Thursday, June 28, 2007

Gunfight at the Corral.

Fuck it.

It hurts.


It hurts.


It hurts.




Okay folks. He's okay.


Are you in a band?

No, I'm not in a band.

Everyone's in a band.

I'm not in a band. I am not a boy in a band.


I'm sorry.

No, that's fine.



How are you?

I'm okay. Everything's fine, but something is still not right.

What is it?

I don't know. No, I know. But I don't know. No. I just don't know. I really don't know. I think I should leave town. I think I'd like to leave town. I want to leave town. Except, things are okay. But they're not okay. I don't know if I leave town if things will be okay. But it's not okay, so I think I have to leave town. Except, I don't know.


It's okay. It's okay.



Hey Last Night?


Man, that was good. I really fucking needed that. It made it okay.


Hey Future?


When are you?

Just keep yours eyes open, and you will find me.






Are you okay?

I don't think so.

Oh B.



[b. Come to pub tonight]

[oh god. i think i need to run further than that. but ok.]

All I want is bacon and a hug.

Time travels alone.

Once I wrote this thing for Blim.
I just wanted to put it back here.
For me.


What point of living, if not for love?
What do you think you are living for, if not for love?
When it all ends, will you think, I was free, I was rich, I was creative, I was famous?
What of that feeling, love, that you dream of, that you hold dear, that you hope for and pray for and that you cherish and feed and grow with and are constantly surprised by?

The meaning of life is love. The end. The whole point of our fucking existence is to transcend the menial details that constantly bombard us, that distract us and send us plummeting downward, that turn us sour and hating, that create war and politics and animosity. The point is to move one step beyond that, and love the fuck out of all around you.

Call your friends, your family, your lovers. Tell them you love them. Hold their hand, smile at them when events transpire against you, let go of the bullshit, travel into the centre of your fucking being and strip it all away until you are able to love. Yes! There are so many facets to our lives, exploration, explanation, examination and excitement. But does it all not dull in your eyes in comparison to love?

The very thought of love makes us smile. The very hope that it exists is enough to give us the strength to carry on, day to day. Would I wake up in the morning if I thought love did not exist? If I was living for the pay off, the magazine cover, the merchandise? Doesn't love get you out of bed? Isn't there hope for a fucking future as long as there is love? Am I being incredibly fucking cheesy? YES. But it is SO FUCKING IMPORTANT DON'T YOU SEE? Don't you feel me crying as I write this for if you do not understand what I feel, how can you live? I mean LIVE.


This is my God, this notion of love. This dream. This Earth. This is my religion, this is my aim.

More often than not, I find myself on a rollercoaster of expectation. Trying to fulfill a potential I believe exists within me, trying to live a dream within a dream and make something out of the circumstances that make up my life. Sometimes, I give up, judged a failure by the jury of myself, and sit at the end of the bar. Henry Chinaski, Archibald Rum, no love, no philosophy, just numb me, numb me, NUMB ME NOW. But if I don't get this out right now, this moment will be lost. And this lesson is far too important, TO ME, to forget.

I'll be embarrassed by this, I know myself. I'll be angry and sore and hurting and I won't understand the meaning of what I write, and I'll read it back and idiot.

But I'll be wrong, and I'll know it.

What fucking purpose to life, if not love.


I've remembered something important.

I hope you're safe out there, wherever you are.


Wednesday, June 27, 2007

I barely understand myself, in fact I fucking don't, so even slightly understanding other people seems well beyond me.

Some people are so simple, and great. It seems, anyway. Just normal people, with normal normal normal.

Hi, I'm sexy, smart, and completely normal.


I'm not. I don't think.

Then I'll wear a tie and appear to the outside world as a normal person in a tie.

Yep, I'm neither sexy nor smart, but I've got a tie on, so you know, normal.

*whistles gaily*


Sometimes, no matter how far you travel, you still find yourself walking over the same old ground.

I do find that to be frustrating.

But then again, occasionally people just come out and say:

... I have the house to myself, as the wife and child will be in Geelong. Do you guys wanna come around for a drink, talk shit and perhaps watch the deluxe DVD edition of Trading Places?

