Category Archives: Uncategorized

i’m 29 i feel really old today

Last week when I was teaching at a school a girl in my class was accused of perving on sir

She was teased about it

The sentence, errr you are perving on sir! Is a terrible sentence

Nothing nice about that sentence

 

Then;

I realise I am an old man

I realise I am a sir

I feel embarrassed and stare at where my shoes would be if they weren’t tucked under the chair

I still felt a bit flattered and I felt bad about that

 

 

I told my housemate who asked me if it was the fat girl

I said no

But it was totally the fat girl

 

I hope she meets a nice boy and doesn’t perve on casual teachers

I hope I don’t hear that sentence again


Falling in love for no reason/ lows = highs/ kiss you

When i’m happy i could fall in love with anyone. I fall in love with everyone i meet, i love everything.

When im sad i fall in love with everyone i meet, but i hate everything and myself and its destructive.

So dont come too close or i might hug you, dont speak to me or i might kiss you, dont grab my hand or i might not let go.

When i think back to the good times and also to the bad, right now, part of me, kamikaze and dreaming, is as nostalgic for the lows, as bright and vibrant and as destructively beautiful as they were, as it is for the highs.

I have this urge to kiss you when we make eye contact. I contact. When you listen to what i say i don’t have it. But when you talk and smile i look at your eyes and then at your lips and i think about kissing them. One day i will forget myself and do it and it will get really complex or really simple.


Jelly Knees

The thought of seeing you gives me jelly knees.

When i look at a picture of you i get cold sweats. You scare me. I’m terrified of running into you. I spend my time looking over my shoulder, worried you will be there, staring, disapprovingly, making fun of me, judging me. I will always come up short.

Im insecure and nervous and lost and i write really shit. The shit i write.

This is better though, because what did happiness and security ever do for writing? Nada.

Still, all things should be done with love or not at all. So, with the deepest love: fuck you, and fuck everything you stand for and fuck the fucking horse that you rode in on.

With the deepest love: i fucking hate you because you cannot truly hate something until you’ve loved it.

With the deepest love that i say i hate what you’re about and what you’ve done, and how you do it. i wish you would leave and never ever come back because i would be free.

I would delete you if i could. I would
erase our past if i could. I would turn my head inside out and upside down and shake myself by the ankles
Till all the memories and feelings and the rest of it all tumble out of my pockets and fall on to the floor and i will be empty and i will feel nothing.

Happiness and confidence is the death of worthwhile creativity. I just think of daniel johns and weep. I just think of success and weep. I just think and i could cry for hours. Fuck you.

When i’m happy i do nothing.

Better this way, no?

The thought of you seeing me in the clothes i used to wear scares me.

You will think, ‘he hasn’t changed at all.’


Belated Love letter

i MOURN the loss of the girl you were, because i don’t recognise the woman you’ve become.

We all grow up, we all grow apart, we all grow old.

But a part of me, a really good part of me, is still lost somewhere in the mid to late 2000s with you, and i think it always will be.

Goodbye x


A new approach to being ignored: Loop pedals/ The inverse relationship between wanting it and getting it

Since no one reads this blog I feel I can post whatever is happening inside my head with confidence and without wondering if someone will read it. Except that my screen name is a dead give away. But still, I’ve seen my stats. I feel safe.

This blog is just going to be a dumping ground for my thoughts.

I generally write down my thoughts on my phone. If I want to send someone a msg but I know I shouldn’t I will just write it on my phone. If I write a to do list I will write it on my phone.

I generally believe that the to-do lists I write on my phone speak volumes more about my life than any shitty story I could write.

If you are still reading, (and I’m speaking mostly to future-raj, I’ve seen those site stats) here goes:

Last Friday I went with K to see a gig at the sly fox.

Everyone was average except for Matt Banham – K’s mate who used to be in No Through Road, but is now reinventing himself as some sort of pop singer – and this chick who used loop pedals and wailed into a mic while smashing randomly at her keyboard. She was really bad.

Yeah loop pedals are amazing. But sometimes, fuck you.

What can i say about bad use of the loop pedal that hasn’t already been said about chemical weapons? Sometimes you just wish we could uninvent them and shoot the users.

Like bike pedals, except you never get anywhere.

Like bike pedals, except you never get anywhere.

I feel like the relationship to how much i want to be someone’s friend and how much they want to be mine is inversely related. The more I want it the less they do. So i should just not want it? Do you only get the things you don’t want? That doesn’t sound right.

Tired of people telling me to be mean and play games.

Not sure what games or how to play said games.

Mind games.

I feel like I’m not smart enough to win my own mind games.

If I lose against myself then I really lose. Or does it mean I can never lose?

What the fuck am I talking about?

