for friends, near and far

we should forever remember
we breathed each other in
these living rooms. we've
dreamed, slept, speculated
on all the couch blankets
during day spoons. we've
worn all my garish jackets,
drunk from all the glasses
and healed our wounds. we've
been we'ved, and not even
latitudinal dissimilarity
could slacken the loom.
if you ever need me to,
i will hug you home. because
i could never forget that
your arms are where i'm from.


sappy. yeah. i fucking love you guys, deal with it! also, it was Risky B who said "hug each other home", and Cas and i were overwhelmed with love for it.

eyes and mouth

we are collapsed and adjacent on a cafe floor, unconsciously engaged in suggestive proxemics. i can't describe exactly my reaction to the intersection of limbs wrists glances world-views pasts, but there's some comfort in the thought that at least we still have a spatial relationship. i'd almost forgotten what you looked like from here. your eyes eyes eyes eyes eyes mouth mouth mouth mouth jump out like in a dream or a word cloud; white on black verdana monsters of femenine attraction loom over and around the smaller clusters of doc martens summer strolls the arcade fire existentialism and smoking in parks while we were trashed smashed ripped, up all night tandem riding flying foxes and waiting impatiently for a vacancy on the gravity-powered spinning disc that was perpetually beset with heterosexual adolescents obviously lacking homes of their own in which to heavily pet. although, we were almost just as bad. our ratio of appreciation of playgrounds at night to interest in each other's bodies was something like a 40/60 split.

i still think about kissing you, even now, but am hyper-conscious of anachronism. it’s been months since sex picnics holidays lectures breakfasts where you noticed my never matching socks passive aggressivity dad jokes and jewelry making skillz. and i noticed your eyes mouth freckles shoulders photographs calm anarchy and biker calves that always guaranteed you were faster than me. you also had suspension on your front forks, while the chain of my appropriated teenage vehicle had accumulated garage rust – not unlike the unlikely promises we made to the outside world, which sat gathering dust in the recesses of adjourned friendships. we were so caught up with each other back then that everything on the periphery was practically imperceptible.

a guy with an eyebrow piercing black skinny jeans tired eyes and friendly cafe banter comes and takes our cups. you adjust your fringe from left to right justified and talk about uni. it sounds like you've really got it together, these days, with your creative aspirations and graduate attributes. right now i should say, "your graduate attriboots are made for walking." it would probably make you smile, at least. but instead i brood over the fact that somehow while i got high you got a higher education. more paper between us, i think, and brood a little more over the extreme paperiness of the last four years. "you’ll get your degree eventually," you say, like you can still read my mind, and i’d like to believe it.

we split the bill and walk outside. you walk with me down the street for about fifty metres to the bus stop, past op shops book shops benches hipsters buskers with dreadlocks and a Hare Krishna van. “we should do this again soon,” but we probably won’t. from the rear window of the bus i watch you shrink into the background of King street. the last things to vanish as i turn the corner are your eyes eyes eyes, and mouth.





EDIT: sorry kids who got multiple rss updates of this post, i wanted it to look pretty. blogger previews are NO GOOD.

Around the traps.

How long can I stay here inside
hooked up to this
hydroponic equipment?
The net has turned me into a spy
fat on truth’s
patchwork banquet.
It’s spun so I don’t have to hunt, I just wait
(stories fix everything
in place.)
So I’m sure reality’s probably great,
But you must see why
I’d rather stay here.



poem on how i feel about the internet sometimes.

i'll die young for rock n roll

i just discovered wordle. this is how i'll be sharing/ keeping track of any great music i come across from now on. (yeah, i could write blog posts all day about the things i'm falling in love with right now, but there is a saturation point, and probably not too many people are that interested). basically, i've never had time for reading record reviews. or, it never made sense to me, because it takes the same amount of time to read a review as to find/download and listen to a couple of songs. but wordling cokemachineglow reviews to determine what is essential test-listening? is proving to be an incredibly accurate indicator. and wordle itself has this comfortingly metaphor-y feel. or a timeliness, at least. machines are fantastic, they should be on tv or in the newspapers EVERY DAY, for being amazing.

ok, so, just one final note on new music... if you like The Velvet Underground, (or should some things probably just be assumed?) you should listen to Eternal Summers.

and, in other news, things have been weird lately. adopted this as a mantra:

the world is probably real,
tomorrow will probably happen,
and although inductive
reason is flawed,
you'll probs be fucked if
you don't get things done.

("i need a disciplinariaaan.")