So yeah, fucking super sweet. And a big finger fuck to the Rest of the Universe.

In Vert We Brate

I'm running late to work and as I'm going down the hill my tongue falls out and I fall over it and fall flat on my face.

Fall fall fall.

Stupid tongue.
So easy to trip on.

What can I do? I pick it up, put it back in, and sigh down the street to the little safety zone of the Studio where the door is open with someone laughing at me, and the pink haired lady is jumping up and down screaming, matty! matty! matty! matty!

What, yes?



It's a funny place to feel at home, but this morning especially, it sort of feels like that.


I'm an Octopus, all tangled in the bottom of the tank.

Every now and again, someone tries to make sense of it.

But I'm quite resistant, without even knowing why.


Why do people lie to each other?

I don't fucking know. I wish I could take all the lies I've told and rocket them far into space, in to a distant star which would stay in the sky forever, a reminder of the beauty of raw honesty and truth.

The picture the lies paint is a false Armour, a transparent disguise, and as Chicago sang:

Instead of getting any easier
Its the hardest thing to take
You're a hard habit to break.


I've been hiding, because no-one gets hurt,
especially me, when I hide.
Or, so I told myself.
Another lie.


Here's me, that's all I can B.

Hope your hearts are happy.

Why is he so interested?

Yeah, ok.


Tuesday, June 26, 2007


Shit hurts and you go to the pub.

I'm going to the pub.

I think we're alone now.

I'm standing in the rain waiting for a bus. It's 8 o'clock in the morning. There is no shelter, it's in the part of Brunswick where they decided many years ago that trees just took up good concretin' space. No one else is silly enough to stand at my particular bus stop. I have my hands in my pocket and I'm doing that little jig thing, one leg then the other, more out of boredom than the fact that I am wet and cold. I don't have a book, for the first time in ages. So, jig it is.

I see a lady walking up the street toward me. She has no umbrella, a large black trench coat hides her hands and her hair is blowing forward, obscuring her face. She walks up to the bus stop. We do the silent, well, you're here and I'm here thing.

Then she says,

Catching the bus are you?

Yes, I reply.

She looks at me strangely and says,

I wasn't talking to you.

And walks off.

For the second time in a year, I do the Eddie Murphy look at the camera of my life.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Fuck Face Food

Just when I thought I wasn't having a good day.

Lolslutz, Rebel Belles and Food Fights.

*turns it around*


Hey you. Way over there. Happy Birthday Mohican.


Turn off your Bright Lights.

Sometimes the City makes even the stars seem lonely.

And if every star holds a wish, it's a shame we had to build such places,
that outshone them all, and imprisoned us in Industriousness, and Productivity and Man Made.

Because now, if you live in the Cities, you have to share that one wish with so many people.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

A Greek Man Travelling Downwards.


B isn't it?

Yes, hello...

Maya, we used to go to school together, in Elwood.

I remember, how are you Maya?

Good, thank you. What's been happening, where are you off to?

Just off to work eh.

And what are you doing with yourself B?

Just working for the man, you know...

Oh cool. Well, I'm a writer. I'm writing a book. I'm just in LOVE with words right now.

Sweet. Words are wonderful aren't they?

Oh B, you have no idea. If you could see, if only you could understand, if you could feel the way the


I'm sorry what?

Waltz. I think words should waltz. Dance gives me the impression of lots of little letters bouncing up and down to Pigback's Pigback. Ba ba ba BA! Ba ba baaa know? I think they should waltz, it's far more elegant, and more appropriate.

Yes, well, waltz then. But I think you're missing the point. Then again, it's hard for other people to understand the power of words. I mean, how can I, as a writer, convey to non-writers what I feel, the way the words travel through me...

Isn't that the point of writing? For you, as a writer, to convey what you feel?

Now you're being deliberately contrary...

I am? I don't mean to be!

ANYWAY, I'm writing a book about trees, and their relationship to people, and my relationship to this land, my aboriginal heritage...

Oh, I didn't know you were Koori.

Oh I'm not, but I feel I am. I feel, a deep connection to this land that most people cannot understand.

