Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Bukowski and I: A book review

I can smell Women
I drool over Women
I pick up Women
I toss Women aside
I like Women

I love Women

I carry Women to my room
I run my hand down the spine of Women
I spread Women open on my bed
And fall asleep, with Women in my arms,
to spend the night
dreaming of Women.

Though I prefer Ham on Rye.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

The gun.

I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm starting to feel ready.


What book are you reading?

It's The Wine of Youth, by John Fante.

Is it good?

Yeah, he's my favourite.

What sort of book is it?

Um. I don't know how to answer that. It's about the sentences. He has amazing sentences. But I can't explain it to you.

[reading the back] "he possesses a style of deceptive simplicity, full of emotional immediacy and tremendous psychological point"....


I like pictures. I used to read. But I really like pictures.

It's okay, I have to keep working now.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

And ther's a hand, my trusty friend, And gie's a hand o' thine

One day a rain came,
but it didn't wash
all the scum
off the streets,
it rained a river,
and all that was
right in the world
sailed not
east, west,
or south or north,
but instead all the
right and
real -
sailed a new direction,
where nothing and no one
could follow.

What was left was you
and me,
just a touch of dragon,
and more than a handful
of rat, tooth and claw,
fur and fist,
and what was called:
a curse reversed,
for they who lack such,
the whale,
the bird,
the otter,
the bear,
the fish,
the tiger;
they who lack this
Intelligence are
truly happy,
where as WE,
the people,
believe that in the games,
the sport, the races,
the status, the friends,
the riches, the glory,
we may yet find the truth.

The truth is, we're all
a bunch of blind moles,
suckered in by so much
Temptation, that our
lack of Intelligence
is painfully fucking obvious
to the cow who stands in a
green meadow, staring at the sky,
and listening to the wind,
as it brings him the latest news from afar.

What's that you say? the cow asks.
Oh, really?
Well, good luck to 'em,
I'm staying right fucking here,
I have the sun, the rain,
the grass, the view,
and I'm far, far, away
from that fucking pack of cunts.

Here's a Cow Tip for you,
If you're going to lust, destroy,
consume, control, satire,
cheat, desire, repent, repeat...

Then fucking own up to it.
Don't pretend to be superior.
Don't pretend that "left" is better than "right".
Don't win by wanting someone else to lose.
Don't destroy, telling yourself that you are creating.

At least, do us a favour.
At least, be honest about who you are.

Say it:
We're a fucking pack of cunts,
doomed to bring you all down with us.
We're a fucking pack of selfish cunts.
And we're gonna take this whole place down with us.

What about Art & Music & Literature, Cow?
What about this Holy Trinity of Humanity?
You judge us on our deficiencies,
yet do not see, the unique beauty of humanity,
that our fear of death itself,
gives life,
precious hope,
fear drives our ambition,
fear of death, sends us further
and fuels our need to create.
Music, Cow.
Art, Cow.
What say you now, Cow?

I say Turner was an artist,
Mozart a musician,
and you pack of pretenders
have confused books
with literature for so long,
you no longer have any idea,
of which is which. I say you
must read the thoughts of another,
before you can decide whether you
liked and loved, and you need to be told,

I say Human Endeavor is Dead,
and your race instead is all for
who the person next to them is
listening to, or reading, or talking about.
I say you don't have a fucking trace of
inspiration left in you, and instead
reward the Instant, and Inane, and
the Ovine. I sir, say you are a fool.

And I say this, in all knowledge of the fact,
that though I stand here before you,
and utterly vituperate your very existence,
I am still sir, yes sir I am,
I am still sir, quite optimistic,
that one of you will still

Now fuck off,
and leave me to my meadow.

Very well, Cow.
But you will see.
One day a rain's gonna come.

One day a rain's gonna come.


I turn up Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)
Really, really, really fucking loud.
Because, hey, what'r ya gonna do but FEEL.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Don't waste my time.

I always thought THIS was the coolest name for Chinese Restaurant I'd ever seen.

Until I ran into THIS place.

Not entirely sure I'd eat there thankyou.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

High ate us.

I'm going to climb a tree,

to see if I can see the future.
To get my head into the clouds.
And then over the clouds.

To get my head
over the clouds.
Over, over, over,
and out of the clouds.

So I can be proud.

I said,
I understand,
but I think I'll stay on the ground,
and look at the tree,
and I'll just wait for my unknown
to Fall, fall, fall
- on me.

I wonder what it will be.

(As they're both me.)

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Ever fallen in love?

I'm in a bar in the city, Manchuria, it's a Melbourne bar, there are booths and if you've never been there before you'll think it's cool for the first few times you go, you can even say things like, "oooh dark, sexy corners for those make -out dates" and people will think you are in the know and / or seductive. People are easily led. Especially when you're hot like me.

