I can't begin to tell you how I feel
about all the people I have loved
who have died.
It is like a great big bottomless chasm
that is airless, where no words exist,
and when I try to find it, reach into it,
it becomes even more airless
and wordless.
It is like trying to reach out
and touch my shadow.
What can I say?
I don't know?
We said everything.
And we loved each other.
Because we did.
And then we didn't.
And we said nothing.
Because we didn't.
There is nothing left to say.
But I want to.
It's just that I no longer know how.
With you.
I had a day dream
With you in the main scene,
what do I do with that now?
War? What is it good for?
Extracting some sort of prestige,
From relatives you could never
have possibly known.
The march. The medals.
Existing in the nutmeggy hue,
of making claims to have descended
From one of the good old boys.
I miss your ginger hair
and the way you like to dress.
Those blue jeans on you
and the way you don’t give a shit.
I think of the things you like to do
and that I’m now one of them.
Why don’t you come over
so we could cuddle and kiss.
Because I like the way you smell
and how you like to caress.
You could spend the night for once
and we could wake up in bliss.
You say it is hit and miss,
but I say that you could commit,
Nothing big and scary,
but it’s the way it is, admit it.
We could stare into each other’s eyes
and then wave and say good bye.
Looking back is romantic,
as I turn the corner and walk away.
Never sure if I will see you again,
knowing it is just a matter of when.
The picture of the tortured artist
DOES anything I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does ANYTHING I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I SAY make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say Make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say make SENSE?
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
I missed the opportunity
once in a life time, everyone knows that,
to make good on an investment,
but I didn't sell when it was clearly time to,
greed and fear are a powerful combination,
and it passed me by,
and the market fell,
and now I am one of those people
who are hoping against hope
that that once in a life time opportunity
will come again.
I never thought I'd be one of those people.
One of those people at whom I have looked down my nose,
Stupid people. How could they be so stupid, I’d think.
What right do they have to live, I ask you?
And here I am, one of them. One of those people,
Probably forever lamenting my stupidity.
I should go and stand with them,
Take up what is clearly my rightful place.
Get a sign to wear around my neck,
Too Stupid.
His soul is forever doomed to wander aimlessly in the netherworld quite removed from any reality any of us could possibly recognise, or know.
It is a lonely place full of the broken and the unsavable who were never ever strong enough, or lucky enough, to escape from it entirely.
Sure, they made the occasional attempt 'out' but always they found themselves somehow sinking back into the mire of the dark and the damned.
Most of them disappearing without trace or evidence of them ever having been, not loved, or remembered by a single living soul.
It shouldn’t be like that. We should all have saviours in our lives.
Luck and redemption. We should all be lifted up when we fall.
But we don’t. Life isn’t like that. Not for all.
Depositories full of broken people
Waiting in the half dark for their turn,
As the able bodied rush about
Trying to bring their turn about sooner.
It almost looks exciting out there
In here, I’m fighting off despair
What the fuck!
Something with my heart, they say,
Let me go home,
And perhaps the pain might just go away.
But, no, I have to stay. For how long?
We don’t know. We’ll run some tests,
Take some blood. We’ll stick this needle
permanently in. And,
we’ll attach this to your skin,
here, here and here. The machine
will beep into the night. Try and sleep.
Wake up, I’ll do your vitals.
Really, what time do you make it?
The middle of the night, put this around your arm.
You have an enzyme in your blood. Try and stay calm.
Blood sugar high. Excellent BP, though.
You had a minor coronary event,
Probably nothing about which to lose sleep,
You’re in good hands. Get some rest.
No, you can’t go home just yet.
Something bright orange,
And really fucken fat.
How could you miss, answer me that?
All those moments, all those friendship moments, when we had brilliant times together, all of us friends, over the years, all over the world, that passed, and are gone.
And the years sailed by, and they’re done and they’re over, all we have is what we remember, only fragments now.
Fleeting images of, all those times we laughed, all those times we cried, all those times we sang, all those cigarettes we smoked, all the times we adored.
When we were all together, being together, when some of us were actually together, remember that? Shake of the head. Times we never thought would end, but they did.
Then one of us died, just like that, out of the blue, and all of those times ended there and then, never to happen again, not without Ben. And we all came together, all us friends, and we remembered, everything, again.
We talked late into the night, like we were once again alive.
All those magical times, when life was a natural high, and we thought we could fly?
Sublime.
How did they end?
All those times, we loved, that we talk about like god, or the reverence of first love, when we found our lives? Us guys?
Life got in the way, there are things we have to do today, that is not play. Adult things, up early, the daily slog, to pay our way. It’s a shame.
Life should be a game. One you win. With glory. And whim.
All those moments,
All those friendship moments,
When we had brilliant times together
All of us friends,
All over the years, all over the world,
That passed, and are gone.