You seem to know a lot of things that other people don't understand.

Yes, I think I do. I talk about it in my book, I talk about the earth, Gaia the Goddess...

Oh, so it's a Hippie book. So you're a Hippie!

That's a very narrow minded view...

Yes but, hang on. Investigation, a vital tool for writing, leads me to Observe that you're currently wearing a tie dyed t-shirt under your jacket, a hand knitted Rasta Hat and you have incredibly long dreadlocks. Conclusion: Hippie.

I don't think you understand.

You keep saying that.

Well, look, this is my stop. It's been...well, I hope you see one day the folly of "working for the man" as you are. Creativity B, you should Investigate THAT sometime.

Ok ma'am. Nice to see you.





Thursday, June 21, 2007

I was tryin' to catch your eye.

Soundtrack: Wilco / Either Way.

Maybe you still l0ve me
Maybe you don't
Either you will or you won't
Maybe you just need some time alone
I will try to understand
Everything has its plan
Either way
I'm gonna stay
Right for you


Jealousy, like most things, is funny and strangely beautiful when put into perspective. Man, I've suffered from it, suffered its confusing and hallucinogenic dizziness, its distortion and pain. I've also been on the receiving end, but rather than curse and splutter and say, I can't stand this, I have no room in my life for jealousy, I find it's best to listen and talk and calmly bring the person back, to reassure rather than alienate. Think about it, why stab someone in the heart when their crime is to love with a blinding passion? Discussion and patience are a much nicer way through life than rubbishing someone's emotions with a cold I Don't Need This. Besides, if you love a jealous person, I guarantee when it passes, you'll be on the receiving end of the The World's Most Loving Hug. Which is never, EVER, something to be sneered at.

*hugs readers*


Sasha Knox Update:

Last night my Porn Star Crush was on TV being drilled by her acting coach.

It was a joy to watch.


The streets are dark at 6.45am when I breathe winter in and hooded huddle beneath the lights of the local store with Henry Miller for company and happy thoughts of coffee to come. Of the million thoughts that flow through the fog in the first hour after waking, some hook and pull and peel back the subconscious and some sail past, a laconic drift of dreams on the horizon and if I gaze out upon them I can stop time and exhale a thousand years in a single moment and that morning tear is a diamond in which my life refracts and crystals, a kaleidoscope of everything I have ever felt and everyone I have ever known, or will know, and which one of them is aware of the man-boy with the brown fop and hood, hands in pocket in the dark under the dying glow of last night's neon sign.

That's why I love Wilco.

Because they sound like that moment.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

I'm going to buy this.

Sorry Sublime-ation, I hope we can still be friends.

Another Ling Ling.

I live with a Trapeze Artist. Or should I say, I live in the wonderfully perfect, completely furnished country home of a guy that's on tour with the circus 9 months of the year. It's tough.

Hey, here he is! Hey Lingy!

Hello mattyb, mattyb mattyb mattyb, mattyb...hey mattyb?

Yes Lingy?

Let's clean the bathroom, and the toilet and mop the floor, then I want to knock down that wall, build a shed, move all the art that you have in your room into the loungeroom, go to the pub, dig up the garden, change the living room around, build some shelves...

Hey Lingy?

Yes mattyb?

How many lines have you had?

Mattyb, mattyb mattyb, mattyb...don't be like that mattyb...mattyb?

Yes Lingy?

I love you.

I love you too.


Tonight is the Opening Night of the latest Circus Oz tour.
It's be good.
You should go.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Wow Part 2.


It's funny, My Tin Anus points out the difference between Astronomy and Astrology, in that Astronomy is the study of the Universe and how small it makes man, where as Astrology is an incredibly conceited science whereby we study the Universe to come to the conclusion that the whole thing is about ourselves.

Hey yeah, that is kind of funny...But you know what? I think the Universe IS all about me. I think that's the better way to look at it, know what I mean?

You're so cool.


And just quickly, last night as present for my bestest and most beautiful, I purchased Steve Martin's Shopgirl, which is of course a movie far too kissy and girly for a rugged man of the land such as myself.

