Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Sack of shit

Meaningless sack of shit on two legs.

No way out

No way out.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Friday morning

There is wonder and awe in not knowing and there is beauty and elegance in understanding.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Concerns for the day


Monday, November 21, 2011

Old addiction

Intimacy resonates, making isolation and loneliness palpable.

Thick, heavy.

Fatally additive.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Faith and unbelief

The thing I find most unsettling about religion or faith is that it seems to require an abandonment of a persons critical faculties. The underlying idea seems to suggest that questions and inquiry are a barrier to faith. By inquiry I mean not simply an investigation into the subject at hand but an entertainment of the idea that the subject maybe true or false.

The abandonment of reason and inquiry is a frightening prospect to me. It exposes individuals, makes them vulnerable. Leaving then open to influence and suggestion. It makes people easy to manipulate. Maybe I'm being to cynical? I don't know. I do know a number of people who are of excellent quality who believe in god absolutely. From my knowledge of them their brains seem to work quite independently and also very adequately.

With that in mind It is fair to say I do not understand faith, at least when it comes to the concept of 'god' or 'gods'. I didn't grow up with it so I feel that I lack the necessary 'priming' that belief in something as abstract as God requires. Faith seems to ask, "abandon your doubt and skepticism". I guess the reason this is asked of a believer is that doubt and skepticism appear to be antithetical to faith. Perhaps I'm wrong, but this seems to be the case.

The Christian God, or what I know of the concept and it's related stories are no more true to me than say Sauron, Gandalf and the plot of 'Lord of the Rings'. Both stories, to me at least, are equally fantastic. Once again I feel that to believe in a thing like the bible one must be primed from an early age or least be susceptible, via physical or emotional trauma, to the palliative carrot of an eternal, loving father figure and it's accompanying after life.

I am an atheist. The world I live in has no god although I cannot prove it. In my limited experience and knowledge I see no evidence that puts the argument for god beyond reasonable doubt, and for those who would attempt to convince me otherwise I would say to you that the burden of proof lies predominantly with you.


In individuals faith replaces humility, and the admission "I do not know".

Monday, November 7, 2011

Quiet monkey

The chattering monkey is quiet today.

A measure of peace has returned.

I am well and the earth is a good place again.

Saturday, November 5, 2011


I am so used to speaking all of time. Thinking all of the time. It's has gotten me nowhere. Questions cascade into other questions. It is ceaseless. 33 years of an increasingly noisy, chattering monkey. I just want it to end.

Location:On a motherfucking bus

Wednesday, November 2, 2011



Thursday, October 27, 2011

The age of critical complicity

Some arsehole Facebooking. Some arsehole checking their stocks. Some fucking idiot blogging. Its as though someone has removed our collective cerebral cortex and inserted a moron module. We are so stupidly addicted to these dumb machines. Its like having a leash tethered to both your brain and your body. These devices enable a more perfect separation. It makes us all a more visible spectacle. The idea of a technological sabbath once a week is sounding pretty good right now.

Location:On a motherfucking bus

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Very tired

Craving clean sensation.
No emotion.

Not knowing kills me

I want to able to inject real fear into people.

Because I am so scared.

All of the time.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Friday, October 7, 2011

Words about my most recent set of paintings by Samantha Littley

Christian Flynn / Test Pattern

The images that impress themselves on us as children have a prevailing influence on our lives. So it is with Christian Flynn who, as a child, was enthralled by the ABC TV test pattern. He is not alone in this – the design’s ordered structure and saturated tones beguiled a generation of kids who grew up on colour television.1 For Flynn, the pattern continues to resonate, and has become one of the foundations of his art. Other artists have been inspired by the motif that speaks, incidentally, to the language of abstraction. Scott Redford’s larger-than-life painting Things the mind already knows 2010, and Luke Parker’s installation Test pattern test (Optical discs) 2006, celebrating 50 years of ABC TV, prove its allure. Flynn’s investigation, however, is part of a larger project that has sustained him over several years. Other influences that feed into his work are as diverse as the post-minimalist paintings of Peter Halley, and through Halley the work of proto modernists such as Piet Mondrian; the iconography of Japanese anime, in particular the animated exploits of The Voltus Team of super robots and related action figures popular from the late 1970s; the New York skyline, which captivated Flynn during a trip to the United States last year; and contemporary advertising and design.2 Each of these informs an aesthetic that is at once random and orchestrated, expansive and restrained, fragmentary and refined.

