Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Monday, September 28, 2009

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Haiku.



There are things to be remembered.
My love is not such that it asks your love in return.

This seems the more pure Love.

- and the more painful?

- Shoosh.

There are things that need to be remembered.

The smell of fire, a temple in Nagoya, you are bigger than they, the heart and mind combined can control your own universe, people make their own mistakes, no amount of Love can conquer Freedom, All Things Must Pass.

A bird in the bush is where it belongs,
best to sit and listen to its song.

There are things to be remembered. Six years of circular motion. Six years of fingers up, unafraid to be afraid. Proud of being hurt, no, proud of showing hurt, when the whole world is afraid of showing hurt. TOO proud NOT to show those who hurt you, that they hurt you.

FAIL.

Tomorrow, and the next day, I will have the time, and I will copy what needs to be copied, and then we'll take it all down. Six years in one moment, and all the talking, kissing, flirting, eye to eye, anyone but you, both the same - illusions, really, proven by time - and you, Boy, stupid enough to grin and clap before it all comes down and you frown and of course, Irish, you want to drink and be done. Destroy, but you run - two wrongs don't make a right - and now, all of it will disappear, and no one will visit, and no one will sneak and no one will ever know what was, or that it even existed, this Hell you made, when you tried to build Two Beautiful Castles.

Sigh.

- is that what you want?

- No. You know, if you know at all, that I am far more romantic than that. But what I want is, never to have reached this point in the first place. Never to have opened every door, shown my foetal position, my breath, my sob, a page of ready made Loser.

- ha.

- Yeah, exactly. Ha.

- And next?

- Next comes the greatest word of all. Next comes, The Unexpected.

- Can you do it?

- It hurts. It hurts far more than I thought it would. It hurts as though everything I have ever believed in is wrong, and everything I have ever despised turned out to be Truth. It hurts as though my injustice must be accepted as Real, and my Wide Eyed Bewilderment is undeserving and Dispensable. It hurts like that. Like giving up on Love. Like staring at a dead body. Or maybe like, waking up grumpy, accidentally swallowing a shot of Listerine, rubbing Hair Gel all over your face because you think it's moisturiser and then stepping on a rusty nail and contracting tetnus. Maybe more like that. But...

- But?

- well, what do you want me to say? If I fucking have to do it, then...

- Then?

- Then it's done.

- Done.

Done.




Epilogue.


There you are. You are leaning casually on the wooden table and your shoulder points at me from across the room. You are tall and slender. You wear pink Converse beneath skin tight blue jeans which rise and rise and rise up those legs. Your loose fitting top is striped, blue and white, and it falls from your shoulder from time to time, but you are not the self concious type. You look like Maggie Gyllenhall. I am trying not to think this too much. You are smiling and talking to your friend and when you smile, everyone around you smiles. You are making me smile, and I haven't met you yet. And then you start to look at me, and we both smile, and this continues for two hours, until you sit alone and look at me and raise your eyebrows as if to say, well...

And I talk to you - and you text me in the night - and I was right and smiling feels good again

and The Rollercoaster
is

reset.

And this story

I Hope

belongs somewhere

else.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Friends.

[TEXT] Matty, i just had a call from a guy I met a year ago who has a PR company and occasionally needs copywriters and promotional types. He has just scored a contract to market 35 melbourne brothels and asked if I knew people who could help. Tell me THAT'S not a sign. x




I like my friends.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Down by the river.

I stared in the eye
of a facsimile man
and saw
nothing to mourn
except
my
own
insidious
belief
that I
could never
be Him.

I hung my head
for
a moment
and
understood
that the
delicate flowers
beside the headstone
would wilt
and die
in their own
time.

Pretty though...
(a sad smile here)

So laying
to rest
those
carbon
dating
copies
I thank
myself
for
another taste
(a rock n' roll
memory here, a hopeful, warm grin)
of
this
Big
Rainbow
Funhouse
of Cosmic
Brutality.

Peace. x

Monday, September 7, 2009

Sunday, September 6, 2009

The Bull in my China Shop Moon.

As I walk up the hill
toward Home
I notice
through the birthing trees
the biggest moon I ever saw
gold and bright
in the sky ahead.

I move quickly
toward it
waiting for the limbs
which canopy the path
to graciously clear
a line of sight
so I might
have a chance
to call to The Moon
to look upon it
and whisper
". .... ..."

but

as the trees clear
I stand on the crest
of the road and watch
with terrible sadness
as a great black cloud
horns its way across
the silver face
covering it with the soft
and shallow
embrace
of a cold and distant
storm.


I hang

my

head


and walk toward Home.

Filled with romantic Hope
I turn to the right
as I stride
and I see The Moon
glowing bright
behind the blackness
straining to achieve
a greater height
so that it
might
light
my face
again
with glorious
freedom
and requited
adoration.

The black cloud begins to dissipate
slowly
but
I arrive at my front door step
with a bottle of wine in my hand
and

I

take one last look

(it's close, it's almost there)

and say

Moon,

you control the tides
the oceans and seas
the souls of lovers
and the hearts of men
so surely
you could clear this cloud
surely
we could gaze upon each other
on this night
of all nights

and I count to ten
watching as the moon struggles
slowly
through the darkness
until finally

cold and shivering

I turn away

open the door to my house
sit alone on my couch

(where The Moon
had been
but two days before)

drinking wine
and
saying

.....

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Twinkle.

In the beginning
all
the
stars
were
one,
she said.

Until Hatred and Anger
tore them apart
and scattered the pieces
across the galaxy.

Now
they are doomed
to spend
eternity
forever searching
for their other half.

Her eyes
look over my shoulder
here
but I don't let myself
doubt.

(She has already left, I think)

I think you are my other half,
one of us says.

And the other cries.

And
the world
spins

desperate

in a huge Void
around a bright golden star
which lives alone

a billion billion miles
from
its other half.

The Nothing
just
sighs

until
Later
at
Night

I sit alone
and stare at each
and every
star
wondering
how
(why)
their light

could

fool

me so.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Straight.

I've never asked.

They are killing me.

Please help me.

K?

Please.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Do I lose his respect for being so wild?
Hardly.
He treats me like a rare and precious jewel,
and goes through the day
proud of the fact
that with me
he is the world's most imaginative lover.

********