Except, I should have known, should have realised that Mr Martin is a genius in his lifelong study of the outsider, the odd, and the lonely. And in tears at the end of the movie, shocked at this fucking unexpected tale of love which seemed so god damn real, I mean REAL, I vowed never again to judge a DVD by its cover.*

I really was suprised. Just thought I'd open up for a little. Carry on.

*I've moved with the times.

We've got to get together sooner or later, because the revolution's here...

Having killed myself at the start of the year, I suddenly find myself more alive than ever. People get to thinking about death very rarely, which is sad because it truly is the one thing which we all have in common, the mind bending unknown into which no-one but the dead themselves can see. And when you think about the irony, that this common ground we share has created the most powerful and everlasting institutions on earth, religions formed purely for the sake of giving us some perspective on the The End Of All makes me laugh, because you know what? I've been afraid too, and I've reacted terribly, and I've panicked and cried and I've done these things at events which do not even register in the face of the End. And that's all religion is, a worldwide spiritual panic, a frightened mob racing for the lifeboats, a distraction, a dope. It's not salvation, it's a salve, a tonic, Bigginsworth and Son's Potent Elixir, and in the mob's mad dash for hope they not only give all responsibility and all control over their own fucking souls, the most important thing they own, the only thing which makes a man his own man, which if you ever take the fucking time to stop trying to drip personality, if you ever sit silent and slow it all down to what's real, it's the softest, gentlest voice you have. The one that preaches love to all, forgiveness for yourself, and gives you a way forward which does not come from God, or from Work, or from anything other than you, and you are the stars, you and your soul, a part of everything and forever wandering the universe, exploding and regenerating for all time, and now and again, or maybe just once, now, this life, you get to appreciate it, get to actually see the process at work, to marvel at the fucking patterns and the endless fractal interconnections of me and you and the stars beyond and it makes you laugh with delight and weep with melancholy and joy, the lucky, the aware.

But what are you going to do with that soul huh?

Sunday, June 17, 2007

And liberty she pirouette, watched by empty silhouettes...

Maybe the sun will shine today
The clouds will roll away
Maybe I won’t be so afraid
I will understand everything has its plan
Either way...


Some people got shot this morning as I was walking through the city. There was a barricade, a mob of onlookers gorging on the spectacle, some blood on the concrete, police with the police look on their faces, the not nice one, the MOVE one, and there was me. And I couldn't get these beautiful songs out of my head, and I'm sorry for the fucking human tragedy but the whole thing's a human tragedy and one tiny decision made by two people to speak out about a girl being dragged by her hair means they got shot for their troubles, and that's how quickly everything can turn and that's the ironic curtain closing on an act of kindness. I keep walking, the music in my head and the winter sky makes the whole thing more real, my dream, is more real, I'm sorry you had to get shot in it. People are fucked sometimes. No wonder it's so nice to find love.


It was raining real heavy and it was dark and the moon was out but barely and I just wanted to cross the road, near the bend where the cars can't see you if they're going too fast. I put my hands in my pocket, it was ice and velvet and I just tried to get to the other side of the road when all of a sudden this fast red car came around the corner and you know what it did? It sped up and deliberately swerved toward me as I was running across the road, nowhere even near it, and all I can see in my head is what if I had tripped, or better still...what if I wanted to die and just stood there and took it and my brains were a sexier, slicker more attractive red - a stain of my mind - and that driver with his vibe his tough, lived haunted by me, the guy who only had to cross the road. People are fucked sometimes. No wonder it's so nice to find love.


The whole purpose of finding love is to escape the madness of the rest of the world, into an insanity of your own creation. An insanity where lovers are the sun, the centre, the explosion, revolving around each other and discovering billions of unexplored stars deep within each other's eyes.

I love Uranus, you love M'ars.


The mass - pulsating flesh, opinions, ambitions, flaws, wars, politics - when looked at from a distance, repulses me more than I can eloquently describe. But people, individual ones, are sometimes so amazing, and so full of surprises, and so human. When you're close to someone, it's common to say, "we're so alike, you and I"...

I wish we were all a little closer to each other.


