Monday, 19 February 2018

excavation

living like we do on this precipice
of disaster, a wavering truce
with the forces to keep our
cores intact, we start the day a little broken

but there’s all this goodness in it,
in your vulnerability and mine
this weekend and this season
this reality of fragile pieces
            you sleeping next to me
            sighing
            in dream

also, it’s the season to cut people off
no one’s disposable but also
there’s too much toxic
            in the communication
            channels
            she says she’ll write to me in one week. It’s not
            a permanent severing. there’s just only so much energy
            I can give (she’s a taker)
            (or maybe I am)
            (maybe I shouldn’t
            put people
            into categories)

after the sun sets I bide my time
before undertaking the epic rewiring
my brain rolls out untethered
and I flick through its draws
and there’s me, aged 5
locked in the bathroom, internal
compass spinning out of whack

I think what I’m trying to get at
is the way we keep going
or something. waxing lyrical,
seb calls it my trippers logic
but I think
do whatever you can
to find the beauty in it
just do whatever

you can

Monday, 12 February 2018

Spiders and other things.

I think about spiders 
my house is home 
to so many now that when we smoke a joint
out back V doesn’t wanna sit under the decking roof
‘too infested, they might fall on me,’ she says (she’s been dreaming
about spiders
falling
on her)
and I guess that’s a valid concern, but who am I
to tell them to leave / we’ll just stay out
of their way
for now

In the grey light of my morning room I’m
distinctly not-yet anxious. I wake up further
to enjoy this moment. I think about my friends,
I think about all our very different childhoods
that we didn’t spend together

I think about the stars
how I want to know more
I think about P playing guitar in her room (such pureness!)
and I think about myself the other night
sleeping on that top bunk 
in some kinda mortal peril
spinning out on acid, thinking all the bad things
thoughts carry such weight, sometimes

On the train to the gig I think about a call I had
a middle aged man celebrating one year without self-harming
I could have cried through the phone, heartbroken with joy.
Random tethers of kind connection
pull me closer to the earth.
I think about all the pieces of you I carry
around with me (in my head) and the process
I have to go through, of letting go

I think about my new psych, how calm she seemed and how
that enraged me at first (for some reason) – made me interrogate
my own resentment
of calm people, weird glitch 

I think about E and her words
that tumble out so raw, and my own
that must jump hurdles to be born from my internal voice
the effort alone stifling
the need

I think about
Jupiter. Big mama of expansion 
I think about dreams 
I think about you and your child self
I could cry out, from tenderness
I could call you and cry, for an hour
I think about your pain, and everyone’s

The lessons in this haven’t yet presented themselves
I’m still searching for the meaning
but I think I’m onto something – something about love
and fear, crippling
and the constant trying
to be alright

and like a baby I just want to be held, and like a mother
I just want to wipe your snotty nose clean on my sleeve
and kiss your forehead when you go to sleep.
I think about what you might be doing today
while the cogs of trauma whir into function

face of laughter, grinning through the elements
I could fall to my knees from tenderness
it's the resilience against all these impossible odds

I try not to think too hard
about whether you've thought about me

I think about gratitude and awe
and all of us like siblings
waking up slowly across different
suburban
streets

Sunday, 7 January 2018

Spat out, again

Spinning through another new years, got a little lost with my
destructive side. As per me, not one for half measures,
caught myself running to a place beyond feeling

Then I was there, spat out on the other end, loose teeth
and no sense of direction. Been crawling on all fours since

I’m reeling at the crazed mechanisms of my heart, again
unsure what its admin is, other than to destroy me

Who wrote this part of me? Crazed coyote howls, literal slobber
Coughing out emotion nonsense, tantrums tiring like a toddler
Waking after lukewarm nap to dark room, repeating

It’s 6am Monday and I’m awake ‘cause I’ve never felt worse
and in these moments sleep is poor relief, plus
my masochistic side likes to relish. There’s that sickening sweet part
to all the dumb heartache