Sculpture, not surprisingly, plays a pivotal role in Flynn’s practice. The paintings from this current series retain strong links to the three dimensional through their overtly constructed nature, and through the spaces Flynn creates between his gestural under painting and the hard-edged structures he imposes on it. Gesture and geometry collide in works that reject the purity and idealism of early Modernism, while paying homage to it through form. Areas of solid colour that appear flat are revealed, under scrutiny, to be layered. These multidimensional shapes recall origami, presumably one source for the Japanese animators that inspire Flynn. Through the fractured, folded forms in paintings such as Pusher 2011, he asks his audience to acknowledge his method, stating, “That’s the point of doing things in paint.”3 The artist contrasts these polished surfaces with areas where he relinquishes control and, attuned to the nuances of his materials, works into the paint with brush or fingertips. The finished paintings are a coordinated sequence of competing yet, paradoxically, complementary components. Authoritative, brash and, at times, comic, Flynn performs a balancing act designed to stretch incongruity to its limits.

Faced with an endless set of geometric possibilities, Flynn sets constraints. He restricts his palette and his formal language to test, “what you can do with a limited number of rules.”4 Like many of his contemporaries, he seeks balance; to bring together visual elements once seen as mutually exclusive and establish where they coincide. Art and life merge. The hybrid, a function and legacy of a post-modern world, is at work.

Verticality is a dominant theme in Flynn’s paintings. In works like Transition 2011, there is a sense of looking up, through the splintered shapes that pierce the picture plane, into another world. Flynn builds the image using paint as an “additive and reductive” force.5 Not for him a pure, white plane. He prefers a dark, primordial surface as the backdrop for his grids. We are left to negotiate the spaces between the solids and the voids, to distinguish between object and ground, and to wonder what lies beneath.

For Flynn and a legion of viewers like him, the ABC TV test pattern still holds sway, a phenomenon attested to by the number of websites selling t-shirts embossed with the icon. One comes with the caption ‘This is only a test’. Though it may be his professed stance, Christian Flynn’s paintings, and the intentions that provoke them, assert otherwise.

Samantha Littley, Curator, The University of Queensland Art Museum, October 2011.

1. From 1993, when ABC TV began broadcasting 24 hours a day, the ubiquitous pattern ceased to exercise as pervasive a role in our tele-visual lives.

2. While not being a source, Samuel H Gottscho’s black-and-white photograph Financial District, From the Hotel Bossert 1933, printed later, of a cloud-filled Manhattan skyline articulates the confluence between the organic and the constructed that is present in Flynn’s work.

3. Conversation with the artist, 27 September 2011.

4. Ibid.

5. Artist’s statement for the exhibition Interpretive Matter: Looking at abstraction in Australian art, Redcliffe City Art Gallery, Redcliffe, Qld, 2010.

Cake is not an option, nor is toast

I'm searching for a new and creative way to focus and deliver my rage.

Happy, safe, petty rage.

When sex, art and physical violence are not enough, what are the alternatives?

Sedatives and a good psych perhaps?

Battle to the end; death to the opposition.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Distance, loss, appreciation

There is elegance in distance.
It brings both a sense of loss and an appreciation of things I cannot posses. Space and geography impact emotionally as much as any other thing. Why is it that distance can sometimes be so disheartening and then other times be a vehicle for clarity and hope? Being human is an odd thing. Always clear, always obscure, always confusing.

Spew forth!!!

Individuality based on distance and difference. Its in our language. I guess thats where it starts. Small differences and tremors, inconsistencies in the way we perceive and construct the world and ourselves. Whatever, it shits me. Where's my fucking uniform and lobotomy? I'm sick of myself and all of you too. Four Xanax thanks and a bottle of 100 proof. Let's get this shit over and done with.


If I spend more time with unmoving earth perhaps I will become more like a mountain?
So bury me under boulders.
Seal me in granite.
Let moss and mould cover me.
I've had enough of activity.


Bile subsides.
Suddenly, I'm in love with the world again.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Songs and histories from the seven kingdoms

Solitary meat feast
I drink wine.


