Burn, bridges! Burn!
Become glowing coals,
And boil the river-stream.
Craze the town to burn them all,
Burn!
When I look I cannot see anything but the past.
Curdle my neuroses.
Tribe September 24, 2009
burst into my house
drive off with the woman
.
stare at me under the street light
“bluey! bluey! there’s yer mate, bluey.”
.
some other time.
Jeff Joe Jen And Matt September 22, 2009
I think what happened here was that I talked up the premise of having a sitcom so much that I ended up making the other guy write a shitload.
I don’t even know if I wrote anything towards it!
It’s about two guys, a girl and a zebra named Joe.
1929: No Place Like Home September 14, 2009
The world flakes off around
Outside your house
There are little celebrations
The world has its movements
Where-ever the clouds float
..
At quarter to five,
when the sun glows for its last
all the men come home on their buses and trucks
and marvel at their castles:
the lawns they didn’t mow,
the letters not for them.
..
At night,
you can smell the sex on the
young boarders
who’ve
snuck out from their movie:
“Sorry guys -”
..
We’re all on a road
Road road
To no-where,
and its very pretty.
Five Minutes September 13, 2009
I love it how my nana can keep
things unspoiled for such a long time
.
From her I received pop’s famous jumper
it fits, and it proves
he was only as enormous as we were all
scared of him
.
Its incredible how many rose-thorns
were stuck in the wool
pop’s a tough guy
Lawnmowers September 11, 2009
take it away
do do do
telephones ring clouds
de do do do
nosferatu is a vampire
le la la la
television makes your face red
do do do
druggies on the bus:
Steven
Steven
You don’t even care
Of course I care
No you don’t
Failure September 11, 2009
The invisible three washed themselves in the Great Middle Sea, stopping for food and sleep where-ever it was offered. They would walk up the long rubble tracks of Jousen farms to the communes in the centre of the flowing golden grain districts, looking skeletal and smelling earthy. The Jousen were always twice as tall and thin this far south, and they were not nearly as clothed as their more northern brothers and sisters. While they still wore desert-goggles with lenses fashioned from brown glass pulled from the desert sand, they moved around their crops with relatively naked heads – just as pitch black as their hands, hair shaved close to the scalp. They were like spiders, limbs bone-thin and knobbly at the elbows and knees, hips pronounced like cliffs.
Their huts were made of mud, mottled and red, smoke rose out of them occasionally, and at night the fires inside and out cast shivering shadows that licked at the fields.
Almost everything was conducted in silence out here. Everything was a function of existence, everything so obviously a circle of life and death, individual breaths taken perfect expressions and extensions of existence.
The alien three failed to disturb the blinding justice of the sun and the grain and the sickles.
“Do you have any water?” Foolio asked a Jou sickle-in-hand, crouched at the ground.
“Hello friend,” rasped the slow, thin, giant, and he gave Foolio his water.
586 September 4, 2009
More pillars. She’d seen all the pillars in the North, they moved up high like these, and the clouds swirling above them made it seem like the heavy building was evaporating marble. This temple gleamed gold and white like all the others, and the hazy smell of incense would make all those climbing the steps from the street to the altar giddy. This place stood like a disinfecting spear from the pathetic markets strewn over all over this city: every citizen lived in just as much poverty as the next, the vast majority of the populace was impoverished and diseased, selling whatever pathetic goods travellers brought as they blew in and out of the city-limits.
Narsh stood in the markets, watching the temple in the corner of her eyes, her strange clothes largely ignored. Who cares about what a stranger wears when they’re paying your way out of the mines?
The temple was largely open, housing few walls, what shelter it did provide was from the sun. It was possible for groups of people to access the bronze roof of the structure, to dry out spices and clay tablets – to spy on the dust from the mines to the south.
A priest knelt up from the searing heat of the temple roof, his neck and eyelids slowly burning. He cast his gaze to the south, where the two slight mountains dividing the city from the mines normally deflected a black column of poisonous coal-dust back on the labourers. The sun shone through the mountains, and the priest could see the sky in the space above the mines just beyond. A thinning cloud of black dust had settled in the valley between the mountains, and teams of people appeared to emerge from the sunny black valley.
**
All the people who worked in the mines beyond the mountains spilled into the city, touching nothing, moving silently, filling every street. They moved towards the marble temple, and from the north trucks and many vehicles trailed dust, the mountains reflecting their sound on the city.
Sarva Narsh moved to the temple, the priest watching this from the roof. She removed a long gun holstered on her left leg, and two miners followed her when she turned and entered the temple.
Big Machines September 4, 2009
a quarter of a man hung himself out of his car window
while his car slowed in the bus bay
and he did it again an hour later in a sportscar
just outside Newman
.
he was illuminated by the powerlines
fighting with the cold air
and he watched the columns of steam
on the other side of the road
