30 Oct 2012

Tuesday You-and-Yours

you come round again. your image coming round again. you coming round again. notice the distinct, unnerving lack of difference here, the unnerving sameness, the unnerving un-presence of any between. you-and-your-image. and round you go, all of you, distinctly, cut clean within the color ochre. definitely not cut from it, you're cut within it. scored, etched, cut - rather like a mechanical cookie-cutter presses down into dough, and presses down firmly to make the image, but releases before it cuts. this is you. there in the ochre. you and your image. or is it mine? we turn the corner. we come around. we get extended by the coming round, and then affirmed by the coming round. long pale thin flags flutter above us, casting not a shadow; tall walls huddle, casting not a shadow; horizontal planes cascade in the distance and press against our feet. this town feels us at its skin, with the feeling of it at our skin. we come around. we are the walking of the town and its ochre-change. we find ourselves, we find us here, sun through the sun

29 Oct 2012

SaSuMonday's Wait

trying hard. always tried hard. once and then once again. once and then once more. and then again. once and then before the last once more. before the once more before the once before. and more. and more. (you must wait here.) tried hard. trying hard tried hard again and once more, (yes, here - wait just here). tried hard too; always trying - always trying, tried hard. (now sit. sit just here.) once before, and once more, and yes of course, once after, and again once after once more. (now, did you wait? and, did you sit? I ask for I do not see anymore: did you sit?) then more trials: always trials. never once; always once more. once, then once again; then once more and again once more. (what did you see sitting there? for how long did you wait - did you have to wait? was it necessary to wait?) no more now though: I have asked; I waited; and I even sat. I sat for years. I sat and waited and was asked by Him, "Did you wait?" I was asked, "Did you sit?" I was asked, "Did you have to wait?" (Well did you?)

26 Oct 2012

Friday Blackt

red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red 
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red
 black black black black black black black black black black black black black black
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red    blacked   red red red
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red
red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red

25 Oct 2012

Thursday I; I er, er, I

he said slam. she replies thud. to this he argues crack, and then blam. quite undeterred she countered swiftly with thud again, plus a sharp crack-shatter. and then I think I heard his (very quick but wholly mysterious) krak!, followed lightening-quick with her equally mysterious rejoinder, prak! most neighbors in fremantle flats argue with shouts, and even fists, but I've recently worked-out that mine argue with their apartment.... wait: it's the comeback: he's just replied to the crack-shatter with a dense, quite brief smash - the bathroom window I think - a sort of tiny-detonation sound, to which, hang on, a grinding sound in response? yes, it's a grinding sound, from - it sounds like - the kitchen. yes, the kitchen: you can here the unmistakable tinkling and slinging sound of thrown utensils used to reinforce the point, but very unclear who is actually slinging, er speaking at the moment: the utensil use is really quite sloppy - has them talking all over each other. now a pause. seems a readjustment's in order - a redressing of terms perhaps? no: it's the splattering now; splattering and thudding of bits of something small but also hard, steadily against the other-side of my kitchen wall. and now a grinding in brisk retaliation - I think him - adding to the splattering - all a bit unclear now. now a small explosion, followed by another - her I think - followed by a dry, dull, falling sound - quite well sustained - of - it sounds like - falling bricks, to which the classically argumentative small but violent motor whir has just come into play. I; I er, er, I

24 Oct 2012

Wed'day Crap

stop, go, stop, ok: stop. go. and stop? no. ok. er, stop and go, and go, go? no. right then - stop then go then stop. go - go? yes, but also no. alright: ok: stopgo and stop and go? er, no, but nearly. righthen: stopgo andthen stopgo, no? yes. hang on - this is crap. I told you before we started it would be. you told me before we started it would be, hang on, you did say it would be crap. I know. and I heard you say it would be, and I remember you saying, but then I went through with all this. you like crap then? I guess I do. Try again then? ok, stop

23 Oct 2012

Tuesday Night

this that writes the night: corner of this, street of that. tired old closey-shop all dozey neon blink. a tall governor street-light; a tall and cold unmother car-park: both peer down. by the hunker-tree; by a steel bench the shape of boredom. all these things library the night: write the morning at bay. between its lines see me drag my shadow-ink: I, written by this that I see - tonight into a place. where I see other bones of the night; I see bones falling inside shadows, people-tall and thin. bone-skin shadows plunging, crouch, forced to their knees, in corners of ground search for scraps of their names, their shadows long gone. their shadows always gone: cracks into this, the sun comes up, harbinger mess where hiding was, corners them out with too much this, and again, too much that

