Friday, October 24, 2008




Breathe it in.

Get back to what we know.

Soundtrack: The Make Up / Gospel 2000

I could feel myself stretching thin. I'd nailed corners of myself down all over town. A debt here, a friend there, a relentless job that won't let up, that I won't let break me, though it shakes me, but baby it won't take me, not even in a sixteen hour day as the sun comes and goes and I never even knew.

But I still need a drink. A drink to take the ache away or ache the take away, it doesn't matter anymore, not when I can just sit and let someone else do the talking as I stare at the legs of every girl that walks past, thinking,


There's nothing in me.

All of that is dead.

At least

until it's not.

I touch the spot in my heart where the shadow lived or maybe it was my lung - it doesn't matter I'll still smoke in my room on mornings like this - anyway I touch my soul that lives behind the ribs and up some, and I can hear it faint, a ripple of memory which one day might reach you as a tidal tomorrow. Boom boom boompity boom. It's still there. There is today.

Soundtrack: Fleet Foxes / Mykonos

I spent my last $1.40 on two packets of rolling papers. One for an old lady who asked me for some. They cost seventy cents each. I bought two and gave her one and then I started walking. And it's funny, if you're wearing a new jumper that you bought to hide the smell of sleeping on a couch, and you've got a song in your heart that drowns out the machine world then the people that you stride past look at you as though you haven't a care in the world. You've got an aura today, mister, who is that, and I can skip over the gutters and hip shimmy by the couples and leave them with a scent of break up and doubt and I'll sing out loud with my headphones on as I'm waiting for the lights to change and the man in his tie in his mortgaged car will look at me from inside his traffic and only one of us will be free. And it'll be me, with cigarettes and an empty stomach and a thirst to tear this whole world down and me with it. And I'll keep walking, always walking because you never know who is around the corner, might just be a someone with a twenty or a beer or an invite to eat, hey matty, you're worth it, you piss me off, always working but always broke, how is that? I don't know, I'll say, I just don't like money, I don't like needing it and I'm a stubborn bastard who won't let the fucking world dictate what I do.

Pay day comes. I pay the last rent before I move. Pay day goes. I ask someone to buy me a shot.

They always do.

I keep walking. I keep wondering how a boy like me can make it, if I'll ever make it, if the book will ever be finished, if the Hope that people give me when they need me is real or if it's just another lost soul knowing that I'm the go to guy when you're in need of finding the truth that lies beneath the face of a cold, empty universe.

Truth is, it's fucking beautiful being broke and free and wild and loose and bipolar and frustrating and impossible to grasp and the breadcrumbs behind you aren't breadcrumbs at all, but tiny drops of blood from torn apart hearts. Your own included. My own included.

No wonder everyone wants to "connect".

Mathew is

painting a picture of his lie.

Waiting for the hug that will wash the canvas clean.

And I keep walking.

Soundtrack: Ravel / Bolero

The underneath, the true self, the perception, the good soul, the loving man, the ice cold lover, the drunken master, the conceited writer, the Long Distance Dedication, the hard worker, the sad, lonely son, the mother fucking Icarus, burning in a cage, lighted in prison for it could never reach the sun, so voosh here it goes, here it comes, the blinding light of undirected passion, the magnesium spark which leaves naught but a single feather to drift between the bars and out to freedom in the hope that one day that wind might return and gently blow upon it a kiss which helps it rise back, that gives it wings to believe, if only it could believe, if only I could believe.

But instead, I'll be leaving.

always walking
instead of all this bloody

Monday, October 20, 2008


There are spider fang bites on my wrist so every night I sleep on the couch, I'm terrified of the thought of the legs which crawl over during the night, a nice analogy really, a real karma baby, calmer than what you were anyway, those nights in the dark, terrified of it in your mouth, as you lay asleep and the drums, boom boom, in the night, well I heard them anyway, and no fucking spider had the guts, not when I was beside her, inside her, a calm protecting presence, a baby boy acting as the man he wished to be, and breathing slowly, up -

down -

to show that I was in control, that I was centred, that I was


or maybe that I was a fake, even in those moments. But I was faking it so that she might feel safe.

I guess intention is the worst lie of all.

Best to hide it.

Invite only.

Fuck that.

My t-shirt said, I am not Beck, and the best part was, it was covered in blood and my intention was clear, it was,

I don't know if I care.

(not NOT care - but not like you care, I don't think I care, the way that you care, but it doesn't mean I don't care...)

Anyway -

you might think that you know,

but you might not understand the will it takes a loser to laugh as he shows his empty hand, out on the deck, how much he eights clubs, how much he eights hearts, how much he just wants to call a spade a spade, when all you ever wanted was a handful of diamonds and all I ever wanted was to play poker.

Oh butt fuck there's fun to be had, if you can call it fun - and I can. I can call it loose, a truce between me and the rest of the world, a way to let my heart burn the cold response I get from fucking anyone who thinks their shit is worth the worry, or the sorry they want when my words push past them and burn the fucking Indiana Jones bridge I stand vicariously upon.

Yeah, it's loose tonight.

I guess all it is, is -

Love isn't just my lie.

Love is all of you people,


but too fucking afraid.

(fuck, especially to actually admit that you're afraid - who would do that?)

So I'll lie back down with my invisible spider who might bite me in the night, and the cancer in my lung, and the love of so many strangers, and the callous fucking words, and the flower in your door, and the thought of something more, but my Hope is just a war that I will always lose, but never surrender to, just shift the lines, hide in the trenches, believe a little one day, and when belief fails, as it must, I might send myself out, a dangerous troop in an unknown land, scouting for adventure, speaking with tongues, being the enemy, with a sneer and a hey, and god, make this day, please, never stop, or more importantly, don't take away my stubborn for if you do I may drown in the questioning sea which rises and falls with the tides of my mood.

