed.
Snooze button pressed plural times
before feet flop to the floor
with an unenergetic, guttural sigh.
A minimalistic wardrobe selection,
‘maybe I just need to hydrate better’.
The water from the shower slaps my nape as
I turn around maintaining a 45 degree neck angle
catching the drops on my face,
‘looks like a sad scene from a movie’.
Imaginary rainfall moves progressively closer,
‘I need to get this shower head fixed’.
Dry, clothed and out the door,
in time for the bus in seconds.
Arrive at the office,
‘Morning. Morning. Morning!’
Please don’t ask if I’m okay,
it may just be my undoing.
before feet flop to the floor
with an unenergetic, guttural sigh.
A minimalistic wardrobe selection,
‘maybe I just need to hydrate better’.
The water from the shower slaps my nape as
I turn around maintaining a 45 degree neck angle
catching the drops on my face,
‘looks like a sad scene from a movie’.
Imaginary rainfall moves progressively closer,
‘I need to get this shower head fixed’.
Dry, clothed and out the door,
in time for the bus in seconds.
Arrive at the office,
‘Morning. Morning. Morning!’
Please don’t ask if I’m okay,
it may just be my undoing.
March 19, 2012
Second fuck.
She asks when she’ll see me again,
but I’m hesitant to make love a second time.
That’s where I went wrong,
I was making love,
not having yet mastered the art of fuck.
Rarely is the first time
so silk smooth,
so seamless.
When I do engage in
a second time,
a third time…
I become acquainted with her
curves and creases,
the nuance of ‘she’,
the symphony and masterpiece
of her moans.
Months and months of
the best kind of sex,
male female entwinement,
yin and yang entanglement,
before my heart was
blown to smithereens.
It is now with some trepidation,
that I allow
a second fuck,
and this love lostened heart
daren’t make love again
any time soon.
but I’m hesitant to make love a second time.
That’s where I went wrong,
I was making love,
not having yet mastered the art of fuck.
Rarely is the first time
so silk smooth,
so seamless.
When I do engage in
a second time,
a third time…
I become acquainted with her
curves and creases,
the nuance of ‘she’,
the symphony and masterpiece
of her moans.
Months and months of
the best kind of sex,
male female entwinement,
yin and yang entanglement,
before my heart was
blown to smithereens.
It is now with some trepidation,
that I allow
a second fuck,
and this love lostened heart
daren’t make love again
any time soon.
March 13, 2012
I can’t look at her smile.
It’s like the sun,
her smile hurts to look at.
I can squeeze her hand gently,
before asking the waitress to bring her another knife.
I can kiss her forehead,
then fetch her a drink from the kitchen.
I can hold her in the night,
just because it’s nice to be holding someone.
I can watch the sun come up with her,
because we never run out of things to talk about.
I can sit quietly with her,
because sometimes silence is nice.
I can make love to her for hours,
because every millimetre of her skin is divine.
I can whisper something
cute, silly and playful in her ear and
enjoy the sound of her childish chuckle.
But I can’t look directly at her smile,
because I fear one day
she’s going to stop.
And it’ll be my fault.
her smile hurts to look at.
I can squeeze her hand gently,
before asking the waitress to bring her another knife.
I can kiss her forehead,
then fetch her a drink from the kitchen.
I can hold her in the night,
just because it’s nice to be holding someone.
I can watch the sun come up with her,
because we never run out of things to talk about.
I can sit quietly with her,
because sometimes silence is nice.
I can make love to her for hours,
because every millimetre of her skin is divine.
I can whisper something
cute, silly and playful in her ear and
enjoy the sound of her childish chuckle.
But I can’t look directly at her smile,
because I fear one day
she’s going to stop.
And it’ll be my fault.
March 7, 2012
Oh, the mess you were.
A moonlight drizzle peered through the blinds, leaving her bare body barely visible. “I wish I was more more drunk”, I stated, without explanation. Unlikely it needed one, my nerves were translucent. Laying back, looking up at her with that filthy undercut; she had been inebriated, sitting curb side with some guy in Enmore and hacking her own self-destructive hairstyle. Gold sequined top lay on my bedroom floor - another one of her shock factor outfits. Earlier, she’d been confessing her Zoloft prescription with “I don’t tell anyone this stuff”. Two weeks later, she’s buying me gifts at the markets with dirty money from weed dealing. Sharing, crying over sad tales as she comes down from a reckless night, cocaine play. Pointers on how to be less of a nice guy because “Mike, girls will fall in love with you”, coupled with tips on how to successfully carry off a one night stand. She was apparently, the sexually liberated one. I recall commenting on her shampoo and cigarette scent. Poor sibling relationship; parents, family, friends still treating her like a child.