Oh yeah, I almost forgot. If there's still anyone out there who hasn't heard the new Wilco album, please do so now. The world will be a little bit better for it. It's quite indescribably perfect.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

School of Hard Knox


How's that stuff coming along B?

Um, good...
(I am too late in pressing alt-tab)

What was that?


On your screen, what was that?


Come on show me.

I alt-tab back to a selection of Hard Core porn movies.


No but you see, it's Sasha, I have to get her movies because I think she's so cool, and I don't have the internet at home, and I'm really NOT looking at porn, well I am, but it's different because Sasha and I are, well...I have the biggest crush on her and this way her and I are getting to know each other you know? It's actually more romantic than it looks...



Can you PDF that job and send it to me now.

Yessir. Sorry sir.


Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Strange things that I'm doing at work. Part 3.

Making a fold out fish for the Brake Doctor.



A fold out fish.


Thar he doesn't

On Smith St...

Office woman to office man sitting outside cafe: No way, you'll have a fucking hard on for hours and you won't blow. I fucking hate that. I like it best when you blow. Fuck it turns me on.

Me stopping dead in tracks: Hi, Matty, nice to meet you.

Outro Soundtrack: James Brown / Please, Please, Please.

In nothing, peace.

Fact #486354b:

Tropic of Capricorn. A torrential stream of fuck, soul, love and the meaning of life. A book that contains a thousand quotes where you would have been proud to write but one of them. A direct communication between the subconscious fantastical and the sadly tangible. Fuck me, the guy can write like no-one I've ever read.


Fact #486438:



Fact #486436:

There's this hilarious scene in an incredibly fucking bad sci-fi movie called The Chronicles of Riddick, in which Vin Diesel is strapped into the back of a mercenary ship and the shot creeps tighter and tighter onto him as his voice-over reveals the Toledo Steel Rapier Strategy that forms in his brain, a plan so cunning it could only have been formed by Leonardo Da Vinci fucking Einstein like the Big Bang in an MC Escher Multiverse...

"I'm gonna kill all 'dese guys"

The Japanese formed an entire religion based on such simplicity.
We made a cereal.


You know these days the family unit is struggling due to the war on Iraq and if the Liberals would only use the senate majority to change the media ownership laws then the price of petrol would mean that the Average Joe wold be able to fly the flag though if he doesn't get tough on watering his garden then it means that next time I'm in court the drug runners that have come in from the terrorist funded boat people will completely overwhelm our welfare system and we'll all be buggered.

I'm Alan Jones.



In my stupidity I like to find superstition in strange places. I don't really care about stepping on the cracks, or throwing salt over my shoulder, but at the start of the year I did decide that the fortunes of my football team would reflect how I was progressing in my life after the fun and frollicky few years of gaiety and peaceful excitement that I had just lived. I really wish now that I hadn't of done that. But of course, this year is all about rebuilding. And I'm happy for my friend George, who finds himself on top of the ladder of life.

Time for work, bye.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

In the light universe, I was darkness. Perhaps in the dark universe, I shall be light.

Sometimes, it feels good to forget.

And when you're a suburban country yokel such as myself, who has foresworn binge drinking in favour of painting and writing songs, it's good to find another drug.

Like this.

Thanks Josh. Hope to see you soon.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Good for the Lubet.

Stuff that is good.

I think it may even be Part #1.

Which is nice isn't it?

The whole thing.
I want to go.
Foof, semi, etc.

Maurice Sendak is a God.
I've held this in my hand, it's a Pop-Up of such complexity that it's all you can do to not dribble on it in awe. I think I need to buy it and keep it ready for the daughter that is still not the glint in my eye. It makes me happy that out there in the world, someone still cares for craftsmanship and detail. Buy it, buy it, love it.

Just don't take the last copy or I'll cry.

Hibernate: I dream.

I wish that I was born a thousand years ago
I wish that I'd sailed the darkened seas
On a great big clipper ship
Going from this land here to that
I put on a sailor's suit and cap

Away from the big city
Where a man cannot be free
Of all the evils in this town
And of himself and those around
Oh, and I guess I just don't know
Oh, and I guess I just don't know


Take a look at a J.M.W.Turner.

