Tuesday, August 31, 2010


Let it be fire,
let it burn your senses,
let it touch your pleasure,
let it eat your heart,
but don't let it eat your brain.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Back, Begin Again, Rebirth.

It's the feeling you get in your stomach just before she undresses you and you undress her. The feeling you get when the passionate kiss begins to mean more. When the hands first slide down and the first button is undone. When the hair gets messy and the kiss gets wet and nothing else matters.

That's the feeling in the stomach.

It's the feeling you get when you hear THAT song and you turn it up and you get in the shower, together or alone, and as the water beads on your shoulder and drip tickles over your lips you scream what words you know and make up the rest. And when you get out, it's not cold. When you get out, you're still dancing and naked and bouncing bouncey you stare in the mirror and laugh.

It's the feeling you get when for the first time that year you step out in t-shirt and shorts and old battered converse and the sun rewards you and so do the girls on the street. That first short skirt, that first flimsy flighty shoulder showing dress. And your stomach works with your sex and they both tell the corners of your mouth to turn it up baby, turn it up...smile that fucking spring fever smile. And you do. And the twinkle and the cheek returns.

And you remember how to skateboard.

And you remember how to play guitar.

And you remember that Beer Gardens are always welcoming.

And you remember what she tastes like outside in the sunshine.

And the fucking grass, the air even the grey suit concrete smells good.

And so do you.

And you see it stretching out in front of you.

It's coming, it's so fucking coming and it's not going to end.

And you're too young to die.

And summer, spring, any fucking thing, injects you with passion and youth and sex and drive and creativity and spunk and cheek and humour and fun fun motherfucking fun here it comes...


Sunday, August 22, 2010

When I close my Eyes.

There's a moon out tonight, that shines its light on all that is right, as it lays beside you. It burns a map behind your eyes of knowings that were once disguised. It helps you see what you must do, to find the Land Beyond The Truth. Where tiny hopes dash and dart, across the stillness of your heart.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.


Mavis Staples + Jeff Tweedy - "You Are Not Alone" Acoustic

ANTI records | MySpace Music Videos

Monday, August 9, 2010

Past, Present, Future.

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.

I spent $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 in your clothes when you sleep every night sad and alone, 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. Pay day goes.
Someone buys me a drink.

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, the album ever out, 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.

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

Tuesday, August 3, 2010


I had to get it right last night. It's important now, every step, every thought, and I assure you, the thoughts are as common as flirting ash, sent spinning into the dismissive night. Or like the depths, I cannot breathe, need somewhere to be calm, need somewhere that helps me understand - (yes, Mathew, the bath) - and in there I can stop, gently remove each thread until only my own remains. Desire is a dangerous distraction, my desire for reward, not touch, no, this desire is like everything now - work, work, work, The Path, The Path, The Path...

and all that other, which Others find so easily...


it ain't nothin' right?

Not for now anyway.

Not until the 4am Search when mind and heart try so hard to stretch out over the earth and call into the Never.

But one day.

(thanks, Hollywood - borrowed it)

The answer is easy. Stay calm. Live in peace. Forever forward.

Keep on truckin'

Monday, August 2, 2010


Dizzying spins and cut throat needs, instants, mines, eyes on the sighs with roller coaster eyes which hint of surprise on your way to the prize. Back flips and flops, the fun never stops, and you'll lay in bed, stuck in your head, and if you cannot breathe then you'll end up dead. Or worse. Empty. Sitting alone, above the blankets, while The Devil knows what, but that ain't The End, my imaginary friend. Wine and cigarettes won't go away, and maybe that's Art, though the voices will tell you otherwise. Fingers on the neck, Soul free, more vision than they know, you can stretch out across the dream and that light at the end of the tunnel, all it is is The Truth. Why flee from that? Stronger, safer, than you have ever been, the scratches and screams only serve to bleed out what needs bleeding, you're speeding now, not needing now, just wry and knowing, wise in showing the Gold, no longer lost in old, bold, blue or told what is not, now Hope is shot, more likely than not, though a man can yet spot, beyond the arrows he's got.

I forget that sometimes.

Time to start firing again.

Time to coil before Spring springs.

I am Space now, there is no denying.
All lifelines cut I am A Drift.

I no longer want to know
What People Do.

It's never pretty.
I know that much.

But I am almost there

...almost there.