In my lighter moods I like to think at least we’re all learning
(he sat on my couch in tears, told me how many years ago someone had said
 ‘I’ve never met anyone so willing to feel every single emotion,’ oh, darling--)

and on my blackest days I cant help but laugh
at how ridiculously we repeat the same patterns


Friday, 29 September 2017

Human Valentines


I think of things to write and they slide off before I burn them permanent I wish I’d learn. I am craving an outpour today a real wave of it. Seb is here we drank in my room and the mirror was moved it changed everything I knew. We are obsessed with conventional things and we flourish in it. We flower and bloom. Top-tail with feet sticking out from wrapped doona I am waiting to use the bathroom again. My jeans press against my bladder in a way that ruins my whole world god I’m dramatic today. It is the second day and also the second last day, of a thing, like a colour. Pinching muscles to try and relax, trying trying so hard. Waking up before dawn every morning and rolling rolling I get a lot of thinking done in this state of sleepless fatigue, our brain thoughts next to one another’s feet and the beginning of another day. Love is in the doing, we make things so we can feel.

Friday, 22 September 2017

putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again

I ask her sheepishly if she thinks it’s a bad idea for me to get yet another coffee and she shrugs theatrically and says it’s before midday so go for broke – later at the produce market we sit on wicker chairs under a blanket and watch dogs walk past, her dog was poisoned when she was young and the cruelness in the world sinks its teeth into me like frostbite. The rain comes down and I’m almost thankful, the longest summer of my life is liquidating and now I can crawl into bed where I am most days anyhow and rest these aching bones for a season.

In bed, stoned and eating chips, we say with serious faces that one thing we will for sure miss about Berlin is Spree Quell (extra fizzy mineral water) - 12 empty bottles standing side by side like commuters in an elevator, I keep meaning to take them to the recycling. It’s funny, how moody I am, and I keep cutting things out of my diet to try and regulate whatever’s going on in my body and it’s one of those things you're never sure is really working, a bit like God or fish oil tablets. Are you having a wild time over there? Actually it’s all about herbal teas and soda water. It’s colder at nights now and I hobble around my studio in blankets, there’s a heater but I don’t know how to work it and no one’s around to ask. Creaky bones and sleeps filled to the brim with dreams, I dream of zoe a lot and seb thinks that means she also dreams about me, too. 

We were all glowing that night, with newness and full hearts and the extra spark delivered on his horizontal mirror. And we were glowing still the weekend earlier, smashing glasses in the fancy bar through the stupor of our foggy brains and we were glowing in the park, all lit up with the exciting plan of doing absolutely nothing but going back to bed and watching one tree hill. The new moon wants to bring a sense of ease to my relationship with my body, I try to let it, but “I am complete as I am” is a tricky phrase that clags up my internal room. What does slowing down look like? I try to change my gut response – that is looks bad, that it looks slovenly. I’m a triple fire what can I do.


Turning the corner I find you all huddled on a stoop, on the wrong side of the city and we laugh with our wild hearts. We breathe energy into the evening even though our reserves are low, and but we give it like a gift ‘cause sometimes that’s what support looks like.

Thursday, 14 September 2017

Breakfast in the waiting room between my mind and yours

Through the wall you imagine her weighing
on your leafy arms and I understand
why you’d want to sedate yourself, and crawl out
in the morning                    shuffle back late at night
why you’d lose pieces of yourself in sugary bowls of cereal
over which                            the truth is constantly avoided
why you’d avoid
the stoned dead stare, eyes fixed through smoke
                                                                        on what? the past
you have dragged yourself across mind frames of prickling thought
and questioned the fabric of your reality

you’ve locked parts of you away that have hardly seen existence
that have only been trodden on, your heart, an obvious one
                                                      I think I saw it once
                                                      and I understand
                                                      the desire to keep some doors locked

in the blackest evenings it’s a task to even
summon anger, let me help you
I have enough to share

in the blackest evenings you have kept yourself alight(alive)
and I know you often don’t want to

your brain’s pillars go on holding while your pride
retreats like winter

you reach within yourself
and pull out broken furniture
there are lessons here, take them with you
                                                      take them in
                                                      to your soft heart, cold, and life-affirming.