... .. .

With the sun in your eyes Always mistaking The truth from the lies by swimminginmilk

maybe that's just what happens when you're most of the way through being 29. ___(i've run out of words). ___possibly feelings too. possibly all of it.
___i'm concerned that it's too soon for the magic of my life to have run dry, and for me to feel like nothing is worth... commentary , and reflection , and occasional replays-through in my mind.

i'm a workaholic. yes. i think at this point, there isn't anybody around who knows me well-enough (which is akin to saying: is frequently neglected by me) who would disagree with that characterization.  The problem with this, from my point of view, is that if i dislike my work, it saps my life-force. 40 mins on the treadmill feels like endless horror. i'm not inclined to meet anybody new - when work ends i disappear to avoid the possibility of social blahblahblah. i hope there's no one i know waiting on the train platform so i can get 20 minutes of solitude on the ride home. it might be all i get.


___*___*___*

outside it is sunny.
my laundry is on the line.
when i collect it tonight it will smell like everything i remember about my childhood.
___it will be a minor, tiny, miraculous, fragmentary joy.


___*___*___*

[sigh]

even my romantic adventures, which always thrilled me, are starting to feel stale. There is a great joy in being charmed and seduced by someone, and feeling your sense of control slip away and - it's a two-way giving - all the electricity that has to build up for a one lightning bolt first-kiss. Recently i've been thinking how being charmed and seduced might be too low a standard. Maybe it's just... kinda dirty. Too predictable. (Maybe it's me, i've gotten too good at knowing who i'm going to be taken with, and who is being taken with me... i'm robbing myself of the magic of romance). I can often sense it, not see it or predict it, but i can often sense something in the air when i first meet women. Often i won't even be able to know what it was until well after the romance is over, and then when i re-think about the first meeting that it's there, all too clear all along.

(
and poetry feels farther away from me than every before).


___*___*___*

THINGS I AM CURRENTLY CHARMED BY, A LIST:

- jacaranda trees.
Brisbane is full of them, and this time of year they all bloom. and every now and then, as you walk, train, move around the place, your eyes fall on the lilac-coloured-cloud of a jacaranda in bloom.

- sun in the wind. a view of sunlit sidewalk when you stand in the shade. the step from in to out when a blanket of sunlight changes the everything of as-you-knew-it.

- the Radio Dept. (the band). (bit of a rediscovery)

- corned beef and hash brunches.

- incessantly dreaming of the future.
or at least, the end of this year. a year that will have no requiem, no pomp, no decided farewell. it hasn't been that important a year. not really momentous at all, and yet, i suppose it has. sidelist: IMPORTANT THINGS THAT HAPPENED IN 2012, A SIDELIST: (1) learned how to tie bow-ties, (2) bought a house, (3) came off the pills. That's in order of how much pride i feel at their achievement, with (1) invoking the most pride and (3) the least.

- Rake.
Those of you who are australian, and familiar with the legal-scene in australia will already love this show. the others will probably not find it particularly anything. (that is, if you can find it).

- what happens when radio dept and sofia coppolla (aka 'future wife') come together: KAPOW!


___*___*___*

and so it was, that in the 29th year of his life, a man who loved life, even during all those times (the majority of which) he was feeling lost and scared about it, ran out of words, thoughts and feelings about himself, his life, his happenings, all of it. and the most amazing ball of cosmic possibility, grief, joy, love sex and romance, all converged into a completely benign, placid ball of fossilized automata about which nothing could be said. since it just was, one way or another, just was was was and could not be thought out of in to or around.

and so it was, that in the 29th year of his life, this man was concerned.


___*___*___*

insert characteristically poetic closing lines here.