We played, dated and fucked. A lot.
Then the drugs stopped. The smoking stopped. The dealing stopped. The drinking stopped. Relationships improved. The self-loathing became self-loving. She came off the anti-depressants.
She’s now a free-spirited yogi, righteously self-aware and well… I was there for the metamorphosis. I wouldn’t dare be a smug jerk proclaiming the transformation had anything to do with me, but I was fucking there! Supporting her through the tears and those nights she couldn’t leave the house, fetching dinner, hugging and holding her, taking phone calls during the day, text messages, at her beck and call long after we collapsed.
And now you’re good, and I’m the disaster.
It’s a fucking parasite. An inhabitant. A disease that leaves and gets passed on.
It’s looking for it’s next host…
Be well, love.
We played, dated and fucked. A lot.
Then the drugs stopped. The smoking stopped. The dealing stopped. The drinking stopped. Relationships improved. The self-loathing became self-loving. She came off the anti-depressants.
She’s now a free-spirited yogi, righteously self-aware and well… I was there for the metamorphosis. I wouldn’t dare be a smug jerk proclaiming the transformation had anything to do with me, but I was fucking there! Supporting her through the tears and those nights she couldn’t leave the house, fetching dinner, hugging and holding her, taking phone calls during the day, text messages, at her beck and call long after we collapsed.
And now you’re good, and I’m the disaster.
It’s a fucking parasite. An inhabitant. A disease that leaves and gets passed on.
It’s looking for it’s next host…
Be well, love.
February 24, 2012
Aloneness.
Not loneliness.
Aloneness.
There is a vast
difference between the two. If you are unable to
distinguish the
dissimilarity, I recommend a high
dose of either until you have made the
distinction.
My cat, Charlie, does
aloneness well.
I envy Charlie.
Though he is missing some
fur from his
belly.
The vet says it is just an
allergy to something and gave him a
shot of
hormones.
There is a content, peaceful bliss
in needing no one else and
knowing satisfaction with one’s own company.
Discover aloneness.
Charlie is on to something.
Minus the
allergies.
difference between the two. If you are unable to
distinguish the
dissimilarity, I recommend a high
dose of either until you have made the
distinction.
My cat, Charlie, does
aloneness well.
I envy Charlie.
Though he is missing some
fur from his
belly.
The vet says it is just an
allergy to something and gave him a
shot of
hormones.
There is a content, peaceful bliss
in needing no one else and
knowing satisfaction with one’s own company.
Discover aloneness.
Charlie is on to something.
Minus the
allergies.
February 23, 2012
Timelessness.
What, about you, is timeless?
Without pausing to
ponder,
you already know.
But there are
two things to
contemplate.
One.
There are things,
qualities and rubbish,
that are constant,
unchanging.
Embrace these things,
work with them,
indulge in them,
flaunt them.
Whatever the people
do not like,
good.
Keep doing it.
Two.
There are things,
elements of you,
that will be here,
when you are not.
Know what they are.
Even if it’s just a
soil contribution.
And if that’s all it is,
be the best
soil contribution
you can be.
ponder,
you already know.
But there are
two things to
contemplate.
One.
There are things,
qualities and rubbish,
that are constant,
unchanging.
Embrace these things,
work with them,
indulge in them,
flaunt them.
Whatever the people
do not like,
good.
Keep doing it.
Two.
There are things,
elements of you,
that will be here,
when you are not.
Know what they are.
Even if it’s just a
soil contribution.
And if that’s all it is,
be the best
soil contribution
you can be.
February 16, 2012
The day I gave up.
It’s another dark
day as the sun
suns, high sky,
white fluffy clouds,
laying in the park,
tourist girls in
bikinis, nice tits,
turned on stomachs
with bottoms
wedged in fine
arses and
it’s another dark
day as I find myself
reading
another book on
life and love,
wisdom,
philosophy,
inspiration,
enough. Enough.
I give up.
I feel most alive when
I’m dick deep in a beautiful woman.
Where is the book on that?
Dick Deep in Beautiful Women.
Someone write that goddamned book.
I feel most alive when
I’m dick deep in a beautiful woman.
Where is the book on that?
Dick Deep in Beautiful Women.
Someone write that goddamned book.
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