Less people please.

Less sense of self.

Less talk.

More silence.

More erasure.



I, uh, I h-have things to do. I've put this off for far too long. I regret to announce — this is The End. I am going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell. Goodbye.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Blah blahb blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah lag lagnlahablah blah blah blah vlav blah blah blah blah...blah lag blah blah blah blah blahb blahb blah blah blah blah blah blah...

Less people please, more nothing thank you

We are the opposite of silence.

We are the opposite of wisdom.

We are an expression of the universes indulgence and excess.

It's just so into itself.

Dumb expansive self.

So into itself.

Geometric multiplication of uniqueness.

So much uniqueness.

Monday, September 19, 2011


Pending firestorm.

You can sense it, just days, maybe a week away.

A typical beginning to a standard Brisbane summer.

The still air, mostly fire smoke and car exhaust, swells.

The intent of this years bush fires builds too, lingering just out of sight.

On the rim of the city, the bush presses in.

Things will begin to burst soon.

Erupt spontaneously.

There's no time for warnings.

My escape, this time, will have to be unplanned.

Niceties will be abandoned.

I will preference survival over a polite, unending goodbye.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Two or three states

Today I find comfort in the thought that perhaps a thing can exist in two or more different states at the same time. For example a thing could exist in a single moment in a divided state and in an undivided state.

Thursday, September 15, 2011


I feel pale.
The pigmentation of my skin is lightening.
My mass is reducing.
I have less substance than I did.
My blood doesn't pump as hard.
Now, I feel less.


The stuff of the world consoles me most. It also hurts the most. Better and more than ideas alone.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

No why, no I

Motives are hidden.

They hide from us.

We hide from ourselves.

All of us.

The identity and location of our true inspiration remains obscured.

We don't serve your kind in here

It is September 2011. Cool morning air quickly gives way to the fumes of the traffic, the oncoming heat of the day. Spring will be summer ahead of time. I'm standing on Brunswick St waiting for my bus thinking about the last month focusing mainly on love and art and what will happen in the remaining months of the year. Recent events have determined that I'll go into this new season with an equal measure of sadness and guilt. You may wonder how I feel now that we will not see each other for a long while. Those are the emotions, sadness and guilt.

Our mutual loss flatters us. Me especially. Choosing between your faith and me. What a decision to make. Even if I didn't get what I wanted it was flattering to be involved in such an important decision.

Crying while fucking. It's our beautiful and terrible addition to the Mills and Boon melodrama of the world. More importantly it is that the key piece of evidence that truly illustrates the pain of your decision. Id like to think it does at least. With out a doubt it is the rawest expression of love lost anyone has ever shared with me. Perhaps there is one exception but that was a long time ago. With that in mind, and it is my intention to keep this as my primary moderator on my thoughts on this, that there is a very special privilege in this loss.
I am thankful for this experience and your love, however brief.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

That's not a plane it's a helicopter.

No need for belief.
There are things that I know,
and there are things that I do not know.
That is enough for me.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Words for paintings


You will be mine

Workmen standing around a job. There is a sign, just orange spray on a big piece of ply, it says 'HOLE'.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

No hands on the reigns

So much of the irrationality in our lives brings with it hope. Hope for some sort of meaning. Or at least some measure of fleeting happiness. With this in mind I will continue to be irrational as long as I am able. Weather permitting.

All of you

I care very little and I care very much.

Binary loadlifters very similar to your moisture evaporators in most respects

Constant feast and famine.

I've no plan but I have this luke warm disorder, this scrappy discipline.

I have your ghost in my bed.
And I have your scent on my sheets.

You have misplaced my blueprints and plans.
For a sound future.
For safety.

You are a reminder to me that there is joy in not knowing.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Sunday, August 21, 2011


He kills his own.
Not for food.

Decimates his own
to facilitate
total silence.

Complete isolation is to be
perfectly inactive.
To achieve total safety.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

48 hours and a number of weeks

I can bend what I am to suit what I need to be.
I will never be subservient to that part of myself that would hurt myself.
Ever again.

Sunday, August 7, 2011


I want to say perfect things.

One does not simply walk

I feel my hands swell as I walk
and as I do
I am
compelled tonight
to wash.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Distant loss.
Grieve privately.
No explanation.
Limit talk.
Excessive self.
So much.