:(

thoughts(fragments): here. now. life.

untitled by brett walker


before anyone arrives it is so quiet.

and not quite so dark anymore, summer is near.
___(you know it is when the afternoon storms start,

___perfect bedlam from 3 till 5 everyday -

___from the 15th floor she waits for me to spot the lightning. )


___*___*___*

two days later, when i wake my stomach still hurts.
did you kill your abs at the gym? she wants to know. 
no.
then what?

between midnight and 9am i had so much sex i'm still sore.
uhm. oh. she says.
i look down.
___when i was lying naked on the carpet besides her front door i felt pretty grand.
___but in the sunlight ,
___when i'm not careful ,
___a little
______[something]


___*___*___*

i love the damn thing. i admit it.
it's green and purple and looks more like a tin-shed than a house.
in my head it's perfect. eventually it will be.
i believe in it. one of the few things left i believe in -
___(along with sunday brunch and the perfect everything of 4am)

white. everything white. my mother shakes her head. she wants me to be 'daring'. 'fun'.
i just want it to be fit for angels.
what will you do with all the trees? she asks.
get more.
more? 
many. more.
and then? 
sleep. shade and shadow. the hum of birds and infinity outside my windows. creeping in. if i'm not careful a vine will weave its way in and i'll be lost.found.forever.never.always.
dramatic much? 


___*___*___*

did you think about me? she asks, whispering into my ear hot breaths.
yes. [i'm not lying]
what did you think?
i'll show you.
[a sound that resembles a 'yes' and a pant]


___*___*___*

three months we've been speaking. in summary i have: an existential crisis because i think my life, my role in the world (write large) and my participation in history is meaningless and without significance; am emotionally walled off and unable to risk vulnerability; an neurotically ambitious out of a deficit in self-worth.

against all that... i'm more concerned with how much i want icecream (it's 7:50am). and sunshine. and to sit with my trees and listen to Bach. (if anything can fix those problems it must be that).


___*___*___*

i thought about you she says.
show me. 
show you what?
what did you do when you were thinking?
[i watch her bloom]


___*___*___*

i can't decide if i'm happy or the most miserable i've ever been.
and the problem is... (apart from i can't tell the difference)
that i think the answer is irrelevant.

i measure relevance in stillness.
and i haven't seen a straight surface in weeks.
every glass of water has ripples on its surface,
the empty ones sound like open windows.
___
___[the lightning is silent,
___i knew that, remember it when i see it,
___but never cease to be fascinated with it.
___silent lightning. silent snow.

house hunting / conversations with people paid to listen pt 2

there are no chairs so i slump down next to the bed. i refuse to lie in bed, i do that too much (on account of the lack of chairs). my suit is on the bed. no wait, half of it. the rest is on the ground. the wardrobe door is open. the score of shostakovich's viola sonata is half open on the ground to where it was when i fell asleep last night listening to it. there's shaving oil i spent too much money on today still in its brown bag. i'll resent it every time i shave for the rest of the month. a book i'm supposed to write a review on sits unopened. it makes me nervous, it reminds me of all the things i have to do.


___*___*___*

- so why do you think you have so much difficulty coming to grips with your existence?
- what?
- what?
- what does that mean?
- have you been listening to yourself?
- ...
- it's strange that you should say that. i have ... you know - religious leanings. so. it's kinda odd that there's... well... an existential dilemma i'm having
- is that what it is?
- what did i just say?, [it's like a wave or something in the ocean. it's there, fine. there it is. you can point to it and it's there. but later it's gone and another takes its place and nothing much is any different. it just keeps going. and that's... all i am. a fill in. there's nothing that i do, or... am that can't be replaced. people will find new friends. a new lover. whatever role i play in my family can be dispensed with if it can't be replaced. my job... my entire everything is just a momentary is and not a particularly forceful is at that.] sounds pretty existential to me.


