Wednesday, July 20, 2011


But come said the boy,
let's go down to the sand

__Come Said the Boy, Mondo Rock

Fireworks by bunny jennyy

it's a compulsion i feel very strongly now. a sense that a great distance must be covered, and very quickly; and that i must do it. i must create some danger, manufacture it in a lab somewhere and drink it in a vial and next think you know i've signed things i shouldn't have signed and said things i shouldn't have said and packed all the wrong stuff and find myself living on the floor of an apartment in a foreign city somewhere. if life has decided it's time to strip me of my youth then i'm just going to have to work harder at making mistakes, being in situations where i don't know - can't know because they are completely new.


down bottles of pills with cold tea and dance with empty wheelchairs and sing with my sister while playing cards shouting out the words to Paul Simon songs neither of us knows the lyrics to.


i'm eating a lot less now. skipping anything sugary. anything that doesn't need to be eaten. my body's running better. i'm thinner too, which i like the look of.


i don't want to be in america right now. i don't like the way my voice sounds here. i don't want to be in australia either.


maybe fall in love with something new. something strange and under-appreciated. something mine and no one will know about it - a secret. a secret window that gets amazing light. a barber shop. an iphone app. a person with small feet. that's what i need to do, i've grown dispassionate. i'm not scared. i think in circles that have no end. don't listen when people are speaking. distracted during sex.

i'm sitting on a perch waiting to be seduced. the world's philosophers, harlots and ngo fundraisers are licking their lips and swinging their hips walking towards me.


i need new friends. guys who throw popcorn at me in the cinema and get drunk and scream quotes from Hegel and southpark and collapse on couches crying about things their mothers said to them on their 9th birthdays; girls that draw with sticks of charcoal on restaurant napkins and give me lap-dances without provocation and waive at children in the street and scold me from time to time for things i shouldn't have said. and together we'll do handstands in living rooms and ask 11 year olds in the park to let us play soccer with them and throw girls into the water at the beach and makeout in showers with our clothes on and sit on kitchen counters drinking tea and crying about Thursdays and sit quietly with espressos we don't remember ordering thinking about how old we've gotten and talk about how old we still have time to get. that's what i need.

either that or to listen to more tori amos.


i think i might have an affair with a married woman. in her 40s. like Mrs Robinson, but i wouldn't have made such a mess of it. she would smoke and i'd stare at her breasts move as she breathed in and out, and she'd tell me about life in a quiet, satisfied voice and i'd stare out of a secret window with great light and listen to her like she were the Faure requiem.

later i'd watch her as she dressed. when she put her heels on i'd tell myself memorize this memorize this memorize and she'd look up and see me and know what i was thinking. we'd both feel sad. exhilarated and sad and lonely in two different ways. we'd smell of sex and smoke and our hair would be damp and our faces wouldn't be able to settle on an expression.

eventually she'd stop returning my text messages and i'd stop sending them.


where can i find a volcano?


my sister tells me she's never seen a real dinosaur before. i tell her jurassic park is located in and around her kitchen. she asks what that is but i can't hear her because my grandmother is assaulting me about why i haven't had breakfast yet and the phone is ringing and there are 2 televisions on.

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