Walk away.

Go pick up a paint brush, a canvas, let the emotions come, paint what you feel, mix colours, make the light dance with shadow dance with flair and imagination. Put your brush down. Fun isn't it? Creative and a great way to spend time, I mean, you just made something. YOU! YOU DONE IT! Fuck TV, you are officially a parent.

Now, go back and look at the Turner. Or a different one. Like this:

Do you see it now? Oh my god. My appreciation levels are ballooning, taking flight into a world I had previously nodded my head in recognition to, but never stepped toward.

Sometimes, it feels good, as a drug, to feel the rock n' roll of youth and cockiness and the misguided lust and sensuality of conceit. To lose yourself in the Iggy and Plant of the transient, to see it as passion, to see it as the flame, the punk and thrust of your will to live.

But wiser Saturn knows, humility is by far, the greater companion, the homecoming, the hearth, the deeper conversation, the twinkle in the toes and the oceans in your eyes.

I have fallen in love with painting, have rediscovered the songs that have slept silent in my heart, have walked the secret tracks beside my home and have slept among dreams of golden summers and warm embraces, and through the shivers and death of encroaching winter, found that a simple smile and happy thought holds more power than a thousand words, a thousand reasons, a thousand whys, a thousand wonders.

It's cheesy.

I don't care.

Your worse will return.

Maybe. I don't care.

Who gives a fuck.

No-one. I don't care.

You're no longer a part of it.

Oh me oh my, I certainly do not care.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

News desk.

Is everyone in Sydney afraid for their lives?

WARNING. Images are extremely distressing.

Opportunity Knox

Soundtrack: Rolling Stones / Let's spend the night together

As much as I have a reputation as a hard-livin', hard-fuckin', devilishly dangerous wild man who loves nothing more than dragging multiple girls by the hair to a dark alleyway behind a bar as they clumsily try to unbutton my jeans in a passionate frenzy, really nothing could be further from the truth. That sort of shit is for a whole different breed of person. Not I. I don't even get crushes. Crushes, aww a crush is so cute. Whatevs. I hate fucking crushes. Crush my balls. Hmmm....perhaps I should've thought about that first. I mean people these days LOVE to talk about their crushes,

"Ooh their so a) funny, b) sexy, c) look like my father I've got SUCH a crush!"

Wow, thanks so much for telling that exciting and basically boring as fuck fact. COOL!
What are you going to do about it?
a) nothing, but isn't just HAVING the crush so much fun / vomit inducingly cutesy poo.
b) jerk off in public / private
c) shut the fuck up and keep sucking my cock or otherwise I'm gonna get real mad and I don't have any more concealer in my bedroom.

See, I've never been big on crushes. I like to love and make out and if I've got a crush, I'm usually with the person, or if I'm with a person, I don't get a crush.

Get it?
Got it.








But what about..SHUTUP.

But you just said...ISAIDSHUTUP.

Yes I have a crush. And it's strange, because I'm NEVER going to be with the person, and also my lovely lady friend has admitted that she too would like to see my crush get fucked, suck cock, moan and gasp, bake a cake (not a sexual reference), and wear a tartan skirt.

You see, my crush is...

A porn star.

Sigh. Happy place. Kittens and waterfalls and strawberry doonas.

Sasha Knox.

I haven't seen any of her movies. YET. YET YET YET YET YET.

But I've heard her talk and I've seen her look like this:

And say things like, "Why did I get fired from all my previous jobs? Well inevitably, I'd end up sleeping with the manager, and the manager's son, and the manager's daughter, and the manager's wife...."



You're just in lust, you just want to see her...


Anyone else? NO? Fine.

Hey B?


I've just got talk to Sasha about something in private, do you mind?

No not at all, I can trust you Sasha can't I?

Of course you can B. I'll be right back...

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

You say goodbye, and I say Hello.