___*___*___*

really i don't care anymore. i would have been happy living anywhere. as soon as you have to put some serious money down it becomes the most crucial decision ever. really it just comes down to how much i dislike the architecture in this town. there are so few buildings i like. quirks of mine. there are the easily replaceable things (i won't have tiles. i can't have them). and the more difficult ones (aluminum windows and sliding doors make me nauseous). i imagine living in my current house forever and i'm panic stricken. the colour of the walls bothers me. i hate the carpet. i hate the room - always too cold or too hot or too stuffy or just too full of me i can't sit anywhere else there's all this noise (thankgod for it if i were alone without the sound of roomates laughing i don't know how deep beneath i'd be right now)


___*___*___*

- when was the last time you enjoyed something?
- like what?
- do you ever notice things like wind on your face?
- [mumbles] like wind in dry grass or rats' feet over broken glass
- what?
- [mumbles] nevermind   . no.
- what?
- no. i don't notice that stuff. i used to. but now i don't.
- what do you notice?
- the time. if i'm late.


___*___*___*

suddenly i feel old again.
in the hague i rode my bike and kissed too many girls and was fascinated and lost in the best way. i felt younger than i'd been in years.
and now, twice shrunk.


___*___*___*

without exaggeration she has the most exceptional breasts i've ever come into contact with. i'm breathless.

an hour later when i'm walking home,
two days later i write this
how can it be i haven't thought of them in the time inbetween

someonethingeveryall has wiped my brain. it is full of unimportant things surely if it can't remember that.


___*___*___*

dear wes anderson,
thankyou for moonrise kingdom, i thought it was lovely and sweet and playful and fun and it made sunday so much candy and hugs.


___*___*___*

- so, how are you coping then?
- i'm fine. it's strange.
- that you're fine?, that's strange?
- yes. it is. i'm miserable. i hate every element of my life - there's not a single objective thing that i'm satisfied with.  and yet ,
- ...
- and yet i'm doing alright. getting up and walking around.
- that's good right?
- sure. i've got the same drive as a zombie.
- that's bad right?
- no. i love zombies. 
- hmm.

coversations with people paid to listen to you. pt 1

 untitled by .littlegirlblue


between the train station and my apartment there is a park. in the evenings it is a black, impenetrable heart at the centre of all roads leading home. it reeks of danger and you can sometimes hear the voice of young people in its darkness laughing or talking. sometimes you see shadows move amongst shadows. the girls avoid it religiously. they walk around its perimeter - on the other side of the street.

i've taken to walking through. looking straight ahead, ignoring even stirrings and voices. just straight through. it's like in top gun where danger zone starts to play and you know iz about to go down.


___*___*___*

tunnage:
written on the sky by max richter


___*___*___*

"so you've achieved your goals and... you're not happy."
"fine."
"ok. so... so now what?"
"what do you mean now what?"
"what are you going to do?"
"what i always do, aren't you listening? find a new goal and chase that. the problem isn't i'm unhappy, the problem is i've got nothing i'm aiming for."
"does that sound reasonable to you?"
"of course it doesn't. it sounds completely ridiculous."
"ok. so... "
"let it be ridiculous, i need something new to aspire towards."
"sounds to me like you just keep moving the goal posts back."
"what's wrong with that?, keeps you moving forward."
"nothing. except you're unhappy."
"why am i unhappy then?"
"maybe you're setting the wrong goal posts."
"..."
"..."
"what other goal posts are there?"
"i don't know. what do you think?"
"what like... relationships and... gym? like bench press 100 kilos by the end of the months? that's stupid."
"why did you bypass the relationships one?"
"because that's an impractical measure of anything."
"it's intangible, yes."
"right."
"so what? maybe what you're after is intangible."
"what i'm after is a reason to wake up in the morning. that will likely be intangible."
"why not chase something intangible?"
"because you'd never know if you got there."
"what if you woke up happy?"
"what does that even mean dude?"
"is it possible?"
"not on a wednesday."


___*___*___*

i know where we're heading.
here we are again.
[hurrah]


___*___*___*


sometimes i think the world is so much full of amazingness and that/such that i'm a dick for not being enraptured by it more often (the way i am when i listen to this <-- corny as it is).
___i don't know the answer to that proposition. i probably am. there, i said it.