There's a hidden spider in my room.
I can see the people respond to the notes you leave that I can't read.

Maybe that bites me in the night.

Or maybe they aren't fangs at all -

maybe it's the light.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008


Hey, it's you.

It's me.

It's the distant us.

It's the long, sad days that leave us at once
glad to be free
and distraught that it's me
not you
that's left here to write
a single thought
about how life should be different
if everyone just forgot
or remembered


my voice has long since lost its wisdom

murdered by actions
that a good man would shun

I'm a tsk

a sigh

a fucking goodbye
then years from now you might wonder why,
you thought -
he's worth a tear, I'll sit and I'll cry
before coming
to the conclusion that I ain't but a sty
with a pig for a heart
and the talent
to fly
but a soul that won't
and will most likely die

thinking of you.


And there's always more.

Friday, October 10, 2008


How many days have come and gone, matty, in the light or behind the shades, drowning in the golden goblet of right now, the bottom of this drink, the reflection of yourself in the glasses of your friends, the sun leaving, apologetic and you're sad to see her go until the night appears, the troublemaker, with a twinkle in its eye.

And yes it's about the booze, and sure I'll have one if you're having one, but it's not, it's about us, all of us just filling the gaps, that hunger eternal in ourselves, just for a day, just for today, we're all in this together, I love you, god, tell that story again, I never tire of it, and we laughed didn't we, hey it's, and that's guy's pants and you know I'm always here, and let's never end, let the day never come let's all run, around the world, with the spin, ahead of tomorrow, today today today, god, please, as though we all go home together, as family, as though you won't walk away from me as the doors close as though as the taxis flee and the wind drops rubbish at my feet and the only thing left is either sex or violence and it's a cold, sad world again and I'll do anything to not be striding in the shadows, wondering why, thoughts as flies, or maggots and lies, a dirty disguise on the long walk home


So pour me another.

Pour me one for my brothers and one for lost lovers, my beaten dead mother could do with another and all of our troubles can go and get smothered in whisky and music and death cigarettes, my soul is a shadow, but why I forget, you have a new man, new car, new life, troubles with money, in love with your wife? Come dance the taps with men just like me, who'll drink you an ear that will not close 'til 3 and we'll pretend that the murmur of the drunks is the sea

and you can believe

that your true hope is me.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Moment. #2

Ok, only because it's been so depressing for so long...


Bre**: How you going there, Mattyb?

Me: Look. I've had way too much coke in the last 24 hours. And I can't believe I just had a motherfucking bong. Not only do I feel like a lost little man whore on the road to Juvey, I think I may also be about to throw up. What I think I need to do is lie on your bed just for a tiny moment. I'm just going to get a little horizontal, close my eyes, and then I'll be right, and then I'll go home. So here we go...just lying down on the 'ole bed....just ah....pillow...just going to tuck my 'lil hands under the pillow and WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS THING UNDER THE PILLOW IT'S A GIANT FUCKING PURPLE DILDO THE SIZE OF MY TORSO WHY IS IT UNDER THE PILLOW WRAPPED IN A PLASTIC BAG OH MY GOD I TOUCHED IT OH FUCK SHIT THIS IS THE PART WHERE I RUN SCREAMING DOWN THE CORRIDOR AM I LAUGHING OR VOMITING OR CRYING OR ALL THREE AT ONCE?

[I fall over in the corridor trying to escape]

[I am chased by a grey haired man who thinks it is funny to use a giant purple dildo as a Gonzo style nose - I think I actuallly make claw marks on the floor boards with my nails I am trying to move so fast]

Bre**: (Waving Football Oval sized dildo at me) C'mon mate, it's only Doctor Johnson!

[I lock myself in the toilet. I consider my lifestyle choices. I cry and dream of a house overlooking the sea. Far from this place. Find a happy place. Find a happy place.]


Four days later the sun is waving at me through my bedroom window as I drink tea to the blissful sounds of next door's domestic violence dispute. It seems the speed addict lady has lost their crack pipe. Oh god. Awkward. I dream of France. Toulouse. Further south. A cheap shack in a small town with fresh bread (non dildo shaped) and a stripey top. I wonder if I'll see you there. I wonder if this blackness in my chest is cancer. I wonder how long we all have.

A bird sings.

I love you. I love everyone.

Nothing else matters.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Act One.

I wrote this poem, it had all these bits to it, but probably said too much without saying anything.

So, I hope you heard too.
Good luck.

I'm thinking of you with all my powers.

That's all.

Thursday, October 2, 2008


There's a glass jar
on my verandah
and in it -
all these rocks
that we found that day
in Mallacoota.

Oh god,
I was so excited
when I saw the dolphins
swimming off the shore
I ran so fast
a little goat
over the rocks

And there was a thunderstorm
out past the heads

I guess
there always was, wasn't there?

Dark clouds as thoughts
which hung above us
and grumbled every time
we forgot
to be sad
and it was so easy
out there
you and me
by the sea
if that was some sort of sacred
rock formation
and let's climb here
walk there
do nothing
let's do nothing
and yes, I want to kiss you
but shall we get fish n' chips first?

and I was so
old man
as I watched you
jump the waves
telling you not to go in too deep
it's a dangerous rip here
please stay close
you ran
please don't go too far
I was afraid
you might get taken away
I shouted
"you might get taken away into the sea."

And you laughed at me
as you lifted your shirt
over your head.

Who cares! You cried.

I belong in the sea!

That's what you said,
you pointed out to her
and spun and cried out -

I belong IN THE SEA!

And God
it's so true.

You really bloody do.

You really do.