a hurried & etched blot where

design is accidental unless observed in threes,

like girls hit with hard air. ha. ah.

after central the road assembles. an underrated dispersal of moss,

the creep, gesturing forwards & under

your mind-set always

moulded by a stop.

smallpox killed an estimated ‘1’ french triassic sailor.

spermatozoa catchment now chiefly stored in encyclopedias &

rapid bus transitways, fuck, they just transit

(people answer at dusk – see disambiguation for other uses

post-2000 you wave on dykes, hinterland, a singly volcanic necking

(anne’s night out (a free glassing, insurance losses

pre-date her incorporation, music wafts at 21.8 degrees

a girl asking if you’re looking for a lady / a lady hooking

it to a bouncer / swaying breasts only later zoom in –

balding non-drinkers, cunts with $50: water is stored in dams

initiatives to ‘civilise’

ranks 7th in my bathroom

(hide contents)

photograph contemporary art after the wharf

share it large, oh shine!

i regret not looking beyond

the CBD i desperately wanted

to get OPI Zom-body to Love

& stayed at The Rock / i was

sitting there i took the chance

to check out spend some time

organising our warehouse i was

introduced to a friend visited with

the kangaroos i set up a printer for

Beth i learned that Jim was going

this is my host-mom: i was looking

in a newspaper i was fortunate enough

i discovered the word ‘fuck’ went to the

AXA headquarters i met this girl /

photos that i took literally the most

stunning person i thought i’d take

some snaps i connected i was lucky

enough to witness some of her poems

you & i especially got closer

i called on Colin i watched

‘Unforgettable’

i was suffering real bad happened

to check the station email i had to stay

in my sister’s room i went to a lot

of familiar sights i gathered photographs /

i downloaded it all i asked a homeless

person i was able to sit i was introduced

to a friend of a friend i met with Ally

for the first time i had really good Indian

i was getting out of the car with Jacob

i accomplished this

i connected

i stayed at the Radisson

i experienced some personal tragedies

Saturday mornings with Emma & Peter

i also wrote a piece of my own, an elegy

i bought myself a copy of ‘Backgammon

for Dummies’ only i learnt about it too late

i was pleased to deliver the keynote address

i chose the lighter roasted Dolci Sapori

i was pushed to the limit i had a fairly packed

schedule i was also assisting the teacher

i sent payment through

i ignored friendly warnings i think

the products are cheaper here i swear

i visited the immigration office i tried

i saw countless Hothouse XR Falcons

i always miss out on the fun i picked up

this cute bangle i could Video Tape

anywhere i was taken to Bondi Beach

at 5am i started to experiment more

i took part in a photo exhibition called

‘Sexy young Things’ i rescued 3 horses

i was looking pretty considering everything

i shattered 25% of my tailbone

Or will it. It seems I’m never just me sitting here writing. If I was you could imagine me tapping away fiercely at the laptop, the fingerfalls loud as a rare hailstorm, this symbolising a serious flow of ideas. But I’m not me, not in any serious way, simply not there with my face lit up in an unnatural LCD glow. Because by the time I paint that picture things have changed. To wit: initially I’d sensed the tittering of crickets coming from outside, something we’ve all heard but SO WHAT (and I was thinking of it even before writing, thinking this would be good to include) because then when it came to actual moment of keyboardly execution, the moment when I needed to render it and make it REAL the sound was drowned out by a jet passing low over the house. There you go. So typical of the world and the way it works against me. The cricket orchestra is now audible again but that’s so not the point. I conceive of myself in flux all the time. Maybe that’s my problem… The cup of tea at my hand would fix that if only I couldn’t reliably predict that it is by now lukewarm. (And I know from past experience that I can predict such a thing. It always happens when I’m in hailstorm writing mode.) Drinking or eating something often makes me feel differently about a matter I was previously considering. Like, for instance, my own conception of me as a solid thing, a thing capable of being the subject of a portrait. A good dose of hot tea would probably lead me to think of this as a not-so-important issue, a real thing but something to be put aside lightly, like a Woolworths catalogue in the mail informing you of LOW PRICES. And now yes, the tea is lukewarm, very nearly slightly cool. I knew it would be so and that seals decides my next course of action. I’ll abandon this portrait and somewhere within its wordy boundaries insert the words ‘work in progress’. It will never be finished though (or if it is I’ll remove those words, and that’s how you’ll know). Just imagine me as I am at a future point in time. Lying in bed, turning out the lamp. At that point know that I will be wondering how good my life could be if I had an authentic kerosene lamp to read by. Know this. Be satisfied with this.

Reviewing your work by focussing on just one sentence. Listing it as all that matters. This is very fascinating.

I desired to say thank you.

the door creak is the landlord’s problem. oh

hello cat. where have you been. such mysteries

beaming out of your bored-as-fuck eyes. here these

lines i wrote withstand the truth: ‘first cat in a while’.

i read the dragon tattoo book quickly & it felt great!

it feels good to read books again, to read them well.

look unemployment seems to be at a very low level.

boy, a bit of perfume fixes most things. but my

inability to astral travel persists. i muss my own hair

before appearances. ron calls me a bi-atch

for the syllabic effect. our lives aren’t stylised

enough. i don’t own a scarf. it never rains.

all the good writers write about sex.

let’s be awful to each other now

so as to never expect anything.

i think you’ll be particularly interesting in reading my response to the question ‘Is work a preoccupation or theme in your poetry?’

illuminating as.

this winter as if the stars were blameless

.

your eyes level across a darkening pillow

out back my friends are propped up hollow

cartons pissed with the cicada-winds of a

former residence many railways down

the road smart people travel distance or

accomplish astrophysical feats on/at any scale

i thought about philosophy you were calm or

still or bored binding energy it simply equates

to ‘the future’ we’ll exclude frugal subsistence

consider inertia then we’re coded terrestrial

blankets eating cold pizza a low power

density evident to General Moon the

spam-version of optimal plasma

.

i love your shapeshifting tricks your

timely mask of theoretical blankness

.

this challenge we all contend with

unwilling jittery gamers

so day 2, the day i didn’t blog about, was probably worse than day 1, a day i also didn’t blog about. i did facebook about day 0 though. a few people commented, not really knowing to what the number referred. day 2 was crap because of goings on which wanted me to end the days. i wanted to stop it just like that & go back to the minus days. but i didn’t.

consequently day 3 seems better. bodily fug recedes; childlike sense of the senses hinted at. i’m predicting day 10 will suck. this is perhaps where the childlike sense of ‘wow everything is so vast & fucked’ will return. i remember that lasting a number of years.

whinge ducks & motorised men foot

paths cast glances totally past washboard

triplet solos mid-range merlot & pav

.

stole your likes & dislikes ate banana bread with

a bpissed security door + tradies in bakers’ dozens

older blokes shy-smiling into the middle distance a

dubbed rhythm underscores maccas clunking bass

.

pwned your details spread wide adulterers

are rife in england too all tech-savvy 85%

of intercourse-related heart attacks means nothing

means a cello tuner’s tatt & beer breath

.

don’t be such a cunt wake up to

yourself it’s your attitude