Acting is pretending to be something that you are not.

It was flowing out of me, all the toxins of the last six months, manifested in liquid format. Stained underwear and cheeks,Now I am literally blood sweat and tears. We play pass the bucket as the spit slicks back into my face.

This is my justification: i'm just another fucking poet. direct this up your arse. don't tell me where to stand now.

This is my five minute installation, my reflection on problems entered. Body contorted I am seconds from breaking I am seconds from emotional impotence. I am inventing lovers on mattresses in scout halls because god knows nothing if not peaceful sleep.

Snap shot of me holed up in river. Holding this pose because the collective demands it. We are the worst kind of hive mind. Directing is being told what to do. I am searching out the peices of anarchy that still remain in manic laughter that exists after silence falls.

Pass you a peice of my heart printed on paper. It's the only way I can show you who I am when I leave.

Blunt brain in bris vegas

The cafe is erratic, all fast lattes and waitresses with henna hair and tight t shirts. The humidity has dropped into the air, and the ocean is closer than it's been in months. Mangroves are licking the edge of the city. The streets of the CBD are dead.

I am recaffinating after a whirlwind melbourne stopover, imbibing the surroundings, waiting for my soul to catch up. I've left my luggage in a locker at central, prehaps all the different parts of me can be consolidated in that long steel crevice. I'm feeling somewhat anebrieted. Throwing down beer and herbal remedies in unison. Plunging headfirst into the new year. Praying my body can keep up with the next three wereks.

reset

The year began as a slow moving target. My head, a community radio station scrambled with best hits fm. We're squashed into bathtubs, sitting in sludge and water the temperture of vomit. The new year is baked eggs and whiskey, left over beer and noses dragged across CD cases. Surrrounded by dogs and other peoples underwear, retracting into rocking chairs, passing out on concrete and sand.

My new years resolutions are currency conversions slurred in the pool on a Friday afternoon. My new years resolution are drowning in cheap indian food, passed around the circle like a roach, coughed up into the toilet bowl, retrieved on the bike ride home.