Thursday, December 30, 2010


sans heart lad

Did you hear about the boy that didn't have a heart?
He died.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

oh yeah

oh yeah I said, and we were there, level two, or three I think, and he's all going on about something or something-or-something-or-something, I don't know what, but he was just talking absolute crap, I've never heard so much-

-like what?

-oh man, I don't know, it's like, it's like, uh yeah, nah, I don't know man, are we doing anything? Oh, yeah, that's right, so yeah he's telling some story about some girl he knows or something, and, he's such a god damned liar, he's like, she's like, oh, you single? You're ugly! and I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Saturday, October 30, 2010


The Writer had tried to be distanced and cool; flippant and detached was ala mode, yet a heaving earnesty longed to break heroically free in long, drawn out, breathy sentences, that flourished and flounced with the most flowery of language. Cripple with fear. Cripple with gin. Cripple with harsh, alcoholic, medicinal swill and break your goddamned legs walking away so you'll never do it again. Don't look forward so far, your eyes will bleed, the sharp sting of what is not cuts like failure. Howls and bowls and twigs and bags stuffed with stones and leaves weigh him down, but only to the outsider of it all, inside there's freedom and it isn't prescribed and everyone else is terrified of it, so much so its frowned upon. So get new again! Take off all your clothes like you're just born! This second! This day! Rejoice that punk is a hollow shell and that the Empire has fallen centuries ago, time kills all, but we have now, oh god do we have now!

Wednesday, October 13, 2010


Where have I been? I think I lost myself in the last few days. Weeks. It's a dense woodland and its easy to get lost within bureaucratic academia. I can see light up ahead, but I still have a bear trap around one leg which makes my trundling towards it laborious.

Monday, October 11, 2010


Mister Fry is absolutely and positively correct, as always. As a reader and writer and speaker of words, I must admit that the ones and the uses I enjoy most are those that push the boundaries. Even horrible bastardisations of words and language have their place: l33t and txtspeak are just new ways to communicate. People however are just very lazy with them, utilising them as a substitute replacement of proper communication as opposed to dabbling with their potential in tandem with what is already known. All my favourite novels have pushed language: Kerouac's 'Doctor Sax', Burroughs 'Naked Lunch', Ackers 'Don Quixote', and Joyces 'Finnegans Wake' and 'A Portrait of the Young Man as an Artist'. Misuse isn't wrong, its delightful exploration. Its riding a bike on its rear wheel, doing a handbrake slide in a car in the middle of a paddock and jumping over fences and park benches.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010


I tried to tell a story,
I forgot all the words,
I forgot the word 'axe'.
What kind of
was I telling?
Well, you know,
a traditional one,
a fairy tale,
the kind that would have that sort of thing in it.
So I couldnt remember the word 'axe'.

So I asked:
1: what is that thing that people use to cut down trees?
2: chainsaws?
1: no. you know, canadians us them?
2: I am pretty sure canadians use chainsaws.
1: no, its not chainsaws that I am thinking of.
2: regular saws?
1: no, they are like a baseball bat but have metal at the end, vikings used them.
2: axes?
1: yes.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

flicker in and out of being

-by the stars that flicker in and out of being, denying the laws of reality to hold them, set your compass to the three most likely directions at once, sail with the breathe of the Hare and the flea, blowing tiny, microcosmic gusts into your sails outside of their knowledge, advance with systematic stochasticity, cautiously yelling for no-one to hear, our uncertain quivers will guide our hearts, our shoes abandoned, our feet feeling air underneath them, oxygen supporting our weight, the Way crooning to our ideas, lurching is long forgotten, doom existing only as an idle threat that delivers no danger, just continuation.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Iliad understands.

He counts the hours but it's all a haze: reality has been given a fuzzy new filter to be seen through. Its been... thirty-two, no, thirty six, yes, its been thirty-six hours. He thinks of Iliad. He dreams of Iliad. Iliad, like any goal, desire or unattainable fantasy understands. At least he hopes. He hopes Iliad understands.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Monday, August 2, 2010

I'd watch the trees

I'd watch the trees. The trees'd watch me. It was mutual observation. A tree is a great surveyor. So still. All it does is watch. The air. The soil. The water. It watches without looking. I wasn't scared of the trees miraculously springing 'to life', uprooting themselves and chasing me with outstretched branchy hands. No. No I was more scared of what they could do without me even noticing. What they could do while they were deathly still. Silently releasing leaves in Autumn. Growing quietly. Reaching out underground in every direction. The tree had always had the upper hand.