I wish I could express this warm uncomplicated love I feel for all of you. It's so simple. My friends. I don't have words for it. You are all the best. New and old alike.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Favorite quote

This weakness disgusts me. I hate it.

I will examine it myself

Summer heat
hides in our still,
green river.

Our primary,
blinding source
sets ablaze
car and factory.
Steer and citizen.

Carbonising all idea and hope.

Our permanently blackened, exhausted landscape
hastily beckons an
incomplete and short lived respite.

Yet concerete deliverance escapes us
and we continue to endure
this hell of our making.

Another pointless winter.

Sunday, July 31, 2011


Fashion currency.

Into ammunition.

Kill what you can.

There is theft and loss.

Let your safety and profit produce.


Let it clear the way.

From eye to horizon.

Waste those who stand.

They ruin the lines.

And they are.

It is.

It is commonplace.

This clinical tactic.

To kill what you can.

And this fakery is enough.

In which to hide.

Saturday, July 30, 2011


Extraneous mechanisms.

Utterly unsimple.

Things of matter, of complexity.

At our best, we doubt and hope.

And never know.

At times, the worst.

Desiring straightness.


Traced lines.

Limit and border.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Hurt, rage, despair

I have no solutions.
But what a beautiful day.

Saturday, July 16, 2011


The rain.
And the promise of real meaning.
Makes me weep.


My records are blank.
But I recognise that the danger has passed.
A stretched moment.
An unexpected pause.
Allows that thing which carries me along.
To stop.
Rage flips and turns.
Sleeping on it's side it finds the cold.
Irritating a tiring injury on my left.
Erupting from me,
a little inconvenience,
and just a little pain.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


If I could I would.
Rewrite this text.
Cowards edit the world.
With only words.
Men of action know enough.
Know better.
Know how words fail.
Know the clarity of silence.
That negotiation is a lie.

Do not mistake excess for richness

This mornings persistent fantasy. An end to all things. A chance to sit on a hill and watch the Earth reorder itself. Free of us, free from me.

I want carnage

Cold stone.
Early morning sunshine.
Crow chatter.
Hill top perspective.
Visible wasteland.


On the bus. Smells like shit. I can't be sure it's not me.

Sunday, July 10, 2011


To smile at someone, to feel warmth again for someone. To see something other than confusion, triviality and waste. These are my emotional goals.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011


Best spam poetry to date: "of the apartment, asked me the reason. I made bold to tell her. As for me, my own affairs are regulate, as I have nothing".

Not so clever

For a better self.
Look to history.
Execute a plan.


Saturday, June 18, 2011

C word

I am involved in one if the most artificial occupations on the planet. It worries me that it maybe totally vacuous. It worries me that I am wasting my time. Is their any hope in this artifice? Will time tell?

What evs bro...

Friday, June 17, 2011


Why do I feel like emotion and cliche are the same thing?
A terrible bind if it is in anyway true.
Maybe it has to be true?
Perhaps shared experienced leads to familiarity? Which then leads to a cynism concerning emotion and behaviour seen to be more mimiced than born from honesty.
Just a thought.
Where does simply being end and where does acting start?

Oversleeping and late for work

Death of a close relative.
Broken glasses.
Not mine though, but in the dream I wore them.
Argument with work colleagues.
Crying in my sleep.
Probably why I feel lighter this morning.
That's twice in two weeks.
Give me a target on which to focus.
Clean up my mess.
Smaller than most.
Not small enough for me.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

I am Dear Fuckhead II

Everything and everyone lies.
Insight is a con.
Talk is waste.
Permanent falsehoods, red herrings.
I know no one and nothing. Myself included.
Fuck everything.

Standard contradiction


Eliminate generosity.
Eliminate irrelevance.
Eliminate waste.
Eliminate distraction.

Less contact.
More work.
Zero tolerance.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Taste or Shoot me now

I love Metallica. There, I've said it. I'm totally addicted to pretty much all their music. They rock and are fucking awesome.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Clear and to the point

The parents let him live.
Though I is their weakness.
Though I be the expression of their fundamental and hidden flaws they let me live.
Not so hidden anymore.
Faulty flesh, poor programming.
Shale pretending to be granite.
A crumbling retaining structure.
Performing no function.
Earth holding back no earth.
Earth holding back no water.
This thing continues, this I, compounds his mistakes.
There is no divide between the historical mistake of my elders and the failure that I continue to propagate.
His genetics and education dictate a complete and continuing failure.
In all things.