"... For the world is movement, and you cannot be stationary in your attitude toward something that is moving."
— Henri Cartier-Bresson

this guy.










other news:
grove expectations 2 was perfect. perfect.
new sufjan album is lovely.
i have decided to finish my education degree within the next two years but put arts on hold/ finish it part time over the next while, pay back my scholarship and do the world (kris, here is where your voice in my head adds "sexually!") before i do the classroom. feeling great about this right now.

EDIT: oh um, i'm definitely not going to "sexually" do the classroom! for the record.

... and this is the most cheerful thing i've ever seen

if you were a page on facebook i'd like you.

i love this. haven't felt this way since mirah. so... evocative? or maybe i just have a thing about kettle drums/ lesbians. whatevs, those are two pretty good things.

home is wherever i'm with you

so, apparently this song "home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros is pretty well known. i've been listening to the album today, it's pretty well great. driving, folky, somehow neon-bibly. i don't even care that it's a dude singing.
see, i'm trying to listen to a new album a day, read a new book at least every week, see a play at least every month, and write a novel by December 31st. it would be nice to pass my subjects as well. go for goals.

also, here's a poem about clark park (in milson's point).



centrifuge

i watch the day close
from the middle of the universe,
on a park bench.
cat power is singing
bob dylan songs
sweetly into the moment,
as i think old-timey things
and gaze out at the deepening blue.
sailing boats with bows oceanbound
sway impatiently;
a harboured armada of
northshore escapist fantasies
fleet like moments,
'let's go let's go let's go!'
they say,
'you moneyed freaks, let's sail!'
and oh god, you guys,
sometimes i'd die to get out of this
yuppie Sydney flatness,
this naive Ken Done placemat.
but i am tide
and
the curvature of the earth
always brings my head back here
where i can breathe,
love,
watch older lesbians jog
around flowerbeds
and be amazed at how
the shadows of palms behind me
stretch and merge into night.

"crisis is way more interesting than stasis"
- Judith Halberstam

i'm not in crisis, but it's a great quote.
we groved tonight. it's only been three nights away, but it's felt like too long. we told bedtime stories, we spooned, played dress ups, ate cold halava (in reverse order).
i also wrote a joke. this one is for charlie, who scootered* three times around the playground in anticipation of a joke from me only to be sorely disappointed, because i only know that one about the mushroom. y'know, he's a "fun guy". (fungi).
so, for charlie:

what do physicists drink? (dramatic pause). fulcrum milk.

(so educational! (give me a job at this, gillard!))

and right now i'm listening to David John Broughton. sardonic, beautifully melancholic vocal and guitar textures. i am entranced.

goodnight!

* this verb has been unanimously agreed upon.

but here we go into the sun

Krista yesterday said that the morning with her friends had left her feeling the same as how you feel after eating a really nutritious meal. i feel like that more and more, i feel like we are learning something important. although there are noticeable sore absences.

my day has been fairly great. i met up with Sal, had great conversations, briefed the library, read J. S. Harry poetry, listened to this mixtape i bought off two girls in newcastle...

"barrow face mix" tracklist:
A
1. weezer - say it ain't so
2. robert johnson - terraplane blues
3. split enz - one step ahead
4. here we go magic - only pieces
5. the walkmen - hang on siobhan
6. talking heads - psycho killer
7. department of eagles - no one does it like you

B
1. kitty, daisy and lewis - buggin blues
2. edward sharp and the magnetic zeros - home
3. beirut - prenzlauerberg
4. the beach boys - sloop john b
5. the supremes - baby love
6. beyonce - sweet dreams
7. janelle monae - tightrope
8. fallen angels - bad woman
9. robert johnston - when you got a good friend
10. sufjan stevens - happy birthday

then i wrote some stories in the park, and a love letter to all women:

i am crazy about kissing,
because her smile,
inches from mine,
is everywhere.

sat in the sun. visited my grandparents, watched a show on the abc about white people. right now i am listening to Circulatory System, reading this. this is so My Thing it's ridiculous.

"As the term "matrix" means "womb" in Greek, the metaverse in postmodem
cyberpunk fiction is inherently related to creation myths. If "new technologies," as
Marshal McLuhan says, "amputate as much as they amplify," postmodem science fiction
writers use anthropomorphic creation mNths to reunite those dismembered limbs of the
natural body, the human's instinctive transpersonal subconscious."

in related news, i've rediscovered The Internet.

i have the best life. all i do is spend time with people i adore, and it is wonderful. i wish i could write about it. you really have to be here.

so, in lieu of a post about newcastle, these are the sms templates on my phone. are people this lazy?

please call
i'm busy right now. i'll call you later.
thankyou
i am late. i will be there at
i will be arriving at
see you at
see you in
i'm in a meeting, call me later at
meeting is cancelled.
happy birthday
i love you too