___*___*___*

"that last bit, about [thing]"
"what about it?"
"do you say that often?"
"what?"
"sounded kinda like a speech. rehearsed."
"yah doc. i sat at home and practiced it in the mirror a few times before i came."
"probably you've expressed it before , said it out loud."
"i think about it, sure."
"why?"
"it fascinates me."
"why?"
"your parents get up and leave the country of their birth and everything they know - language, culture, people, places, all of it - and start again somewhere else from scratch at the age they did it... that's huge. massive. i put myself in their shoes and it rocks my little brain like a concert."


___*___*___*

"what do you mean 'bad'?"
"i can't be more specific than that."
"well... 'bad' isn't very specific."
"it feels like there's something in the way."
"what's the something?"
"me. obviously."


___*___*___*

i'm not looking forward to the rest of my life.
i'm sorry not to. i wish i was. i really do. ___but i'm not.
i'm conscious this isn't new.

i must see what i can do about ensuring my next life is less... is more graceful.


___*___*___*

dear writing: as you can see, i'm making an effort to hangout with you. so. stop being a bastardo and work with me here. come to me and make it easy. i'm exhausted i haven't slept in weeks i run around all day doing the most menial things, just... go easy on me and form yourself.

dear q: as you can see, we're making an effort to formulate you. so. stop being a bastardo and work with us here. come to us and make it easy. we're exhausted we haven't moved off the page in weeks we stand here all day holding up our meanings, just... go easy and describe yourself.

tick tick tick

D800 test shot 1 by ali khurshid


i walked back towards the train station it was LA's sky. blue. cloudless. invariable. __my stomach grumbled and i'd still be sick once or twice before the day was through, but for a minute, i closed my eyes and pretended it wasn't grey street, pretended it was rochester drive. a thrill.


___*___*___*

- will you come?, she'd like that if you do.
- you know, sometimes when people get married in random pacific islands it's so that randoms don't come, as in __that's the whole point
- yes yes, but she wants you to come, she wants us all there.
- ...
- ...
- ...
- well?
- yah. eff it. five days in fiji sounds just perfect.
- YES!
- yolo bitchez.
- double yes - wait -
- __what?
- ____what's yolo?
- i gotta get outta here.
- what?
- i'm moving.


___*___*___*

- are you fine?
- yes.
- are you happy?
- no.
- are you sad?
- no.
- wait. what? so what are you?
- ticking.
- like a bomb?
- no. like a clock.
- then what?
- then what?
- then what happens? 
- i don't know.  __should something be happening?
- doesn't it always?
- good point.
- so what's gonna happen?
- who knows. __tomorrow.
- tomorrow?
- yes. exactly. tomorrow's gonna happen. almost always tomorrow happens.


___*___*___*

i'm in a strange place. i don't know what's going on. i'm unable to distinguish anything from cardboard anymore. i'm worried i'll wake up one day and that'll mean i feel miserable. but for now, it's just a matter of doing things that need to be done, sleeping long enough to stay awake long enough to repeat it the next day. a redbull or three a day, two to four coffees and about seven cups of tea and i manage it __,mostly.

the house hunt continues - though not without ample resentment and frustration.


___*___*___*

my throat hurts from screaming. i'm not sure what we did last night, but it involved a fair bit of pelvic thrusting, masquerading as people having an amazingly fantastic time (which i actually think i was having) and the mandatory 'what's the dirtiest thing you've ever done' conversation.

the morning is too bright.
too soon.
and so much unwelcome.