22 Oct 2012

Monday's Sheet-Red

Failing: failing is recognizing failure as such. So don't use it: use a better word, like hunting, or open road. Look at me and I will hurt you; speak to me, I will leave; touch me I will black your ever: our love is to be pure, sublimest, highest untouchable ignorance. She writes more: ours is which catches silence, winding through open beams. All to my back, with a knife of a silver-nib fountain pen - in reverse: you're reading a copy of our cotton bed-sheet, there on the hotel floor, lined with ink-blacks and longest red. And I am ten feet tall.

20 Oct 2012

Saturday Kissfully

I fall in love. I do so everyday. With her as she walks the street. Perfect shoed; perfect dressed, and perfect hair. Untouched profile, a perfect nose. And I know it's reciprocal: we fall in love; we always fall in love. Amid sunlight, the street's life, and it's songs. We fall, and I catch us with my camera, we fall for 1/500th of a second and it is pure, kissful bliss.

19 Oct 2012

Friday Fun-Gun

Better start this one slow; better start it slowly, let the mouth of the writing filter through slow lines like, here we go now and, now it's time to move to the next line: so I find a gun in the mailbox. Inside one of those, Wow what's this? light-brown padded envelopes. Stuffed tight into the dark-brown mailbox. Takes me 5 minutes to pry it out. I was thinking it was the Nirvana Covers box-set from Subgroup.org, so pulled carefully so as not to besmirch it. And it was snowing hard; and I was standing in my new gold dressing gown and maroon slippers - well I wasn't expecting the delay - but I persevered with my new envelope for 5 minutes, pulling, carefully, in hard snow, like vets pull calfs from laboring arses. Next I know, padded envelope - perfectly - is there on the benchtop, surrounded by breakfast bowls and a coffeepot and cups, all peering in, echoing my own wondering: What's in it? But like I said, it was a gun. Which was loaded

18 Oct 2012

Neverfall Thursday

Local chap, face red with sun or stress or an alcohol absence-presence problem, claims in super-condensed form recent goings on in the flats, which myself and studio now call home: bikie rape; prostitution; guy climbs drain-pipe - 7 floors - to enter window he'd observed open through summer, on the off-chance something might be in there, someone might be not, and that he might be able to escape. Giant guy dismissed from nearby psyche-ward, prison tattooed, when not taking medication, runs naked round the flats, hammering doors, screaming, taken by police. Clothesline near communal laundry favored by local thieves on run from police, needing quick-change of identity. And the security gate out back - just replaced: gang hops fence, steals a car to ram gate, then leaves in another, more preferred. And everybody knows the front gate's always open.

17 Oct 2012

(Wednesday) You lot

So me and The Wizard of Oz are supping pints. I didn't know he was scouse: "Born and bred" he says (more than once); "Made my way to Oz after I fell asleep on the ferry", he tells me, (more than twice). But anyways, we're chatting - scouse-philosophic like: and it's late. He tells me stuff I'd never heard, never even thought of. He uses words I'd never seen to explain - like "atwang" and "orlumula", and, what was it - "lackwahlee". (I've forgot the meanings, but I remember the words.) All this to tell me, you'll be surprised I know, "Today is but a weave of major industry, my son" he says. "Only a few; and then a weave of minor ones - zillions of these. The major one's - drugs, arms, food, language, construction - they infiltrate the others - cars, houses, jobs, etcetera. And, but" he says, by this time standing in the middle of the table, the pub silent to the old man's conviction, "The biggest of the lot", he swallows the pint, "The biggest", a pin drops, "You know what the biggest industry on this here little planet of ours is? You lot".