Monday, July 26, 2010

i cant come back

i cant come back
i've gone too far you know?
i think
I think i'm lesser actually
I mean, maybe
happier, but lesser
less functional?
but you
you are entirely different
and thats great
say: "i need to be reminded"
and I will

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

here's an idea

it is different from before, unsettled, steeped in solid flighty graspings at, ow, at, ow- stop that, steeped in solid flighty graspings at my knowledge, no, not not knowledge, at magic, disappear, disappear little rabbit, you're not a bunny, no solid flighty graspings for you, no, don't pout, oh-no dont cry, okay-okay-okay here's an idea: just one! you can have one flighty grasp, thats it!

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Thursday, June 3, 2010

but he's not made of french fries either

It’s not easy to write him. He’s not a bad guy but he’s not made of French-fries either. Its not malicious, however, it is all choreographed dancing and lightly dusted icing sugar. Salad days and cum rags. He’s a boyfriend that makes you cringe when he talks too loudly on his mobile phone. He’s a jealous bitch that asks where you’ve been while you’re at the supermarket. He’s a stranger that touches himself on the train while he looks at you from across the carriage. He’s the girl who stays to be hit, drinks too much and ends up crying pathetically all night. He’s not difficult. No Sir. That’s the last thing he would want to be, Sir.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Thursday, May 27, 2010

i only cause you do

an exercise in carnivores, all whittlin' down the hours, i only do, cause its you, you do, you do but whats for that you smile. i chamisoles notice fray before, all black and swollen blue, not from and bruises but tiny heart falling through breaks. please get sentimental dont, you always do know you, never before call it quits on banter jovial 'fore 'twon-tither.

Friday, May 21, 2010

You were so disappoint.

You were so disappoint. Your grasp on english wasn't that strong. I was remembering the night before, sitting at my desk till 2am typing away, listening to the TV play 'Once upon a Time in the West'. The Botanical Gardens were (fucking) freezing; I tore your necklace off and and you quivered with anticipation before I almost fuck you. Like I said: your grasp on english wasn't that strong. I almost fucked you. Don't capitalise. Don't look anywhere else but into my eyes. "I'm keeping this" was the last words between us before I pocketed your necklace and stumbled home drunk, leaving you in the dark, alone with the possums and dew a few hours before dawn.

deception with ink

Sunday, May 16, 2010

wasn't didn't either

I saw a movie about that recently, it was called 'The Knowing' and Mel Gibson was in it and he was on a plane and their were snakes on it then it crashed into the ocean and sank a boat and he gave a girl a necklace and they had sex in a car then he drowned but it was okay because he was a ghost the whole time, he just didnt know it and he didn't afraid of anything the whole time.

Thursday, May 6, 2010


I love trype.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Another Poem with a Hidden Message

This is just a poem, again,
a poem like any that’s been,
I don’t know why want one,
Poems are old and done.

This isn’t a haiku,
Its not something that I really do,
nor is it a limerick,
making it work is a bit of a trick.

People get caught up with rhyme,
but its okay if it doesn’t from time to time,
if I try too hard it’ll fall down flat,
cause I don’t know anything that rhymes with that.

So here is this silly poem,
not a book, or novel, or an ageless tome,
Just some words to pass the time,
with a hidden message for you to find.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Thursday, April 29, 2010

BESEEDED dressing grown

i maid the miss steak o' oh oh ooooh oooooooh miss- miss- missed the tar-get, what a terrible misssteak, there'd probably be some kindo' o'huh'kiddo

Monday, April 26, 2010

everything drivel

Hi only If YOU wereAttRACKtive

Oh. Or so Weezer tell me. Lets just imagine for a second, lets just imagine for one f--king second that I was a girl. An attractive girl. This isn't anything weird or anything, just hear me out. Okay. So imagine I was an attractive girl and you were a guy and you were really good looking. Imagine that. Like, really, like, just imagine it. That'd be so hot.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

exercise in delusion

"It's not that you're asking a stupid question, that doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that you're asking the wrong stupid question."
-Ace Wagstaff, S.R. (Sporadic Recordings Series), 2007

"Am I some kind of god? I don't know, it's difficult to say, I don't think that I'm 'the' god, however, any other speculation is certainly within the realm of possibility."
-Ace Wagstaff, S.R. (Sporadic Recordings Series), 07-2006

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Word Verification

see: soar

I think it may be time to abandon technology and revert to the handwriten. I'm so glad you have hung on. Continue to do so. In fact: don't just 'hang', but rather, climb, when you can, of course. Eventually you'll be climbing so fast, you'll realise that you've left the tangible and have begun to soar.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Sans Nichts ('tea parties are for chumps' excerpt)

"I fear I am becoming less tangible. A kind of idea of someone else, as a character; I know this is probably definable as some kind of mental illness," he paused. The Doctor had those ever waiting, wet, glistening eyes. The Doctor never should any sign of being in agreeance or otherwise, he was a poker player, there was never a cue to continue or stop, just a presence, so he continued, "I'm just not sure I should be,” be tried to find the right words, “I’m not sure that… I don’t know, I’m just not sure.” Without warning there was change: he was in a food court, possibly in a shopping centre, maybe at a major train station, its familiarity was vague. Samantha sat opposite him: deadpan. “We all feel like that sometimes,” she comforted, "do you wa-" she never finished her sentence: he found himself lying in his bed, the switch from vertical to horizontal made his head spin.

