dawn

your glassy eyes betray you

I havnt been able to sleep properly for over a week, whenever im on the verge, i start hearing radio static and then a man screaming, and it tears me back into waking life. im exhausted.

I went to canberra on saturday. The place is a dull, boring shitehole surrounded by mountains that give u a horrible sense of being hemmed in. There is a city plan with the location, species and age of every single plant on public property. whenever one plant gets the shaft, another almost identical one from an extensive nursery is inserted in its place, giving you an idea of just how micromanaged the place is. Because of strict bulding codes, the city hasnt really expanded. The dull characterless buildings and random monuments in well manicured gardens, make the whole city seem like a well tended war cemetry. to make up for the cultural vacuum, marijuana and pornography are legal within the state.

Made it back to sydney, and uni in the evening in time to catch the dresden dolls. They were amazing. definitely the best gig ive ever been to. the band before them, the red painters, featured a singer dressed as an octopus, geishas playing electric violins , and two people drenched in black paint getting painted over during the set.

My family left on monday morning, leaving me to turn to a pile of undone work, that lay dormant and menacing. I tried to prepare for a presentation in school, but i was waylaid by a pair of christian evengelicals who refused to leave me alone. One of them was trying to explain to me his concept of the separation of the mind, body and soul. He encouraged me to use my soul to give god a collect call. He said ," once you do so, and get to that level, Oh ! Oh BOy ! you touch things you never imagined you would be able to." At this point i tried my best to stop picturing the man molesting all sorts of exotic south american wildlife.

Bestiality ravaged street preachers are the last of my concerns. the suns coming up, and i still cant get to sleep.

cedric, sidney, the pacific ocean and me

immutable

your glassy eyes betray you

Started my week, with a philosophy lecture at school. Dr amitavo, an individual with the oratical skills and charisma of a garden snail on heroin, actually attempted some sarcasm , " today we shall examine the lighthearted topic of death." I was sure his veins would rupture and his body would be rent in flames right there and then in the lecture theatre.

I met my family in the evening. They just arrived in sydney and will be here fer a week. My mum was her usual silly socially inept self, saying things that display a brave abandonment of conventional logic or rationality. I used to be embarassed when i was younger, but now i just find it endearing. My dad was his usual stoic self. Left them and my sister at the hotel, and took a bus back home. I have a longer amnesty period to clean my room of incriminating evidence before the inquisitorial inspection.

Whenever i meet my parents i feel guilty. Guilty for not making more of an effort, to get to know them , to call home more often, to be there for them, or even bother to find out how the are doing from time to time. Years sometimes punctuate the conversations i have with my eldest sister, but i know shes got her own life, i just found out shes having a kid next april. Its different with my folks. My mum spent so much of her life raising us, and now we're all away, and too self-absorbed to make an effort. I know my mum spends alot of time alone in the house by herself and gets so horribly lonely she, talks to her plants and names the sparrows she feeds in the morning.

Whenever i feel terrible about these things, i draw away even further, and tell myself that there'l be enough time in the future for these things. Everytime i see them they look older and older, and i realise one day in the not too distant future they will be dead. two decades? one and a half? twenty septembers from now, my parents may cease to exist. and what then. My dad leaves me his temperament and my mum leaves me my physical appearance and then they go back to what they were before they were born. Does death make life seem sad or does life make death seem sad. i wonder what it feels like to have death close by. Not as an option you can step back from when your young, healthy and safe , but as an inescapable ineveitably that no amount of decision making and good luck can change once youve reached the end of your tether.

Im afraid. of becoming old and defeated. of being old and alone. of being left without options, of having cold and emotionally detached children like myself. Just because something has to end doesnt render it pointless does it. course not. The postmodernist leftovers of what used to be my brain cant accept objective meaning presented to me on a platter. unfortunately all the meanings i derive myself seem trivial and transient on a long enough timeline. i'd like to think theres more to life then a dialectic of pain and pleasure. What about experience and personal growth but how can they matter at all if i dont have a soul. I envy religious people, and people who have the capacity to act on faith. How wonderful it must feel to go to bed at night safe in the company of your beliefs. Im glad my parents are christian.

spring

your glassy eyes betray you





On the first night of spring, a bug flew into sid's window. we played football at 2 in the morning in the park near his house. running around the semi dark of the trees, the moon was so big i was sure i could knock off a chunk of cheese with the football. but spring is a capricious lady. a few nights later, sydney received the highest rainfall its got in over a century. oxford street became a river, with water gushing off rooftops and out of manholes in the sidewalk. Gale force winds turning my bag into a kite. went back to sids house to get my guitar and noticed the same bug was dead on his carpet, which cos of stray bits of tobbacco and alcohol stains, has become a sort of graveyard for a recent hedonistic past. Its nice to be in at night and hear the wind raping the guillotine styled windows of sydney's older houses, but its nicer to be out, i hope summer takes its time.

yelid

your glassy eyes betray you

God that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said 'yes I think we've met before'
In that instant it started to pour,

Captured a taxi despite all the rain
We drove in silence across point champlain
And all of the time you thought I was sad
I was trying to remember your name…

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin
Tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in
Now you're outside me You see all the beauty Repent all your sin

It's nothing but time and a face that you lose
I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose
I'll write you a postcard I'll send you the news
From a house down the road from real love…

Live through this, and you won't look back…
Live through this, and you won't look back…
Live through this, and you won't look back…

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted I gave what I gave
I'm not sorry I met you I'm not sorry it's over I'm not sorry there's nothing to say
I'm not sorry there's nothing to say...