16 Oct 2012

ne Tuesday O

I realized I didn't have one so I quickly bought one. This time, I bought a new one, even though the old one still works. The thing is, it just doesn't work as well as I think it should - no: actually, that's not true: it doesn't work as well as the one my mate bought last week. He has a brand new one, and an old one, and uses both but swears by the new one. He takes it everywhere. Brought it round yesterday and put it on the table, in the garden, on the dog, even put it on the roof and well, yes, I have to admit it worked well. Really well in fact.... I paid top-dollar for mine - I should have hired one I know but, well, there's nothing like actually owning your own one. Even though the hire-guy back in town said he'd do me a good deal. Given I hired a really good old one last summer. (Weird he remembers, but there you go.) Anyway, here it is: I got one. A brand new one. Just pulled the sticker off. Much better than my old one and I reckon, looking at it here on the table, after trying it on the roof, and the dog, it's better than my mate's

15 Oct 2012

Mondaysuperwhite

I picked out the ice. I did. I was right here when I did it. I stood here, moving sparingly as possible and picked out the ice. Tiptoed, I picked it out with my outstretched fingers. But they say no: they say I wasn't here at all - you were over there they keep on saying. You were over there, and because of the way you waited, and because of the way you were standing, you forced our ice to give itself up to you. Me, they say. I did this. But I simply can't say: I have no bearings in here. This is their white-space. Uncornered, Unedged. Unhorizoned. I know none of the heights or any of the distances in here. I know it's cold, because my blood cells keep on telling me, as does the pale blue color under my skin. I don't even know why I'm here: I'm used to the corners and edges and shadows of the unwhite-space. So they might be right: maybe I did coerce their ice. It would, after all, make sense

14 Oct 2012

Sunday's Chord

But. And you say Yes? And I repeat - stupid word - But. Yes you say again. But, I reply. Again. And then a pause. You look at me, and I look around, searching round inside - I look uncomfortable to you - for a better word; a word for this first conversation: Yes, you implore me; Yes you ask again - you repeat again, I hear tremor in your voice. But feebly I respond: I open my mouth, my eyes say differently but But comes out again. I try. I try. I look round for provocation; something to provoke the right word - I see a line of tall cypress trees, I see caravans of people creating dust-clouds heading west, I see plains full of herding buffalo and great Boeings roar overhead, but only But comes out: No you say finally to me. Yes, I reply

13 Oct 2012

Sat'day Writ

trying to write what happened before. using words that are black, cut into a page, so both can shape a plane into a what happened before. and what happened before was, well, curious - full with blackless anger and dead-blood: an unsheathed thrust that alloyed things: a night of motorized street; sound of trucks screaming loads; and riots on corners of Saturday drunks. and my mouth full of metal-speak; my spine a hard rod fused to the wheel. but how to write what happens before, when such a pure and unassuming page deflects such deceit? how to cut into what gives itself so here and so pure, so brightly and so givingly, with a what happened before, stained with what's happened since? into a page that's here and now-bright: how to cut and make it bleed a black of all-gone; a black of conjure; a black of heresy to the sanctity of this? how to cut this skin soft white; this here of purer than sleep, with a blacklist of word that whispers, This doesn't exist? well:- review this page

12 Oct 2012

Friday ShimmerShaft

I cast my shadow into ancient gold. I stood in one place for seasons watching it carve down deep into the world. and by this watching, and by this carving, all the sun's rays focused in and around me, and they solidified that shadow, fired and burnished it. my shadow made of gold now stands years tall, it cannot be buried, it is thin as I and offers one perfect echo to any ask.

11 Oct 2012

Thursday's Hymna-Hiroshima

nothing compares to you sings Sinead. but what does she know? what about a great big train robbery? what about a 60-vulture circle of vulture-kings and queens circling high over a big hole in a sandy desert somewhere created by, er, the descendents of that guy who built that bomb that wrecked Hiroshima, the hole filled with body-parts and broken limbs and week-old indigestible blood? and what about, 300 double-decker buses staying end to end for a non-stop trip from, say, Paris, to Vladivostok, all passengers highly susceptible to travel sickness, heat and cold, and the color red? and how about Wagner squaring his ring cycle; JK Rowling using her clout to have the Wiggles perform Mein Kampf; or Metallica and The Queen doing a short series of cookery shows for HBC, from the bottom of that desert hole? from where I sit, whoever you are, you'd need to be pretty damn meta-physically incomparable. ahh you are

10 Oct 2012

Wednesday Weaponless

my concerns. my needs. what I crave and what I want... my concerns get in the way; my concerns and my needs - what I want: these are my distraction. and my regrets, and my memories too: I contemplated a memory once and was lost for days. not to mention my ideas - my god: once I held an idea, shaped it with all type of thought for 3 months, and the little bugger had me lost for, I forget how many years; cost me untold dollars, wore out 4 pairs of shoes - dragged me through airports and countries along river and into hotel after hotel after hotel after hotel. but my clothes do not distract me - my shirt; my trousers; my shoes. and my desk too, my one chair. the path beneath my feet, when it holds, does not distract me. and when the sky stays in place, when it remembers for me, and thinks for me, and craves for me and wants for me; when it defends me from I for I is my greatest distraction.

