ant

We buzz beneath the ranges. We slip into cavaties. Our liquid architecture works in slow motion. We are becoming the stones we wear down.

I am an object in motion. I am time + space. I am a softly whispered verse in a crowded room. I am the dichotomy of a tripched world.

This is not a rainbow but a spectrum. You are not nothing but obselete. The camera shutter dialates like a mother to be. Your first intake of breath is a scream.

Centred

After twenty eight hours, three cities and two towns I'm back in the desert. My face contorts as we touch down. Laden with cases and bottles of grog, draping furs and stories behind me. The skies open like the ranges. I curl up in my old self.

sublime

wrapped in salt and water dreaming of the red sandy place. the last day in the city is sublime. dancing with dali and dumplings. remembering to look up at the sky.

my pressure points easing. supple once again. i am slipstreams and alleyways. chasing fish still swept in water. porous and expansive, my afternoon slips into the horizon.

for all the cities lace petticoats, I long for the simple lines of home.

post post its

Cleared of obligations and drunk on duty free. I am stretching my skin to slide myself in. Assemble these new parts of me.

The sweetness of trivial concerns. I become a fluff ball over breakfast. There is a safety in familiarity that cannot be found in family. I explain the difference between kith and kin.

Spend the day repeicing myself in the city. Picking fragments of myself off the coats of strangers by. Find comfort in Dalis distortians. All that was is now. There are no boundries anymore

fair well

All that was is becoming memories.

Rising up above the alps, catch my last glimps of snow. I am transfixed. Trying to make this country familiar. Weaving another story into myself. Another language to speak.

Soon these things will become sensible again. I will make be understood by passers by

steam

inhale too quickly.

burn the ciggerette down to your fingers.

tears are just the overflow

from when the system gets too hot.

like a rat in a trap

the sentimental goes mental, the biological loses it's logic.

We are shredding and grating. you do not understand that it is different for me.

I am a product. Shiny rapping. There is rhyme but not reason.

I must go back to my factory, back track the processes that brought me here.

Squeezed for details. Reflect it back on me.

Splash the citrus in my face.

I can't tell you everything that happened between us.

Let me have some of this for myself.

There may not be that much more to savour.

There is less of him these days....

lost and found

There is a number on a screen and it connects you to a person.

There is an intake of air when they answer the phone.

There is a question and an answer. A moments hesitation.

There is a person and then you hang up the phone.

Flight mode

Belt fastened. Seat upright. Ready for take off. I am in the exit row. I am learning how operate the safety slides if required. I am not smoking. All of my electrical devices are turned off.

Turbulence is unexpected. Sudden loss of altitude will cut your breath off. Help yourself before helping others.

Brace yourself

Enjoy your flight.

step back

The roads grow wider and the light thins. A grey overhang in the sky. I am melting into the shadows. Hibernating in the crowds.

In the rabbit warren hostels, in stacked beds and gendered rooms I am alone. Finally. Again.

Between the big issues and caffination I knit myself a cover. Weave that which has not dissipated into an identity of sorts. My own map of every city is hardwired. I've traced these steps before. If I chose another laneway would my conclusions change?

From the distance life seems as significant as up close. Have I finally found my meaning? The place where I belong?

in and out of it

I'm sitting in the sun but I can feel the cool escaping the house.
I'm leaving home again.
Packing up to go home.
Back to my childhood
to visit myself.

It's been a crazy time, this shifting of houses, this changing of perspectives. I've scrubbed myself raw, glazed my mind with frankincese and we still lost money on the security bond. Safety is an illusion of credibility. Accounting is a poor subsititute for karmic law.

But the wattles still bloom here
the sea still washes the mangroves
in that old place
and I wonder if
the mountains will sing
the flowers remember
the blue bottles still sparkle
when i return home.

rabbit

Sometimes the idea is more important than the action. The gesture more potent than reality.

The work day ends and I find him. My favourite one basking in sun. The only one I never considered being estranged from. The centrepeice in our mandala reading motor bike magazines and drinking tea.

And I thought "If this isn't happiness, I don't know what the fuck it is."

dirty hands

Practicing alchemy and creation with poultry and plastic containers. Mixing my continents into a cocktail. Consuming everything in sight.

The days become overcast but at least now a little light can get through. Cleaning with five different types of detergant. The gumption takes away what the frankincense won't.

gush

O how I've missed my confession booth. Friday finds me in bed with propped up crochet. The remains of my mothers mania. In this place I feel I am home.

What is this possession of relinquishing all that I am in small bytes of detail. To step aside from the scrutiny and report what really occurs in my heart. If I ever questioned the need for earnesty, the answer has revealed itself to me in the past two weeks.

I've made a list of cords to cut. I am sharpening scissors. I am rehearsing apologies. I am creating more space. I have made a throwing out pile wrapped in brown paper of things to cast out of my life.

I could stay here all evening. It's been long overdue. But red satin calls me to action. I must leave my oasis and enter the desert once more.

playing catch up

Too many weeks with an empty cursor. The backlog of trojan horse virus scans leaves me racked with guilt. My month has been a compound maths problem that I am only just starting to solve. Division is tedious, the opposite multiplies. I am plus and minus frenzied. Trying to decipher the decimal from the point.

My heart is in boxes. I throw away the battered suitcases that have moved me across four states. I overlook this gesture of permanance as I fantasise about other places. Two tubs of gumption and a repetative strain injury couldn't clean up the mess we've made.

Reconcilliation comes on a work afternoon as the last of the light drains out of the kitchen. We speak in measured tones. At the point of crisis we sign last minute treaties.

I hope we can keep them.

Now that my mind has slowed maybe the hangovers will subside as well. Another week of cheap red wine and take away will kill me. I invite something else in instead.