back to back

the dust hardley settles before I bathe my throbbing head in cold beer. The milky way has moved above us; skies folding back to reveal the fullness of the universe.

juggling ex lovers, crushes and media men. reconsidering what is right. lining up ambitions till I can see them in clear sights, crossed like a christian, seeking a bulls eye in this land of camels and donkeys.

after Noon

chain smoked ciggerettes and airconditioning. thick black markers and wanking to leonard cohen.

three hours off the plane and I am floor patterns in hallways, hallucinating ambition and checking in with the technology. the fridge is full of wilting food. my flatmate is unable to eat. it all seems the same round here.

The chickens are roasting inside of their coup, I throw scraps of garlic and olives over the fence. They don't seem to get the joke. Everything is irony in this palace of idealism I have built around my life. Her face seemed stretched with the realisation that things had finally worked out OK for me.

I am pages upon pages of inspiration, scrawled and splayed in notebooks that are left in loungerooms and bus shelters. What is this sadism that drives us to document every moment? Like a tourist strapped to a camera, will we miss the point whilst trying to capture it?

cut and paste

Ctrl C
coffee shops. Last time I was here we thought my mother was dying. Do you remember the letter I sent you?

Ctrl V

Back then I was akward. Well, I'm akward still, but it gets to me less and less these days. I'm sending drunken text messages to boys who don't matter. But at least I know they don't matter now.

I am a hop skip and jump from maturity. I am faking it till I make it past puberty. I am racing round corners, ignoring the landscape, trying to pinpoint places I recognise on a map without street names.

I am all inspiration and pens left at home. I am passing out on the fumes of my daydreams, running into people and accidental ideas. Eating chips and gelati in this city of birds.

Ctrl C

Last night I remembered all the reasons I loved her. Beyond the obvious things like talent and style. The way her eyes grow large and distracted mid conversation reminds me of my mind. I remembered that something about her was familiar. in a whirlpool of terminals, thats a comforting thing.

Ctrl V


Cunt chased my friend to my hometown.
It's too small for the three of us.

Ctrl C

I don't like change but I'm addicted to movement. The sleek lines of going somewhere else. The simple beauty of a wellpacked suitcase. The routine of passing through security screens.

fast change

Another logisitical cock up. I should start breeding chickens. The click click of directions changed with each webpage reload. I'm getting tardy with my money, indecisive with my fate.

And as if on cue melbourne opens it's skies and pours out glorious spring days. Like a mistress in fresh lingerie, she is luring me back to her crotch. Days like these were made for chain smoking. I sniff the ground for inspiration. I am hunting coffees and support materials, scalping fast men and slow meals.

rest and reset

The tyre tracks in my drive way have not yet cooled. They are layered, too many seasons of come-go to distinguish the names of the departure points. I am hauling in bags of left over food and blankets my mother crotched when she was manic. Dumped on the lounge room floor, I ignore them, and loose myself in my first beer for days.

I am leaving again.

Bags unpacked to be packed again, to be unpacked and packed again. I am a carousel of destinations. Last night I slept under Ntaria skies, first quiet night in the community all week. Tonight I rode home through small town roundabouts and watched the largest shooting star I've seen in months descend from the skies like a suicide bomber, like a moths final declaration of lunar love. Tommorrow I'll be back in that rabbit warren city, quipping in bars, wearing my red dust like armour, trying to suck all the authenticity out of the tram lines and wandering aimlessly through places I've forgotten.

I take my dirty laundry with me. I travel dirty, and light.

Again

The day retracts. The house darkens as I turn my thoughts to the lovers I've left behind. Ripping hair from my legs I tell her that torrid is the only relationship type I have, make jokes about recognising arseholes by their sex appeal. He tells me not to block love, that it can come at any time.

I run a stick around the edge of my defences. You mistake it for the beating of my heart.

That morning, as you sauntered off down the street to catch the tram, did you know it would be our last time? I crushed roses from the doctors surgery and watched you, silently saying goodbye to the cafe where you'd fetch me morning lattes. We pretend it doesn't mean a thing, insist on getting off our faces before we go home and slip insults between the sheets when the sex begins to resemble intimacy. I wake at 3am to find your tongue hanging out as you rack up lines to serve up to pretty south side girls and huddle on the couch with bed hair, cursing my waistline, telling myself I'm too old for this shit.

And I am.

You sucked the potential until the opportunities dried up and washed up in my bed like two week old dishes, still stinking of meals once enjoyed. When you rejected my calls I bought Leonard Cohens new book and sent you the relevant page numbers.

I return to the city again this weekend. I presume you did not understand.

serenity in smoke.

The city turned yellow before I landed. The softness suits this time. Fingertips tar stained, huddled in aircon, everyone is considering quitting ciggerettes. The drought breathes heavy here, panting like salivating lovers, blowing wind into our crotches and salt onto our lips.

My phone rings at 5am, private numbers invading my sleep. Last night my dreams were located in the rubbish dumps of my childhood, lecturers I've never met insisting I sit for my honours degree. I've become so addicted to salaried nipple that weans me off my youth. Sitting in park swapping love on the dole stories with gentle eyed boys in mid twenties crisis. Staring at clouds in slow motion, making my peace with the city again.