___*___*___*

i'm trying to write, but it is a stranger to me. i am a stranger to it. none of this is anything. (not even good, it's not a thing, what the eff is it, it's nothing) but i have to do it. go through the motions. reconnect the neurons. find the steps again. i'm hoping it'll take me back. i'm soon to be left without nothing, i know it already. work is unsatisfying, the house hunt is the most unpleasant distraction i've ever found and in australia i never get sexed as often as i need. soon, words will be all i have again. maybe i'll run for the medicine cabinet and start tongue kissing a bottle full of amphetamines. who knows. anything can happen.

tomorrow.

for now

these words are not me.
they are mine though.
they are the periphery of something glowing (but not bright).
they are backstreets and endnotes. hints of something deeper rummaging about underneath. flutters in the shadows (in the night you hear a car drive past and the lines in the room shift just barely)

why do we bother doing anything that isn't burning?

i feel mostly like i'm carrying bricks around and placing them, tossing them, or kicking them from nowhere to nowhere else. one day there'll be a death-trap i have to sleep in.

tick

tick



tick __,

now. things. concerns:::

am:

(trying) (to) buy/ing house
organising a BESS-type class
save money
riding trains
working up stamina to shave every morning
leaving house
stop youtubing new XX tune 48 times before lunch
(losing count after)
reading renovation books
glued to property listings
phonecalls in every crack of the day
emails in every crumb of 5 minutes left over
take lunch to work for the first time since grade 12. (not true. i actually just leave a loaf of bread and peanut butter at the fridge at work).
categorically refuse to take lunch daily to work <-- taking lunch to school in highschool was a traumatic experience for me
no pills
no pills
no pills
for approx troi weeks now
new doctor likes to 'talk'.
pennyoldguy does not like to 'talk'.
therefore lots of talk about 'talking'. (i refer to as the jurisdictional issue)
then sometimes sneaky bastard catches me off guard and i talk (i refer to as the substantive issues).
(trying) not (to) hate my Viennese-witchdoctor <-- allusion to Nabokov because i'm still high-brow like that
floors must be wood painted white or wood painted grey or almost grey anyway scandinavian pale something wood or cement every cement.

late for being early to work because i need to because mayhem bedlam pandemonium going on right now in planet-quniverse.

no posts.
little writing.
creativity kicked in the guts.

the smoochful love you all end.

new old q ( unpilled // hello )

untitled by chiara balza


it's scary being this much myself. (what a funny thing to say). i'm scared of it , anything could happen. i have needs now. with my eyes i lick every pretty girl i pass. the prettiest today held my gaze. platinum hair. light orange lipstick, she was ivory and anachronistic. a friendly ghost or a walking plaster.
___what was i saying? 

it's been 12 days now. i'm talkative. cheeky as all hell. my boss has no idea what's happened and why i won't stop teasing her. i've gained weight (which i hate. loathe). i get tired. i laugh readily. i don't have to be conscious of my body language to ensure i don't give negative, anti-social cues (because the pills made me feel inwardly and completely uninterested in social intercourse). ___it goes without saying i find this level of engagement in my own reality very unsettling. i'm not sure i like it. historically it has not ended in nice places. but the road is long. and you don't get f&cked until you do.


THINGS I PRESENTLY WANT, BECAUSE I THINK IT'S OKAY TO WANT THINGS FROM LIFE, A LIST:

1. to sort my taxes out once and for all because i'm sick of worrying about them
2. put a tick next to 'pre-approved loan', then put a tick next to 'a home i would want to live in', then a tick next to 'offer accepted' then a tick next to: commence building floor to ceiling bookshelf.
   
   i'm not actually kidding. i've spent most evenings this week working out how to design build them. in theory... i should be able to do it. theory never works out quite right, but whatever. YOLO bitchez.
3.  to feel like... it makes sense again. it's been a while since i've had even the remotest inclination of 'purpose'. my soul has grown shy. i need to take it for a walk.
4. a piano handy, so i can commence learning this.
5. sex. all sorts of it. i say that... but really i make no time or effort towards it. [shrug]

now i am listening to [click above link] and i am lost. it is so beautiful. meaningless sound. a story made up of nonwords. what i hear are movements. it sounds like a dance looks. what that means i don't know - other than my senses are confused.

look, look q - you're writing again. perhaps it's because you can feel again. how terrifying. i hate feeling. feeling is the root of all messiness.

dear lordyalleverymagnificentstuff...
just , stay near.
it's gonna be a long future.