9 Oct 2012

Rothko(ShitCunt)Wednesday

after a Rothko multiform - untitled, 1949 - shit, fuck, cunt (for the greens, yellows, reds) plus punctuation interspersed with certain words for structure - like god or what - to articulate the feeling of waking naked at the center of a gigantic dam wall, middle of day, with nothing to stop your falling but moss and cracks:

oh shit. shit. shit. shit this is - whaaa - shiiit. shiiiit. hold on. whaaaa. shit. no, this, can't be, what? shit. shit. I, er, shit. wheramI? where am I! holy shit this. shit fuck (fuck) oh help me fuck oh, oh, fuck. no - fuck. look down fuck! fuck no. fuck no! look: wait: god if, I. if I just, oh fuck! come on god fuck. fuck. this is (shit) fuck. (this is-can't-be happening) god oh god oh fuck. and what fuck. fuck! what the fuck oh cunt! god cunt! - I'm-slipping - god you cunt! (shitcuntshit - fuck) oh cunt! what-a-cunt what-a-cunt acunt-a. this is (slipping; shitcunt) what-a cunt. slipping. I, I, orange

8 Oct 2012

Monday's Teeth

see-it doo ya? d'ya see it? doo ya see it riggle? see its all its bestparts missing? hacked and battered off? deaf too because it can't hear; dumb too because it cannot speak, a limbless an a-limbless pale, see it drag along there using teeth - but fahow long? its blood's all go: its seeps and pours. it blind. it bag once o' breathing; sack a once was. see it? do ya see it? can yaa? me too

6 Oct 2012

SatSunday Dyscalculia

1 word. 2 more words. 3 words that ask. 4 words want to reply. 5 words going to reply but. 6 words that interrupt what five was. 7 words interrupting the second of two interruptions. 8 words that care not for interruption, introducing nine. 9 words suffer dyscalculia before ten's. 10 words.

5 Oct 2012

Friday Water-When

you know how you pour water, from a jug to the sink. for you to wash. and the jug is big like an 8 made of ceramic and glazed, a neutral pastel, and it's full: not stupid-full, all the way up to the top, but a full that fits the jug. a restrained full stoic and precisely there. and you need both hands and arms to hold the jug and tilt it: not like a baby, more like a small log for the fire. and as you do the feeling is of thrill-wrapped apprehension: is this working? will I splash and spill? will I somehow dishonor this mother-shaped give? and then water comes out a silence; but not silence: it concentrates all sound near within a water-quiet: the tv has a pouring sound now; the street outside has a pouring hushing through it; and that birdsong - it's congealing to a poured quietness. the pour from your arms commands the attention of the here.... then it's a lick, a long lick; a long that licks out the air; a long of air the length of which becomes a pouring only where air licks it. like a long glass tongue. which the sink will destroy: un-shifting sink. solid; unmoving. arms crossed watching the water come, knows the future here, and stays. so the water explodes on contact. an obliteration held in place only by the sound of it's splash, and the sink, which waits for the water to settle, to sigh to itself again, resigned to it's fate as fire

4 Oct 2012

InThursdayOut

curious bastard. always poking your nose in. you - through my window, I see you: curious and nosy and what's worse, even when I sleep you come in; you push your damn way in and I can't hear you. but you come in anyway and change everything:- my bed; my furniture and my stuff; even my clothes you bastard. the hell do I do eh? you even touch me! you come in everyday, you poke around, you change everything. you sunrise. (not sunset.)

3 Oct 2012

Wednesday Is-it

ithaca baulked - a what? and when to what.... (a blanket?) ithaca baulked. run-along. ithaca will be here - come-along. now-now run (tissue?) ahhh. next: wednesday, it will be a fish. a break in procedure yes, a wednesday-odd of fish oh yes. 24 hours replaced by pike, mackerel, cods. next. fire took the shock out from it there. see where the was is now? mast and furlong combining into a right old burny one. next? well: proceed: yes: yearn marks linger betwixt a jodhpur suit and old yoghurt parts. next, no. I've a flight to catch. he's a flight to catch. last passed the wins.... next