I’m well aware that the only one who can save me is myself but still it would be nice to if someone else could save me.

Wait so do I want a friend or do I want someone to save me? Save me from what?

My life is exhausting and ridiculously depressing.

No its not I have no idea why I would say that.

So I ask and it just means they like me less.

I have that effect on people.

That sounds sad maybe I’ll play with my hair till I feel attractive again.

Didn’t work or not enough playing. Unsure.

Number of friends I will have gained by writing this: 0


Late Starts.

I’m going to sleep later and later and getting up even later and later. I went to bed last night at 4am and just woke up at 2pm.

But daylight saving just kicked in i guess so its not that bad. Saw julian Assange speak via satlink at the opera house over the weekend. was only $15 for me but it was still pretty exspeno for a skpe date!

I’ve been looking up alot of spoken word artists lately, and i think i want to try and write a poem about Heidi, and that. My idea is to tell a little story with each stanza, and link each stanza to the 5 stages of grieving (its the Kubler-Ross model, or fucken whatever) which are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

And at the end of each stanza with each little story i will modify one of those saying that people tell you when shit goes wrong, you know one of those little cliched lines like: “Whatever doesn’t kill you can only make you stronger”.

Its just an idea, even if i never put it up here the entire purpose behind me writing at all is almost always been cathatic, which is probably why i can never force myself to write and why i only write when i’m upset these days.

Thats pretty much all i have to say except here is a a spoken word artist i kinda like. His delivery is awesome, its hypnotic.


Camus, Strummer, and fables.

My friend Liz recently lent me a book that’d she’d read. The Outsider or The Stranger, depending on the translation (it’s L’Étranger in French) by Albert Camus.

I’d heard of him before – like in a song by The Magnetic Fields, I really like that song, which you can listen to here, and had actually tried looking up Camoo a few years ago when I first heard it (because I’m a spaz) – the novel is only a hundred pages long, so I sat down and read it in a few hours.

Verdict: glad i read it, but  pretty fucken depressing actually. Thanks french guy. You totally ruined my arvo.

One thing I noticed while reading up on Camus afterwards was that he looks spookily like an old, french, Joe Strummer.

Joe Strummer

Joe Strummer: Punk rock hero

Albert Camus

Albert Camus: Post-war french emo.

A few weeks ago Andy told me it was a bit of a shame that Camus kind of reminded him of Paul Coelho, you know, the author of The Alchemist. (I can’t remember exactly what Andy was saying about Coelho because I was quite drunk by the time I was speaking to him – Andy sorry if i’m misrepresenting you, I’m pretty sure you didn’t like it).

The Outsider is similarily a fable, I don’t know how similar it is because everytime I tried to read The Alchemist I fell asleep.

I’m a firm believer in giving a book a chance, but if you are a third of the way through (or 60 pages, whatever comes first) and fighting off boredom/sleep then you can and should give up (on works of fiction at least).

While reading The Alchemist I was constantly aware that Coelho was trying to teach me something, pushing me towards ‘a moral’. It was like: “look! a metaphor for the soul! Look: an analogy for life! Christian symbolism! Wow!” It gets old pretty quickly. It’s really so obvious in its didacticism and the writing is so fucking bland. not to mention the linear storytelling. I know he’s trying to ‘help’ people, but i can’t get past the idea that it’s just bad writing.

In terms of the didatic, fablistic (is that a word?) nature of the stories, I had similar misgiving towards Tolstoy’s short stories like (“the death of Ivan Illyvich” etc. etc.) when we did 19th Century Russian lit at uni, although they were more bearable because they were written by Tolstoy (i.e. written really fuckin well). And anyway Tolstoy was anarchist who died making a point about his beliefs. Definately one of literature’s good guys.

Leo Tolstoy

Why is it easier to accept wisdom from Tolstoy? As if he isn't wise, the guy pretty much looks like Old Father Time.

So anyway, despite the fact that it was a fable, or maybe even because of it, I’m glad I read the Outsider. It’s about a dude who goes through life with very little emotional attachment to anything. Thats what marks him as an outsider, his disconnection to emotion – his disconnection to the human, or what people see as the thing that makes us human. And it scares people. He is unattached to, and untouched by, the world, like a Buddhist or something.

Rather than hide this flaw, he is completely honest about it. What is interesting about him is that even though he is cold to the world, you actually feel alot empathy for him. He is almost like a passive observer to his own life. He doesn’t lie about anything, he is intelligent, rational, and certain of his beliefs. He is strongly atheistic, detached and basicly the opposite of those people around him, who function as carefully constructed ‘character foils’ that demonstrate how different he is (thanks university!). So he exposes the absurdity of the human condition and life and remians true to himself right to the end.