He had an electric taste in his mouth. The insides of nose felt wet. The kind of low-immunity 'wet' you feel after staying up all night, a kind of 'running-yourself-ragged' feeling. He over-analyzed his physical state. He began too much of his internal monologue with 'He'. He felt dizzy. He was dizzy. He closed his eyes.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Ginger Locked Locks Look Ginger

You flirt with lines from childrens animated movies. She doesn't get the references. Your girlfriend likes me better. Smile, shuck, groove on down doobey-town. I'm towing good times, haulin ass cross section mega-election. It's not right unless it's all bright. Bright as bright can be. Bright as bright can be, clever man. Cleave the fabric from the cleavage you cleft of gentleman. Gen-teel man of real, hammer steal. Look at you.

Umber Modesto highway waiting fer shy ta wane, bumpin' along a wain slow and steady pu-ulled by tut-turtles. Move quick Laser Lad, how's that focus? Wearing yet? Undressing set? Take a turn, Cool Breeze. There are many things I'd like to say to you, but I dont know how: play coy, insert coin, buttons stick, (video game innuendo rhetoric.)

Monday, March 22, 2010

The Happiest a Man Can Be.

"The happiest a man can be is in a hot shower with a glass of gin and vermouth on the rocks, masturbating furiously to a fellatio-cum-ejaculation variety clip video with heavy metal playing over the top of the videos soundtrack. Not every guy is into heavy metal but despite musical preferences, you understand what I'm saying."

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Sans Nichts ('from toasting to roasting to served' excerpt)

He turned to his father, "Who are you, Galvanderstein?"

I don't think that I have ever dealt with any situation the same way twice. Okay-okay-okay, I know (KNOW) that no (NO) two situations are ever COMPLETELY the same so of course every 'Handeling' is going to be different, but, let us be disgustingly human and average 'situations' out.

The call with the Editor went something like this:

"I'm not saying its bad, I just feel like you're falling a little shy."
"Be more obvious?"
"Well, no. Yes. I... I can see, I get it: You have this storyline-"
"Not a 'storyline', just a 'line'-"
"-right, so you have this 'line'-"
"-yeah, and there's people, characters, situations, that hint at, hint at, the, the big cruxs of our existence-"
"-yeah-okay, 'exist-stance', but-but you're not Camus, you don't throw it all out in front of the Reader, you're not Vonnegut, Shakespear, Kafka, Burroughs or Kerouac. You just kind of meander on the edge, no, not even on the edge, you just meander NEAR the edge, looking at it from a safe distance, not from it, you just dish out the story, uh I mean the 'line', the Writing, it's this half-interested, apathetic, wa-"
"I don't want the Reader to rape it."
"Rape it?! The Reader 'reads' the work, they're not raping an-"
"All those examples, Writers, all those Writers, they all put it, their story, all 'out' for the Reader, and what they put out ARE stories. I don't want the Reader to feel over the Words with their eyes, chew it all up with their heads and make their own 'little' sense of it."
"Then wh-"
"I don't want it, the line, the work, to exist parallel to the Reader, to be an equal, I don't want it to be consumed."

Just like that, every thought about THIS, here, now, you, these words, the Reader, the Writer; all knew their place in what is and all were content BUT:

"So, you're not changing it? Because we really can't use it the way that it is now, in its current form."
"Listen: how about I fax you a play I wrote today. It might be more to your, and the Readers' liking."
"What's it called?"
"Does it matter?"
"I'm just asking. You're being needlessly difficult an-"
"It's called: 'The Curious Incident when Nothing Occured and No One was Surprised'"
"(sigh)... Oh-fine, fine, just-just send it through, I dont care and can't be bothered with your games anymore."
"Characters that have dialogue which clearly expresses what they're thinking and feeling is lazy writing."

Goodbyes were exchanged and the phonecall was mutually over. The Writer faxed the play 'The Curious Incident when Nothing Occured and No One was Surprised' through. the fax read as follows:

'The Curious Incident when Nothing Occured and No One was Surprised'
(A play in three parts.)
PART I: There was a Curious Incident.
PART II: Nothing Occured.
PART III: No One was Surprised.
The End.

Five minutes later the Writer received a fax in response to his three part play. The response read as follows:

"It's a good way to end the chapter."