And the years sailed by,
And they’re done and they’re over,
All we have is what we remember,
All these years later.
Fleeting images of,
All those times we laughed,
All those times we cried,
All those times we sang,
All the times we adored.
When we were all together,
Being together,
Times we never thought would end,
But they did end.
Then one of us died,
just like that,
and all of those times ended then,
And we all came together,
All us friends,
And we remembered
All those times,
Again.
All those magical times,
Remember those times?
All gone.
How did they end?
All those times,
We loved.
I write because it is a need in me,
it has always been there unquestioningly.
The only thing that changes it is my inability
to get it out, to take the time to say it.
Not knowing what I would later come to know,
my own role in what I want to say.
You know, just write it, and worry later,
if it is good, worthwhile, interesting, or just okay.
Of course, I worry if it is good, or bad,
or if it makes me glad, or sad,
or if it looks good on the page,
you know, appealing to the eye.
The way the words congregate together,
dance, or just stand around, live or die.
And yes, I want people to read it,
and laugh, or cry, except mostly
they will simply ask me why?
Which, of course is okay, but you know I’d rather,
hear them say, “this bit is good,” or
“I liked what you did there.”
They are the best bits, for sure, but failing that,
I don’t really care, as I will go on writing,
as long as I am breathing air.
That much I know to be true and fair.
Winter is cold.
Unexpected East Coast chill,
they say. But it is July,
mid winter, what were they expecting?
A heat wave? If we are going to have a chill,
it would be this time of year! I wonder,
why do they think it is unexpected?
The air is bitterly cold, outside.
It is true. I don’t need the weather service
to tell me what I already know. 1 degree,
they say. Feels like zero, they say.
But temperature is all feel, what
is the difference, I think?
You can’t jerk off with Long Johns on
You can’t get a good grip on your long john dong.
You can’t stretch out your stroke,
which you need to if you’re a bloke.
It’s a truth, we may not want to speak of,
but we shouldn’t treat such things with kid gloves.
Boys will be boys it is true of all time,
and getting your long johns off for pleasure is not a crime.
In fact, it is probably good for you,
otherwise, the stuff is possibly going to set like glue.
Get it on, and give those pipes a flush,
it will make you feel better, like oh so much.
I only get down on my knees for one thing,
and its not for praying,
although, some days I may well be thanking god.
Love makes you do things,
so easily,
you always thought were wrong.
But, what is wrong?
Lying on the damp grass,
holding hands.
Jumping without looking,
where you might land.
Running off into the future,
without a plan.
Not thinking of
what’s just gone down.
Love who you love,
do for them whatever they want
because you can.
Do what you love, with
a little bit of food
a little bit of dance
and stop and smell the flowers,
from time to time.
If you get the chance.
It isn’t any more complicated,
than that.
I go for a walk
I intend it to be a long walk,
I take the dogs with me,
A couple of happy faces
To smile at me.
Towards the end, I stop for
Lemon sorbet in a cone
Anything, to not go home
Sweet and sour at the same time
The sun shines brightly down.
The dogs and I sit on a step
outside the ice cream shop
and watch the world wander by.
The dogs get twisted in their leads
At least there is a breeze
The sun beats down on the ground
The sky is blue all around.
Men in shorts abound
A girl smiles with her dachshund,
My boyfriend waits at home with a frown
I’m wondering where else I can go in town?
Oh... my... God…
Thommo, look at his butt, uh! it´s so big.
He looks like one of those hip guys’ boyfriends.
But, uh, you know,
Who understands those hip guys?
They only talk to him because he looks so fly, okay.
I mean, his butt! It is just so… big.
I cannot believe it is just so… round.
It is, like, out there. I mean, wow.
Look! He has just so... much!
I like big butts and I cannot lie.
Your other brothers cannot deny.
That when a boy walks in with a narrow waist and
A round thing in your face. You get sprung.
Want to pull up tough, ‘cause you notice that butt was how much?
Deep in the jeans he is wearing.
I am hooked and I cannot stop staring.
Oh baby, I want to get with you,
And take your picture.
In my arms as I sniff you.
My homeboys tried to warn me.
But that butt you got makes me so horny.
Ooh, take your smooth skin.
and say you want to get in my business?
Well, use me, cruise me,
Because he ain’t your average pup…py.
I see him dancing,
To hell with romancing.
He has sweat. Wet.
Got it going like a thing to object’.
I am tired of magazines
Saying small butts are the thing.
Take the average young man & ask him that.
He has got to pack much back.
So, fella's, yeah, fella's,
Has your boyfriend got the butt? Hell, yeah.
So, tell him to shake it, SHAKE IT,
Watch him make it…
Shake that healthy butt.
Baby got back.