I'm in the bar with my friend Felipe, and we're scoping, that's right, scoping, we're scoping it out for a party that he's putting on with Di, and we're drinking Lagavulin which is a steal at fifteen bucks a glass and all is well with the world on this fine, spring Melbourne night.

So, blah blah blah, Luke McD, blah blah blah...

Yes, blah blah blah, something about something, Luke McD...

yes yes...

I fucking miss Lukey, I never really see him, but there's an unspoken thing, like with a lot of my closest friends. I ring him up, just for kicks.

*ring ring*
(I remember those, like another life...)



Ok. I miss you.

I stand on the corner of Russell and Little Bourke, and he's there in five minutes and we're on the West Gate in three, and there's never a need for catch up other than, any women in your life? - but I guess we both know better than to get into that. Besides, we're going to judge a strip competition. Livin' the dream, or so it goes. Sure...livin' the dream.

We pull up out the front and I shake hands with Whales, The Man. In another two minutes I'm in front of the stage with a score sheet, a beer and a shot of Agwa in front of me. There's five girls, and I mark them on Face, Body, Show, Music and Costume, with an overall score at the end. I don't question any more, I just focus on the job at hand, and when the first girl comes out in the shortest, bustiest, fucking gingham farm girl dress you've ever seen, I realise I've made the right decision coming out here on a school night. I want to give her 10. Actually I want to give her 1, but you know. I want to give 10, Luke stops me.

Just wait, you have to wait.

Cool, but I've never seen an actual good looking stripper before.

Just wait. The bikie's know what's what.

Yeah, no fucking shit.

She finishes and I give her 8. I'm a sucker for gingham, short. The next girl comes out and we see nip / tuck gone awry. She's jaw droppingly gorgeous, again, but her boob job seems to have produced some sort of Total Recall alien boob on boob thing and we Total Recoil and give her 6. I change mine to 7 because, well, because she's still hot, nude, and taut like tiger.

There's an intermission and outside in the beer garden I hear thumping behind the wall.

Do you hear that? I ask Lukey.

Don't go to the toilets right now, someone's being "disciplined".

Oh, ok.

I finish my smoke and go to the bar and what do you fucking know...6 years ago I owned and drove the most beautiful car in the world, a '61 EJ Holden and I let my sister's girlfriend at the time borrow it and she wrapped it around a pole and never paid me a dime, just left my sis, and disappeared and here she is behind the bar the fucking Bikie pub in Dumb Fuck West.


Matty....oh, hi.


So, what? I just get a drink, go back to my table and wait for the next three strippers.

The lights go dim and bang, she comes out, the next girl and I know nothing for the next fifteen minutes other than you, me, Mexico NOW. Or you, me, anywhere, now. I don't think, this is a stripper, taking her clothes off in front of bikies, I think, I'm mattyb, and what I think, happens.

I'm stupid like that. But it's endearing so shut up.

I score her 11, on all counts. I've seen people naked before, but now I know, there's a better sort of naked. I score her 11 on all counts and then I write my phone number and a short letter which I think is succinct and sexy on the score sheet and then I have my third shot of Agwa because obviously I'm thinking clearly now and know what's what.

There's another intermission and I'm outside having a cigarette when she walks out and stands next to me. Whatever you might think, when it comes to talking to jaw droppingly gorgeous strippers I figure confidence is the key. I say:

Hi, I'm the judge, and I scored you 11 because I've never seen anyone as hot as you, and if I didn't tell you it would be stupid, because I'm surrounded by bikies in a bikie pub and I figure courage is just as likely to get your attention as get me killed. I think I'm being kinda sexy by talking to you, what do you think?

I think you're being sexy.

She laughs, I laugh too.

Did you really score me 11?

Yeah, look.

I've got the score sheet in my pocket so I pull it out and show her.

That's your phone number?


Cute, you're hilarious!

Yeah, I know. I think we should get married and or have sex. As soon as possible.

Ha! Well, let me ask Whale.


Yeah, do you know Whale?

Well, I met him at the door, I don't think you should ask Whale, in fact, you know, I was only kidding, and I kind of like living and stuff, it suits me...

Oh it's okay, he'll find it funny, he' not really my boyfriend, it's just...well...I'm his, you know?

No, but whatever you say. I wish you weren't.

I like you.

I like you too. And, I've totally seen you naked now.

Hahaha. Here comes Whale. Whale!

Whale walks over and looks me in the eye and she's blushing and laughing and I wish she wasn't and I'm trying to look like someone who isn't worth killing.

Whale, matty here wants to marry me.

Oh really?

Um. Well. you know, funny ha ha...

We talk for five minutes and I'm sobering up pretty quick for the first few minutes until Whale and I start talking Bukowski and after that it's whatever. I tell him about Fante and he promises to look him up. My little stripper is happy and standing next to me and I don't care about nothing. Whale asks me if I'll come back and judge the final, and I say Hell yeah. He pats me on the back and then he grabs her real rough around the neck and pulls her away, walking off and staring at me, straight in the fucking eye. No Bukowski. No stripper either.

