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unfurling

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biting at the back of me
the hornets in the sky

what a stain on my heart:
the flowers i stole with my
hungry hands

how ashamed

the excruciating blue
your fucked head at dawn
my strange vomitous affection
comparing our wounds


3 moons and the eternal sun
the barren sky
the water so full of dust
the starving black bird and the black wanting wolf
all the black ideas with atmosphere like quicksand.

be still and be.
in the black there is white
in the darkness there is light with
the smell of your cum and
lavendar combined


* * *
why are we all here? are we seeking validation from each other? what leads us to express here and abandon our personal hand written journals? my head is a swirl of contradictions. attempting to abandon myself to chaos, to insanity, to irrationality. not feeling pleased thus far, or capable of loving myself as insane through the eyes of others. looking for someone to see me, so i can better see myself. feeling fruitless in my efforts, knowing why and not being pleased with that either."don't look there, look within". ok easy to say... begin.. here? searching for a holding bay for my thoughts, projecting them onto others for relief of personal responsibility, feeling displeased with this also. feeling displeased with generally.. everything.

everything feels like a grand scheme, an illusion, a matrix. even now my typing is deliberate and odd, but i am propelled to express and i ask myself why? maybe i'm hopeful that it will bring relief, or purpose. the chance of validation will provide definition to my chaos and act as an anchor? always wanting, looking for something from another that i find hard to provide for myself. when will i feel safe? when will i be without the need to feel safe? i think i'll finish here.
* * *
today you blew in like an indian breeze
an armful of oranges from the young dying tree that
gets no light and
dope in your pocket
wailing some ancient russian thing

you took everything i owned
and threw it in the dappled sun on the
patch of weeds with
the spiders and their humble little webs to
air out the sweat and wanting from my
last lover and
to "steal a bit of sunshine
to bring inside" you said.

i sang you a song about
a child i lost that
never woke from their unbeing
to face me and be loved
and you invited me to
love you instead.

i thought:
how could i love you,
the shape shifter, spirit-drunk in
your incessant motion, the jester
the
child of a swolen sun
afraid of my winter moons
flooding out my shadows with your
agressive light

still, i watched you, glorious and erect
in your luminosity
with my full moon face borrowing your
light to be seen
and let you feed me the sour oranges
you bought to me from the dying tree that
gets no light
* * *
there are many reasons why i love living in the forest (and many reasons why i do not) but my discovery this morning was perhaps one reason why i love living here. i discovered why there have been a minimal amount of rats pestering my abode as of late. the reason?



that's an obvious bulge right there! and i discovered him this morning sunbaking and digesting (and he looks as though he might have just shed his skin) right next to my van. so this is my new room mate and i can honestly say i am quite happy about it. i love snakes to absoluteness and to think i have my own live in rat catcher makes me a happy forest dweller indeed!

more of mr snakey pooCollapse )
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i managed to snatch a picture of the cutest goanna that was hunting in my garden earlier today. i was going to post it immediately but my mother came home with a bottle of 4 buck chuck ( what we called a bottle of cheap wine in school ) and one joint later we were gossiping with fury in the afternoon sun. such is life. < wistful sigh >aaahhh< /wistful sigh >

i'm purely geeko. but we do love sunshine.

goanna!Collapse )
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spring is gently approaching and after the heavy rain spell my surroundings are looking absolutely lush.

picturesCollapse )
* * *
time is passing far too quickley. so much has happened and i feel as though i need to write down the details so i don't forget them, but i lack the motivation. in short i am living in the forest in my own place. the birds are amazing and i can hear the waterfall at night. i'm in a band and i just finished recording a song for the gathering soundtrack that will be released by julian lennons record company. he also re released salt water wells in my eyes for the soundtrack. i feel overwhelmed. my new love is coming in 3 weeks and we'll see tori amos. i have no money and am being hasseled for rent. but somehow amidst it all i am excited. my heart is open and i am healing fast.
* * *
it's become so cold i don't know what to do with my skin. where to place it, how to sit in it without pulling at my fingers in frustration.
i've taken to defacing people in newspapers, magazines in a habitual manner. you will become ugly because i say so. when on the phone i draw pictures of squares and flowers with tiny heads and long stems. sometimes i fill notebooks up with my signiature. i am still trying my signitaures on, none of them feel right, and my writing hand jerks them out in defiance. i have been searching for one since i was young and learnt that oneday it would be important for me to have one.
* * *
it began with a colourless fire
and a vacant skull
a half skull
taken in and finished

this was a time when i
didn't have to open my mouth to eat
or listen to hear
everything was immediately mine
and i remained quiet and still

i
or the taste of the wind
on my wanting tongue


was enough.


and then it all became a hazard.

i, one of many
who has formed all this skin
and somehow managed a heart

closed the windows.

i, or one of many
peer at it all through
the curtains of my half open hands.

waiting.

not wanting to wait.
* * *
when i first learnt to hear i tried to listen but it eventually became unbearable. the sound of the traffic on the horizon rang like churches and whales and the birds were taunting me in song about a freedom i could not share.

my heart feels displaced, these hands, this head stranded like a foreigner on a slack neck.
somewhere along the line i fell into a gutter
and emerged covered in flesh and bone, sinew, blood and a brain. i scrub and scrub and i can't get them off.

i look in the mirror and i am covered from head to toe. i am pink and bruised. i have shoulders that mold down into arms and hang beside me like deadening helium pockets. these do not feel like mine.

my nose, my ears, my mouth, my cunt
are all portals for things i do not want. and they do not feel like mine.

i press these openings into the floor so things cannot enter. and then i remember the pores on my flesh. on my finger tips they gape large enough for me to fall into. they are wide enough to collect pleas and unsung screams painted in simple words.
they are all over me and i cannot close them. they do not feel like mine to close.

when there is a knock at the door it does not feel like me who hears it. and when i move towards it, it does not feel like me who is moving my legs.

"hello" i say, again and again. "hello" i say, again and again.

hell. oh.

my tongue is a giant slug, weighted and wet.

"hello", i say again, waiting for it to feel like it is mine to say.

"hello" they say, knowing it is theirs. immediately it enters me, like a blunt sword. immediately my ears are copulating with "hello".

i am not posessed. only a foreigner inside of here with no memory of how it came to be. i am an imposter and they do not know. this wall of layering blood and water, muscle and bone. i think of them sucking out my marrow and chewing on my flesh, like i have done to the thigh of a lamb. i think of them stuffing rosemary under my skin, of being roasted and basted and carved. i think of the remnants of a carcass that is not mine, left and done with on a plate. i think of my anatomy settling into the walls of their stomachs, amongst the acid and waste, as they speak words that they know are theirs.
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