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.

Slow

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.

Blocked

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

Songs and histories from the seven kingdoms

Solitary meat feast
and
I drink wine.

More

Less people please.

Less sense of self.

Less talk.

More silence.

More erasure.

Please.

Bilbo?

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.

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.

Bunker

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.

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.

Light

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.

Stuffness

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

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.

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.

Words for paintings

Or-bus.
Scaled.
Patrick.

Words for paintings

Hole.
Vat.
Pile.
Store.
Powder.
Drone.

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'.

New work. Almost completed.