Saturday, December 30, 2006

Just a long way to the bottom

i'm a lonely house
on a hill
near a lake
here i'm standing all alone
and playing happy
like a fake

got a smile on my face
grin and bear it
take it hard
off the shoulder
like a soldier
cannot bear it
feelin' scarred

built atop a mountain rise
that's 'bove the valleys
'bove the seas
can see all the land around me
to the mallees
and the trees

'cross the broken and the beaten
to the cemete
ries below
see the lost and the defeated
taunt the hated
kill the slow

to a vast and distant future
where the lonely
rule the world
bound as one by isolation
they are loved
and they are...

we all sit in our cocoons
just looking out
upon the land
darkened faces to the sun
we all reach
to take a hand

and be holding one another
and be close
again, to feel
what it feels to touch another
someone turgid
someone real

feel the rise of all their tendons
'neath the skin and
'neath the bones
touch and breathe with eyes wide open
hear their panting
flooding drones

but the shock that's built around us
stop us ventur
ing too far
from our worlds of sure-spun cotton
to our worlds
of...

it is here upon this mountain
that i might stay
enclosed, cocooned
away from raging seas
where i might be
marooned

bleating helpless like an eaglet
fallen from
it's cliff-top nest
is where i see myself in 10
at my hugest
at my best

bequeathed be me to the world at large
all grey feathers
all grey heart
forget my mine main metaphors
and having to
restart.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Je me demande...











You see, I really am perverse. And a bad person. This actually isn't the one that I got, the one I got was:












but, I'll let 'you' decide which one you think fits better. I think the philosopher sounds more enigmatic and isolated like me. Plus (pun!!!!!!) I'm not a mathematician, and so cannot calculate. But, I don't know me, you do. Plus, since when was I safe?

Adieu, mes amis, à demain.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Mine eyes, they are weeping

Oh, my one, my only, my darling. I wanted to leave you something beautiful. It has always been my dream, and even now, in what can only be the twilight of my long, beautiful day with you, all I can think of is leaving you with something you can treasure, something worthy of you, of your ethereal beauty, your timeless, ageless and breathtaking depth, wisdom. I fear that I shall fail, for a task like this seems only too gargantuan; for me, for anyone. But I can try; and if trying was worth as much as succeeding, I would succeed for you a million times over.

I can't really go anywhere from here. It's just writing, just words.


Oohhhh I am so sick of this. Writing, no, it's wrong, no more. Stop. Process. Misuse of language. Anger. Frustration. Inadequaecy. More anger. Contemplation. Confusion. Obfuscation. Oh. My. My. No, he doesn't approve. No, he doesn't get it. No, no one likes that.

What is this, dissertation? Unending, boring, platform shoes. Unetching pain and blinking eyes against driving rain. I can't decide which version of the truth to expound. Oh this is so frustrating. I can't follow a thought, I can't hold it, they come and go. Why so many negations? Why can't you just fucking write, get it over with, stop holding this cloud over your head, influence the weather and pull the fucking curtains closed on this. Oh stop it. STOP. You see. Anger. I AM SO ANGRY. I just wish a man could understand why I want to go and bury my head in the clay with some saltbush and sandalwood at my ankles. Ankles. Aaaaankles. Kles. Kneekneeknees. Ysmelda. Floor contact. Bah.

So, I have disserted little. I have failed. I should clairvoyify the rest of my life. Just go on and on. Why would you do that, that thing, that you did. Why would you say, those things, that you said. Why would you be and then be not to be, do what you do without doing a thing? I leave you; chrome mesh.