Get it?
Got it.

I score the next two girls, 7 and 8.5 and leave.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

The Foundations of The Sea

To succeed, planning alone is insufficient. One must improvise as well.


It's a lot more difficult to write when you find yourself drifting on the tides of contented ennui. When after all the storms have been and gone, there you are, lying on your back under the terrible light of truth, just another piece of flotsam, at the mercy of the currents, with not a wave in sight, not a cloud in the sky, no reefs, no sharks, just you and the endless empty above...

There's only one way to go.
The place that frightens you the most.
Down, down, down, into the dark depths below.

I write a note, attach it to the raft.
It tells you I love you. And you and you and you.
I sign it with a smile, that I used to use when I was a boy.
I sign it with a smile,
but I don't read it back.

Then I prepare myself for the fear,
as arachnid night begins to crawl across the sky,
extending its legs one by one by one by one,
crawling over the seas, its underbelly
peppered by silver scars, each one a ghost
of possibility, far out of reach, if you're
afraid to extend yourself, or afraid of the web
which follows its passing,
catching each and every dream
and leaving them twitching, stuck,
feverish in the desire to escape,
the desire for freedom,
the desire to fly, fly, fly.

I'm afraid of spiders. But I'm far more afraid, of what lies beneath the deceptively smooth surface of a cold, grey sea. Because to look up is to dream, but to look down, to look inside, is to face the nightmare of the unknown.

Here I am,
on my raft,
which I have made,
which is my choice,
alone at sea,
far from land,
this raft and me.

Out here,
there's no one to see
me look young and doltish,
when I hold my nose and
close my eyes tight -
and leap off the raft.




Let's see what's down here.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

You look great when I'm high.

Close the door,
turn the lamp down low,
light a smoke,
pour yourself a whiskey.

It's midnight.

When every wish,
is thrown away,
on the thought
of you,
dreaming of me.


Oh man, oh baby, oh darlin', oh son -
last night I let the maudlin
one last time,
so that this fine fucking day,
I could feel the sun on my skin,
lips hotter than thou,
embrace of a mother,
lion-like father,
video lover -
fuck me, fuck me, fuck you.



So I went up to the country, stayed with a thousand ghosts in an abandoned brick mansion in the middle of yesterday. I saw a shooting star, but I didn't have a wish. I no longer need a wish, I no longer wish that I had a wish. Now - the days are longer and though I spasm and shoot from time to time - electric jism - a spoof of intimacy - when it comes over me - I let the music take me when I would have let them - and the ice that melts in the soul when at the peak the whole thing soars - that's so fucking beautiful - and it's a one man thing which cannot be shared - how your sadness melted and turn to rivers which washed down the inside of your heart and began to give life to the green possibilities of tomorrow.


This half arsed
poetry shit is

You can do what
you want.

As long as you


The Truth is a warm, clear Spring day...and from it - you can see for fucking miles.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Wait until Spring, Barker.

Mathew is: listening to Molina, watching the sky turn dark, and letting himself drift through the past on a sigh of clouds.


This year,
I have slowly
cleared the land,
moving large rocks,
by hand,
which lay in the middle
of my block,
my patch,
my dirt.

Underneath the rocks,
the soil is rich,
but that's for later.
For now, there are
still a couple
of large rocks to
be shifted.

But what I'm
going to do is,
once I've moved
them all,
what I'm going to
do is make a
Zen Garden,
out back,
and those rocks,
which have been
a source of so
much frustration,
will instead become
my inspiration,
something to
meditate upon.

And I'm going to
be so fucking
happy about it.

I kind of
already am.

Monday, October 8, 2007


And the God I had cursed,
turned on his charm when
on the weekend I stood on top
of that mountain; his country,
where kookaburras and blue tongues,
kept me company, and the publican
tells me the news of a lost word,
cast out of the dictionary, a literary
Lucifer. Gleek, she says, was a
gathering of musicians, a festival,
a joyous happening.

Gleek? Fantastic.
I vow not to let it die.

At night, the town of St Arnaud celebrates,
its lonely existence with fireworks, the end of The Show.
And I'm at home, out there, under the stars, covered in dirt.

24 hours later, I'm just me again.
In the city, riding an impulse, just another
prisoner of Too Instant, Too Easy, To You.

Thursday, October 4, 2007


Fuck you

You made my friend
walk tall with his
arm and eyes
wrapped protectively
around his woman.

You let them see
the finish line.

And then, you
took it
from them.


You're a cunt.

What the fuck.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007


What the fuck?
You've gone all Zen!
What the fuck is
happening to Hell?

Hell's having a period of inspection,
where every demon is
on parade,
where the
catfights and
all fear for their life.

Except, The Devil,
it's hard to read
what's behind that smile.