I Red Beard is not a Viking

Oversea an expanding empire.
Annexe what is isn't mine.
Cut stone for shelter.
Forge metal to kill other men.
Release yourself from the burden of defense and simply attack.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

A dark matter for the King

Speculation arose
not for reasons unknown


Simulated irrelevance



Weakness survives
not for reasons unknown


I'm sick. I have a damn head cold that started as a hayfever attack. I went to work but had to go home at about lunch. It was just too uncomfortable in the museum. On the bus trip back home I wrote an excellent little thing about memory and second guessing the choices I have made in my life. My phone said the post was successful but when I went to have a look at it I couldn't find it??!! Damn thing. It started off with the following three lines:

Speculation is irrelevant.

I can't remember the rest.
I wanted to turn it into a song.
Guess I'll just write something new!

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Our first catch of the day / I drink all your milkshake.

Culture is the passive back drop to the activity of the rich.

Their activity is the true art. It is the collusion and interaction of people with real wealth and power.

It is a thing we are not allowed to know.

We are not involved.

Our music, literature, painting, theatre, dance; is a designed thing to quieten the poor and the weak.

It is a pacifier to shut us up.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Death to the opposition.

Distrust ill feeling.

Personal taint, universal.

Pervasive, undermining.

Basis of understanding.

Quiet erosion.

Provision of lazy resolution.

Easy truth.

No sanctuary.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Peace and long life

Stillness starts.

Removal and release.

Then internal freeze.
Maintained with medication.

This complex of wet wires,
is a complex of misfires.
Arrested in chemical repetition.

This desired malfunction leads to a limp and bloodless excess.

That which is thick and runs hot must be made thin and passionless.

Granting us all a final gift.

A clear, frozen exit.

Removal and release.

Monday, May 16, 2011


I find it odd that comments would be left on my blog one day and gone the next. What would prompt someone to write a comment and then delete it? It was a nice comment too!!! Oh well.

Sunday, May 8, 2011


As it turns out, the meaning of life was right behind me. Thank you Mr. Hanney for pointing this out to me.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Ducks on a pond

A person sits in a room pondering how to bring meaning to the night time.
The person is me.
There is nothing special about this as it is something we all struggle with.
Lately though, over the last couple of nights, it has weighed more heavily on my mind than usual. Activity is generally my solution to this problem.


Unfortunately, often, all of this seems like empty work.
Tonight I want to know how to end these questions.
I want to know how to bring richness, clarity and peace to my life.
Does the solution reside in people? In friends and lovers? In family?

There is probably no answer.
I suspect that life is a unknowable curiosity and that there is nothing of substance to be gleaned from our lives.
No conclusions to draw.
No solid ontological base to work from.
No truth, fleeting or permanent.

Enough. I'm not going to ever reach any reasonable resolution.
Not tonight anyway.

So, goodnight.

A small sample of paintings on canvas (30cmx30cm) executed since Christmas just past.

A few selected works on paper (A4 and A5 size) executed since Christmas just past.

Monday, April 18, 2011

A Monday

I see a man with cut hands, maybe they're burnt? There is no way to tell. Homeless people, all of them men. Drug addicts, students and empty suits. The Fortitude Valley train station. I wonder why the Valley can't be cleaned up? What's it waiting for? It's better how it is anyway. It still has it's secrets. We leave the station. Bowen Hills. Train yard. Pretty girl undoing her hair. She yawns and I get a clear look at her. She is painfully lovely. It's raining, I'm on a train to Redcliffe. The fluro light overhead flickers. I'm on my way to do a favour for a friend who now lives overseas. There is something a bit heavy and silent about today and it feels as though I'm waiting for an eruption. Of what I'm not sure. Clarity? Meaning? Love? Love. Perhaps, but if I'm lucky I'll dodge that particular bullet for a while longer. No to love. Yes to work. I want work. Clear, defined, predictable. I want it to keep me focused and safe. This said, I do know that the work will not save me. I also know that making visually interesting, inanimate objects is no substitute for sweat, flesh and emotion.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Thursday, April 7, 2011