(a muscle back with a handful o’ booty.)
Baby got back.
(fingers in his crack with a handful o’ booty.)
I like them round and I like them big,
And when I am throwing a gig,
I just can't help myself,
I am acting like an animal.
Now here is my handle,
I want to get ya home and UH!
Double up, UH! UH!
I'm not talking about playing coy,
'Cause playin coy ain’t something I enjoy.
I like them real thick and juicy.
So fine that juicy booty.
Until we both get in trouble,
Begging for a piece of that bubble.
So, I am looking at rock videos.
Watching these himbos
Walking like boy hoes.
You can have them himbos.
I keep my men like Joe Schmo.
A word to the bunch of bros,
I want to get with you.
I won't swear, or hit you.
But I've got to be straight
When I say I wanna get in you
Till the break of day.
Baby, got it going on,
A lot of johns won't like this song,
'Cause them punks like to hit it and quit it,
And I would rather stay and play with you,
‘cause I am long, and I am strong,
And I am down to getting the friction on.
So, fellas, yeah, fellas,
Do you want a roll of my business?
Then turn around, and stick it out,
All the boys gotta shout. Yeah!
Baby got back.
Baby got back!
Yeah baby.
When it comes to lads,
The latest thing aint got nothing to do with my selection.
Tall, dark and handsome.
He got to be like 5´ 11".
So, your boyfriend drives hard bargain
Getting made over by Carson
But Carson ain’t got a hand in the back of what he’s got going on
My anaconda don't want none,
Unless you got buns, man.
You can do side bends, or sit-ups,
But bend you over and I go crazy,
Some brothers want to play that hard role,
And tell ya that butt ain´t gold,
So, they toss it, and leave it,
And I pull up quick to retrieve it.
So ‘they’ say you’re what? Fat?
Well, I ain´t down with that.
´Cause your waist is tight and your curves are kicking it,
And I am thinking about sticking it.
To the beanpole guys in the magazines,
you aint it Mr Thing.
Gimme a brother, I can´t resist, ha,
Feed them up so their strong Mr, ha.
Some knucklehead tried to diss.
‘cause his boys are on my list,
He had game but he chose to hit them,
And I pull up quick to get with them.
So, guys if that butt is round,
And you want to show… it… down…
Call me and I’ll cum around,
And kick them nasty thoughts around,
Baby got back.
Baby got back.
Broad Shoulders and he got much back.
Broad Shoulders a good way to hold onto that.
There she was on the street, bright-eyed, with 'that' expectant smile,
with a clipboard and a badge, probably in the middle of a university education.
And she spots me and her eyes widen, and she smiles, in anticipation, and she says something like are you concerned about the environment?
I look her in the eye and say, What did you have in mind? Regretting even saying that much. I should have just kept walking.
Do you think we should be taking greater care of it?
I think for a minute and I say, Yes, but we’re not, are we.
And she says so that would be a yes?
And I say, Yes, No, I don’t think we are going to make it? I look her in the eye and shrug, either way.
And she says, well, do you want me to tell you how we can?
I think blah, blah, blah. And I say that I think it is all too late.
But would you rather think positively about it because its better than having negative thoughts. Right?
And I wonder if laughing is an appropriate response? But I don’t.
She holds my gaze, waiting for more.
And I don’t think she really understands what I am saying. I think a bit more, and I say, What are we saving? Really? What?
And she opens her clip board,
but I continue on, look at Ukraine, look at the Middle East.
She tilts her head and opens her mouth to speak.
At any point, 50% of the world hates the other 50%.
But, she says…
Half the world doesn’t have access to fresh water, or enough food, while the other half is eating itself to death.
But, she says again.
And those with more won’t give up anything to those people who have less.
But 'people power' has bought 80% renewable energy to South Australia, she says. 100% some days.
I wonder, again, if laughing is an appropriate response. But, I wonder, instead, what percentage of the world is South Australia?
So, doesn’t that say anything is possible?
Rundle Mall, and Hindley Street, and the BBQ Inn, and Glenunga and Unley and St Peters, all flash through my mind, and I say, The majority of the world isn’t taking climate change seriously.
But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t.
But it is not going to save us?
It might. No, it can.
But, even you, I say. You are not standing here for the good of human kind.
Why do you think I am standing here then, she says.
To save yourself, I say. You are standing here to save yourself.
Time marches on
cutting a swathe across humanity,
not the quicksand of death,
nor the currents of life,
slows it down.
It never stops.
The beating heart of all of man’s achievements,
or the reckless indifference
to his very own survival.
It has borne witness
to his rise, and rise, and rise,
as it now gazes upon
his stupidity
and fall.
Time is in unlimited supply,
the irony of which,
from all reports, is that
man seems to have
so little of it left.