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Interview Projects, 2002, June (a)

Interview Projects, 2002

"Today I started writing what I hope will end up being a sequence of poems, a sequence? A-ah... a list? Probably more a list, 'list' is probably the best, umm way to describe them because each one is going to be, each poem is going to be an item, so to speak, and as a whole, the poems are going to be like an inventory."

"One problem I've found at the moment is that I don't know any strangers, and, okay, that doesn't make much sense, what I mean is when you read something, if you know the person, you read it and you feel like you know so much more than is on the page, you start drawing all these connections, and in truth, the person is, for the most part just writing, the audience or whoever is going to read it is probably the last thing they are thinking about, or at least I feel that way, for example when I read something, I don't think the author is writing about me, that'd be insane, they don't even know me. Sometimes I can relate to an author but its definitely not the same. I guess I'd like to be able to get strangers to read stuff, get peoples opinions who are reading without knowing or bringing things in from their relationship with me."

"I'm almost finished this short story I started a little while agowhich kind of just sat on my computer for the longest time unfinished but I think it's almost done now. I kind of tried to write from small or rarely felt emotions, like the anger that might okay between two people that love eachother, like a parent and a child or two people in a romantic relationship, but without drawing, or trying not to anyway, draw anything from my own experiences. It ended up being balls but it was enjoyable."

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Sans Nichts ('Ima Gawd' excerpt)

Ima Gawd, Jerry Lewis, go ahead, assemble the team. Locking together forthwrite-amber sprite: The Incredible Shrinking Man, Virginia Woolf, Michio Kaku, Alexander the Great, MF Doom, Voltron and the Trix Rabbit.

Cut to dream sequence of team assembling. This is shown as they both organically merge (their skin melting/growing into each other like liquid) and mechanically merge (their surfaces dividing into cubes of different sizes, revealing clockwork beneath which reconfigures, and moves on pistons)

NOTE: call Michael Bay and Orko to see if they can help out with actual multiple human assembly.

CUTSCENE: Everyone works together. Except Trix. Trix is a rabbit, not a human, and therefore not a team player, and therefore does not work with rest of the team and therefore is not allowed on the team anymore, and therefour is kicked off the team. Silly rabbit, teams are for humans.

FLASHFLOOD: Excess H2O. 1500 (fifteen hundred die).

NEWS REPORT: Flash flood. 1500 (fifteen hundred die).

Ima calls on the batphone. Ima Gawd. How the effe did effen' Ima call on the batphone? Is Ima in the batcave? Did Ima hax the phoneline? Ima tells me how Ima predicts the chapter ends. Ima ends up being rite.

Monday, March 8, 2010

The Disciples Denial of The Christ for all that is Holy comes from the Denial of Desire

(le'T mIe T'yell y u o, Soh-oh-oh you kn ow, i kn oh shees youhng/(o), sh ese newbiLe, claen, tIeght sCK in nned And fooll o' ad mireation But Le t , l eEts slohw d ow n son, sl ow oh oh w down son)

"thats two texts today"
"yeah, I think shes coming round"
"Its a mistake though"
"Its not anything"
"It would be"
"Anything can be mistake"

Then between electric flashes his skein crawls, caterpillar crawl, the trailer trawl, across, slurpable supple: its an anti-antiquated lecture drawl.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

A portrait of the Artist as a Young Man as a Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

Sans Nichts ('push pull' excerpt)

Winning an argument in public space against a stranger has come down to being straight out insulting to your adversary, it’s the Social Buffer and years of polite societal programming that insure (no, not ensure) victory. Did you know the name Saul comes from a Latin word which means ‘little’? Not sure if they were referring to height, capacity or length, if you know what I mean. Wink-wink, nudge-nudge. You know what I mean. I’m sure you do, the guy has the kilo’s, so he’s probably slightly stunted. Don’t even get me started on ‘Trent’: it was originally an Aramaic word for ‘weevil penis’. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe, I’m telling you stories, Frenchie. Sure fits though, darn’t it?

I'm not going to give you any reasons, I aint got any, do I?

The writers, in duality, the both, the two, the plural, walk into a wallll (fo(u)r L’s); one has to go home to a endereing wife, the other has to go home. The problem with Love (capital Elle, thanks Ellie) isss that it isss (triple ess hisses) electric AND requires conductors, (I’m speaking of both types of coarse: something it can travel along akin to a track, and also a grand overseer, someone to organize, direct and orchestrate). I abhour th e two of them, their lecherous control over the creative formation of an otherwise slimpery yolk. Their pattying of fingers on keys, little lifetime decision m4k3rs.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

The pubic hairs had been a gift from his genes when he turned twelve. Had it not been for the boost of hormones he may not have been able to bludgeon the savage dog in the head with a rock later in the year. It was the first living creature he had ever kill in order to protect himself.

When a dog tells you 'its over', it doesnt know the meaning of soft tones. When a dog makes a threat, it does not curtsie.