I am Dear Fuckhead

I asked a girl out a little while ago. It took me quite a while to get the courage up to ask her out. She is quite lovely. It also took us quite a while to actually go out and even then she brought a friend. But a drink did happen! I don't think I made my intentions very clear. Silly me. Anyway that night, after the friend had left, I managed to ask her to dinner. She said yes. Only after she admitted to me that I made her feel inadequate. Wasn't really sure what that was all about? The rest of the evening went well, had a drink, put her in a cab thinking that I had secured a wonderful dinner companion and possibly a new friend. About four or five days later I get a message saying 'No thanks to dinner', 'Christian, you don't think much of my life or me and I don't want to hang out with someone who thinks that'. Fair to say I was a little confused. Then I started to go over the drunken evening of drink in my head. A point through the haze became clear and I began to recall a rant. A rant, by me, about making art and not fucking around. About not dithering or being wishy-washy. I may have said at one point, 'dont be average'. This perhaps was the wrong rant to include in a conversation with someone who hadn't done anything yet with their (Art/Film and TV) degree. I do get a bit intense about that sort of thing. So it seems my well intentioned ranty rant was interpreted as a judgement on someone quite a bit younger than me and at a point in their life where they needed simple support over the more difficult 'get your shit together support' that cranky old cunts like myself tend to deliver. Guess I'll have to shelve that particular line of conversation next time I go out with someone I'm interested in. Then again best to get the ugly bits out of the road first. I'm not much of a liar. I'm terrible at it. And really, I have little tolerance for fart arseing about when it comes to art. But I am pretty disappointed that I couldn't hang out with her a bit more. Guess one can only choose to be something to a point, then you just have to be what you are. In my case, on occasion, it's an intolerant prick who wants to be something else, yet isn't.

Boring beautiful children

All the good adults are taken.

I don't have much in common with contemporary children.

Children all (Sexy sexy tourist ninja)

Too much TV. I'm a manifestation of a shallow parody in real life.

Now I'm cheating on my wife with ten Japanese prostitutes. I'm not really married.

Snorts cocaine.

Costly. I can't afford this shit.

Everyone is a fucking ninja. Sexy fucking ninjas. Sexy ninjas fucking.

I want to have the speed and rhythm of a ninja.

Dancing. Dudikoff. Disunity.

I really wish people would stop using the word 'like' instead of pausing and thinking.

Ninjas don't use the word 'like' unnecessarily.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


Painting painting painting

blah blah blah

prime C on DICKS

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Dear Fuckhead

A drought.

In all things.

Love, intelligence, sensitivity.

Perpetual and severe.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Working Animal

That thing other than clarity is what I have. I want it's opposite but that means giving up. Some say not that it's better to not think of it as giving up, as losing something or denying yourself but rather excusing yourself, privileging yourself and granting yourself time and space (headspace at least) to build the clarity you require. Yes, I really think clarity is a construct just as is it's opposite. I guess I'm trying to say that perhaps both are relevant states of being. Funny thing that. So shit, maybe it'll be a nice experiment. Who fucking knows? Better that than the alternative. Eternally askew.

Location:Edward St,Brisbane,Australia

Friday, March 11, 2011

Only the very rich should reproduce

Repetition. Controller. Bad parking. Deadhead. Four hours unconscious. Observation. Bad spelling. Computer correction. No poetry in a list.

Monday, February 21, 2011


It's ok to style your hair.
It's ok to trim you pubes.
It's ok to wax your legs.
It's ok to wear lycra.
It's ok to show off your junk while I'm eating breakfast.
It's to have a single gear.
It's ok for that gear to be fixed.
Really, it's ok.
But not really.

Location:Bonney Ct,Melbourne Airport,Australia

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Emotional high

Flying scares me. It doesn't scare me quite as much as it used to but it still scares me. One of the effects of my fear is a hightened emotional response to just about everything. Often I find myself crying over terribly banal shit or stuff that is just plain terrible. Bad TV mostly. The crying helps and it definitely feels better than the pills I used to take. Terrible shit aside my greater emotional sensitivity does make me appreciate certain things more acutely. The sky and the clouds and the ground become more beautiful. Shades of browns and greens for the ground and blues and a small amount of orange for the sky. White clouds today, no grey. Even the curve of the wing of the aircraft, its leading silver edge. The form of the black graphic lines that cover its surface. They all affect me more deeply than you would otherwise expect. Its quite an experience. Were landing now. Time to see friends and enjoy the feeling of the earth beneath my feet.

