Filed under: death
::sore throat
::vomiting
::sore throat/sore eyes
::sore eyes
::take the pressure away!
::strangeland
::brain rattle with every cough
::sculpture
::sleep
::burning nose
::no breath
::sore eyes
::salad, tea and hello panda
::doctor says!! accute influenza-swollen brain and lung infection!
::walk/sleep/antibiotics
::”Carolyn, you seem distracted?”…”I am, my baby’s sick!”
::cracked lips, strained stomach muscles, no sleep
Big brother friday night live bling bling night!!!
The nexus between ‘asian’ night and auschwitz night.
“…then housemates simply place the gold teeth in P Diddy’s mouth, whichever team ends up with the most gold teeth in P Diddy’s mouth…WINS!!!”.
Yeah that’s awesome, except, that’s not P Diddy. That’s not even a photo of P Diddy. That’s just a painting of a black face, but what’s the difference right? Wait a second…black face…Big Brother Friday Night Live Minstral Night!
Filed under: death
Yesterday evening i sat outside the Enmore Theatre on a tightly strung pile of brag magazines for an hour and was reminded who’s hot and who’s not. Everybody in the brag-HOT, everybody absent from the brag-NOT. Stabbed in the back again.Same bands, same Dj’s, same nights, same posers, same slappers. Band names evolve slightly every six months. WOLFmother.andcub-THEsins.hotchip.valentinos-WORDSTRINGclapyourhandssayyeah.
When i was six all the kids on my street and I started a collective, we called it Kool Klub. We formed Kool Klub as an umbrella for our band which was called-Bang Bang Your Dead Fifty Bullets In Your Head, I played keyboard guitar and we performed mini concerts (entry by donation) to raise money for toys like beach cricket sets, water bombs and lego. My mum said we should choose a shorter title for the band because everytime i made a poster the letters got all cramped at the end and also people would find it hard to remember. I said i would consider shortening it to just Bang Bang Your Dead, her reaction didn’t seem overly enthusiastic, or if she preferred i would change it completely to- 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1,0…blastoff.
Little did she know i was just 20 years ahead of my time.
An unusually warm night, an unusual night.
The last night sleeping in my room, in my house, on my street.
The 303 storms down Crown Street like a junkie that’s run out of cigarettes.
Sunday night traffic, every now and then.
Sitting in the doorway to my house the view is underwhelming.
The lane opposite, where the sun sets in between two terraces with corresponding chimneys.
Goodbye view.
No more Lily Moon,
no more Mangiare,
no more avoiding Coffee Tea or Me.
Whenever I’ve moved house, I’ve always been concerned that after a boozy night out my feet would walk me back to my old house out of habit. That would be a gas.
And to think, the whole year and a half I lived on Crown St, I never got to eat at Fuel. Well I’d say that was my last chance to purchase a $60,000 Volvo with a roquet and goats cheese salad on the side.
In one month this house will not be the home I remember. It will inhabit different people with different smells, different furniture, different drug, eating, sleeping habits.
But the view of the lane across the road won’t change. At least not in the next month anyway.
Thank god New Years Eve passed by without anyone [I know] really noticing.
New years eve last year and we got all adrenalised and fired up went to a warehouse party at fucken lan franchis hunted around until dawn, broke into a public pool got caught by the police, copped a lecture and went home to sweat out a 45*c day.
I am so sick of that story, just from me telling it. So thank god the beginning of the 2007 new year just slipped by, with a super fun but quaint backyard soiree in the burbs.
No fuckwits, no warehouses, no ironic fashion.
Just The Smiths, a cat and your mum.
2006-What a fucken mediocre year. It was the year of depressive trauma, pathetic habitual duties and paperwork. I think it was halfway through the year that everything started going pear shaped. Started getting tired. Tired of the surry hills, tired of the posers, tired of the yuppies, tired of the junkies, tired of the noise, tired of the Shakespeare. Wanting to kick the barstools from under the thirty year old local drunks and scream ‘get the fuck out of here run run go away stop drinking get some sun have a glass of water the only thing you have in common with each other is alcohol!’. But they’ll never move and I’ll never scream.
My mum decided she wanted to holiday in Spain with her best friend over the Christmas break, and while she was never the type of mum to be late picking me up from school, or left me at netball practice or a friends house, in this instance, you could say I felt somewhat abandoned. But I let it go. I said I love you have a great time bring me back a t-shirt. I’ve received a couple of emails from her saying she is having a great time and that she and her best friend have been drinking a lot of wine. I didn’t take this seriously until I received a card for my 23rd birthday that read as follows:
Happy Birthday
22nd one
is very fortunate
and full of fun
$50 to spent
on ‘U’
Well right off the mark she got my age wrong and I’m not sure whether that little ditty is meant to be a poem or what but I don’t know what it means. To me its like the unintelligible ramblings of a serial killer. Not to mention the use of txt msg jrgn. Sloppy parenting, but I’m willing to hold 2006 accountable. The fallout of the most substandard year.
Filed under: death
sit next to me and snuggle up close
whisper in my ear, whisper in my ear
the obvious size of her breasts and
how you would like them in your mouth.
drink more beer, drink more beer and
take me through every curve of the
child’s naked body
please please please share with me
your inner most thoughts as she
takes a piss
whisper in my ear, whisper in my ear
I can’t stand it when you’re silent
laugh at the heartbreak and sigh
when you are bored, snuggle up close
sit next to me and snuggle up close.
At the recent U2 concert in brisbane bono initiated a little bit of crowd participation. What seemed to start off as an innocent hand clap turned into one of bonos wack political agendas.
bono: everybody clap your haaannnnds…
[crowd claps eagerly]
bono: everytime you clap your hands, a child in africa dies of hunger
crowd member: well stop fucking clapping then!
Filed under: death
i recognise the back of your head
i don’t want to, but I do.
i recognise this little bin of cancelled flesh
skin with deep canals that water does not remember
i recognise the moles grazing, half savage with black pelt
acid sweat and greasy hair
i try not to picture your face
the sores around your eyes that never heal
lips like two thin stones
i am nervous that at the next stop you will turn around
and your eyes will meet my eyes
so i drag my eyes down the back of the seat
then to the floor
one pre-loved travel ten
one empty tally ho packet with a green tongue
with my attention elsewhere I am ageless
changeless, fleshless and made free
then the stop
my deus ex machina
you are gone
Filed under: death
+Albert Camus–Car accident
+Sylvia Plath–Gassed herself in her oven
+Friedrich Nietzsche–Syphilis
+Attila the Hun–Suffered a nose bleed and bled to death on his wedding night
+Jeff Buckley–Drowned in the Mississippi
+Marie Curie–Leukaemia caused by exposure to radiation
+Michael Findley (horror film maker)–Decapitated by a helicopter blade
+Karen Carpenter–Anorexia Nervosa
+Francis Bacon–Pneumonia by experimentation of freezing a chicken by stuffing it with snow
+Brian Jones–Drowned in a pool while on heaps of drugs