Soundtrack: Wilco / California Stars

The good thing about having spent so long in Hell is that it's proof that there's a Heaven. Hell is a nightmare of sweat and tortured dreams. Hell isn't being wounded, Hell IS the wound, savage and crusted, enclosing the deep and dreary dark and forlorn falsehoods based on what you've believed, what you've projected and what you needed to learn. Hell does not come after death, HELL IS DEATH, an ending, and how clear it dawns upon me now, this death which leads to rebirth and reawakening and a laughter not from the head or heart, but a laughter that giggles and froths and bubbles until it fountains and springs from the soul itself and all life is laid before you and the past is a death you have died but Boyo Boyo from death you live again and he who has not died has not lived, you who have not felt or lost or fallen, cannot know the joy of reawakening, the cinnamon aftertaste of calamity the ice cold reminder that NOW, right fucking NOW, you are alive and you have made it through. Oh yes, it's an orgasm of laughter, it's the view from the top, it's symphony not song and it's older than all time.

Heaven is waking in the morning and knowing that you're alive when all others are walking dead. Heaven is being lost in this place, staring at strangers and friends alike and caring and not caring all at once. Heaven is an emptiness, a void, a beginning, a canvas, a note, no time, all time, this moment and forever. Heaven is watching the forked tongue and greedy hands of those around you and always saying yes, sure, stab and stake my brothers, my loves, stab and stake because none of this is real, none of your money is real so take it all and naked I will laugh at the biggest joke of all, for there's more truth in a grain of insanity than a desert of greed, and the greatest insanity of all is Love and I am mad for you all. Best of all Heaven is the reality, when you've stopped wanting to be someone and just want to be someone special. And as soon as you know that, everything else follows as reward.



Fresh Air
Acoustic guitars
The Sting
A soul
A heart

Of course, it's only a guideline.

Zarkoff r' us.

Interesting fact #437:

Three different stereos, all playing the Flash Gordon theme song very loud and slightly out of synch sounds amazing and is a good way to start a day at work.

Hail FLASH!*

*he'll save every one of us.

Monday, June 4, 2007

We need your extra time.

Today we all got yelled at while working and then I played my new favourite band and we weren't grumpy anymore then more grumpy stuff happened and so all the people are grumpy at the boss. That is all.


What do you want?



You won't be reading about that here.

Sunday, June 3, 2007

Three colours green, or what I seen.

I'm on the road again. Behind me storm clouds obscure the Emerald City and ahead the sky leans close to the earth for a kiss drenched with longing. If I reach my hand out the window I can trace my fingers through the scoops and cottons of cloud, the breath of the sky, it's a tender moment between the now and forever and I'm racing between the two, an insect, an atom, a tiny nothing relected in the dark still waters of eternity. The horizon is a sensual hallucination of a lover's curves, blushed verdant and alive after the return of a love thought lonely and lost, the tears of remorse having doused the dry cracked wrinkles of drought and doubt while delight dances in delicious delirium, the trees, the grass, the flowers, even the scattered granite monuments of a prehistoric orgasm seem to have awakened, such is the explosion of sensation and life. This place populated in a blink, untouched for millions of years beforehand, paradise neither lost nor regained, but simply created, it waited and I take it all in, everything, three hundred and sixty degrees of breathtaking insanity, and within the whirlpool my senses are freed and my ego shed and every thought floats and dances, a single, clear butterfly, dancing a scatter in pockets of memory and wonderment. On the highway I find what always seems to elude me, one path, laid out in front, and all you need to do is drive toward tomorrow, through valleys and towns decorated in gold, nature's mourning pennant as the earth prepares to sleep in post-coital bliss, its back turned to the father, the sun, the holy three months before the resurrection of the land. And in the meantime we continue to scurry and scamp, little lives with big troubles, alive on the back of a sleeping dragon. A cave where I have chosen to come to meditate rabid demons of thought and reflection. To let go of everything - to understand - to step back from the painting - to hold my thumb up to my life and see what works and what does not - and the painting bleeds colours and moods and random patterns flipper and scat and laughter is mixed with sadness and love with loss but under the mix, the palette retains a finish of hope and excitement, for an unknown future is a creation waiting to happen.


Outro soundtrack:
My new favourite band. With thanks to Mr. Clinkers.