Location:Arrival Dr,Melbourne Airport,Australia

Thursday, February 17, 2011

This things I believe

There is no difference between organised religion and organised political parties.

People should take care of themselves.

People should take care of other people if it is needed.

There are too many people.

Monday, February 14, 2011


The management of my desire is the management of my well being.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

A photo of a thing like my paintings

No poetry in a list

Wake around 6am. Think of the wine I drank the previous evening. Gorgeous. Cafe. Two double shot coffees. Bike ride to South Bank. Exercise. Ride around West End for a bit. Have another coffee. Ride back to New Farm. Bike slips a gear due to the steepness of the hill. The pedal flicks back and digs deep into my right leg. It hurts. Walk the bike for a couple of meters. Get back on and continue to ride. Exercise more at home. Clean wound with iodine. Cafe. Late breakfast. Perfect food. Perfect coffee. Home. Paint well. Clean up. Have a nap. Food. Burrito and beer. Walk home. See a young couple argue. See fucked up people everywhere. Much worse than me. Another beer. Write this blog entry. They're playing Eminem. I don't mind it. Things are good, even though I may complain sometimes. Things are good. This list of events is my way of giving thanks for all I have and all that I do not have.

Cranes and part of Devastator

Wednesday, January 26, 2011


Art holds the promise of meaningful labour.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Miss the rest of me, Miss. Hester Mofet

Cold steel on her breast. Its the first thing I notice when I sit at the bar. Her tits and the thing that is going to open my beer. A bottle opener, nestled down the side of the top of her dress. She is bone white with black hair but the first thing you notice about her is her breasts. Large for such a short girl but they are lovely. They are tattooed too. Im not sure if this makes them more lovely? Probably yes, in time the flesh will fail to support the ink before it fails the shape of the breasts. Fleeting beauty seems to me to be more lovely. Thats a bit romantic but whatever. I guess I am romantic. The rest of her is nice too, great skin and good legs. Nice bum. 

Today has been a bad day. Only internally though. I tried to relax but couldn't. Its odd but it is often the case that a bad day is preceded by a good day. Strange. Yesterday was cleaner, didn't feel so muddy. Today however was a bit like the floods of the other week, more easy to manage though and without any real tragedy. I wait for a ten dollar burger trying not to get caught perving on the bartender feeling a very familiar type of fake sorry for myself. I feel as though the world is rather disappointed in me. I guess it's me who is disappointed in me. Such waste and expensive excess poured into a vehicle of averageness. I feel mostly hate and disapproval for myself. A little contempt too. All this speculation is a waste and a greater indulgence than just simply feeling down. It's about time I silenced myself, not permanently, just that part of me that continually swells and complicates life and then recedes. Things are always worse when I finish a series of work and this is currently the case. There is sense of real satisfaction that comes with making work but there is also a real feeling of despair that comes with completion. The realisation that this is all I have. Making work makes me feel complete, finishing work makes me feel desperately lonely.

So I go back to looking at the bartender and her breasts, eating my burger and drinking my beer, hoping I don't get caught staring but not really caring either and I keep thinking that my average ten dollar burger and beer wouldn't be so bad if I could find someone to share it with. It may make the despair of being between work a little lighter too. But it's all indulgence. So yeah, whatever. Goodnight.

New work December 2010, January 2011 (plus a couple of oldies I'm very glad to have back)

Sunday, January 16, 2011

As is

Consider uprightness. Being upright. The desire to be straight. I need scaffolding. Structure. Regimentation. Rigidity. Order. Repetition. Consider joining the military. Consider starting my own military. Structure, rigidity, repetition, recruitment, warfare. My own personal power structure. A thing to enforce upon myself and maybe if I'm feeling dictatorial, something to enforce on others. A quiet, violent thing to internalise first and then to share.

Location:Brunswick St,New Farm,Australia