Thursday, March 31, 2011

Friday, March 18, 2011

Exercises In Descriptive Writing.

we see each other.


you greet me with a hug during which, i make an effort to lightly glide my hand over the small of your back.


we break our half assed embrace and proceed to make ourselves comfortable amongst the surroundings.


i ask if you would like a drink.


you decline and so instead, i turn on the television before dropping myself back into my previous position on the couch.


my mind leaves pondering thoughts which are seemingly endless, but literally less than a second.


you decide it's time to make small talk.


like a balloon in a rose bush, i hate this point.


they call it small talk coz it is just that... small.


im trying to do big things, but whatever... i'll indulge you in a minuscule conversation.


i cant help it. my mind has wondered again. im thinking of the first time a prefix was used ever. what was it? why was it? how was it?


geez, i dont think she even knows what a prefix is, let alone a suffix. she probably thinks it has something to do with a junkies medication.


i can sure pick em, cant i?


how the hell did i even get on prefixes? she was talking about her weekend and her friends.


i quickly tuned out, making sure my auto pilot ears picked up all keywords needed to verbalize a retort.


ok, i sense her subject matter is coming to an end. 100% listening now.


she finishes. thank fuck.


ok, should i even make small talk?


maybe i will tell her something awesome and she will just understand its awesomeness.


ok, here goes something.


*draws picture of a ball flying past someones head at high speed*


she missed it.


ahh well, cant expect everyone to get everything i guess?


fuck trying to tell her anything else though.


i ask her what kind of movies she likes.


she says scary ones. i have oodles.


i choose one at random and put it on.


ive seen it before. hell, ive seen them all before.


we watch the beginning, in which a scary scene occurs. she grips my arm in a 1960s, at the drive in, kind of fashion.


i know the rest is just momentum now.


30 mins into the movie and she aint scared anymore... well, not of the flick we were watching anyway.


shes steady sucking on my neck n the side of my face while i grope her ass n titties.


she knows the score.


shiiiiiiiiit... she knows sex like stephen hawking knows about colostomy bags... and i know her.

shes full of it.

Friday, February 18, 2011

4,5,6.

WORDS.

say "fuck it."

say "kiss my ass karma."

say "i am invincible and god must be a female coz when im around, he be acting like a bitch."

say "doyoulickadickaday?"

ask someone for acid for me.


ACTIONS.

look for more drugs in your home when you run out, knowing you have none.

see things in the corner of your eye that aint really there.

question your brain at every opportunity you get.

sweat from hot weather at 1am.

don't sweat the technique.

try to achieve a louder, longer burp.

kiss the sky, make out with clouds. stick your dick in a star.

help a stray kitten. eat an insect. chase a fox.

name a bong. roll a joint. snort a line. crush a pill. skull your beer. howl at the moon.

climb something in the city, stand ontop of it, spread out your arms and then like some motherfucking captain cook or christopher columbus or something, CLAIM THAT SHIT LIKE IT WAS YOURS ALL ALONG!!!


im talking about a motherfucking pose that would have natives pooping their loin cloths like they just discovered the deliciousness of chocolate flavored laxatives.

jump off a cliff or a high structure into a large body of water without saying a word.

stalk an animal at least once a week.

when presented with a problem, do a handstand and think about it. TURBO THINKING.

kick a goal. shoot a basket. hold a trophy. kiss a girls mouth.

always stumble.

go to sleep at dawn and wake up in the afternoon.

talk to strangers. estrange yourself from friends.

poke your tongue out at other peoples kids. flip the bird at cops while smiling.

write your name on everything public.

feel the bass kick and enjoy it.

be a public spectacle.

die loudly.

pull the plug.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

All my dirty dishes are half full glasses.


These days move faster than Alex in a Durango.

Night skies are gone before I can even adore a star.

The birds fill me with rage equal to burning feathers.

I wipe my dry eyes.

Precision. Extract it out of that meatbag, haired skin n bones, poor excuse for a human body that you rest in.

Beat that lump of organic mass until it coughs up some form of dignity, pride and honor.

There. You got it.

I build my brain back into the eyesore of a wall it usually is.

The cigarette helped.

Now, I sit... watching frail smoke rings get eaten by a cheap oscillating fan.

I gather my new thoughts.

Things always look to be changing.

From a young age, I've thought that you shouldnt rely or depend on anyone in life but yourself.

So far, I have had to break this rule a few times. Every time I did, I regretted it.

About to get back to my old hustle. I figure why the fuck not? I aint doing shit. I can't get normal work thanks to my criminal record and finger tatts, so yeah... caution to the wind and warnings to cyclones.

Not much time left anyway, not that expect anyone out of my loop to understand that. Nothing Mayan either.

While talking to a friend the other day, I realized a lot of my friends had given up smoking weed and doing drugs this year. Hanging up their lungs. Which led me to think that if breathing was equal to walking, then smoking was like running. I'm never going to stop my Olympic training. WORD TO ME.

I should probably be a whole lot more angry/emo at life. Why though? What's the point? I know I'm calm and I look for the positive in most situations, but that's a commodity that never changes, and when everything seems to be in a constant state of change, you really need to know what your load bearing pillars are. I am well reinforced.

I'm a good person living a bad life.
Right place, wrong time.
Dirty dishes. Half full glasses.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Bite The Bullet

I figured it out!



I should stop trying to figure it out.



I should leap before I look. At all times. Life is too short for looking. Plus, what the fuck am I even looking for? What are any of us looking for? Neon signs with arrows?



I say fuck it. Let's fuck it.



Dilly Dallying is just a silly British sounding term so fuck doing that.



Instead, I'm going to wear my sleeve on my heart.

I'm going to throw caution to the wind underneath my wings.

Instead, I'm going to go.

Greed is Good

1997. I'd been doing housebreaks all year with no remorse. In fact, I remember being somewhat full of pride for crime statistics in my area. Pretty sure I managed 5 in the space of less than 5 hours one day. Anyway, I digress. I had walked across the road into the suburb of Nollamarra and had 2 friends following for lookouts and extra baggage handling that might or might not occur.



I see a house. I knock with my newly thought out plan of sizing up if anyone was home or not. Someone answers, I ask if they've seen my mythical pet dog. No one answers? I knock harder. No one answers still? I walk around into the backyard and start wedging screwdrivers into window frames.



So no one answered but I can hear their neighbors in their own backyard doing gardening or something. I make sure to watch my every step so as not to crunch any wayward leaves or other obstacles that would make them suspicious to my trespassing. I find a back window. I begin cracking the window. Slowly so the neighbors can't hear. I push my screwdriver over the cracks, directing their breakage for minimal noise and maximum spacing.



After getting enough window broken and out of the way so I can get through, I get through to a teenager males bedroom. Laser disc player in bedroom? SCORE!!! VCR in bedroom? i can get 50 bucks for that VCR! SCORE! Rockford Fosgate Subwoofers?? SCORE!!! I walk into the rest of the house, like a kid in a candy shop mixed with a bull in a china shop. I notice another VCR in the lounge room. SCORE!! Fuck grabbing TVs. They're far too heavy and it's summer. I start looking for bags to put the VCRs and laser disc player in. I get them and situate them and both VCRs in the initial room I entered into from outside.



I hadn't bagged shit up yet. I got to thinking. These people got cash. They have just got to. Either that or gold. So I decide to start looking harder in spots people would hide shit in, i.e under mattresses, under bottom drawers, that kind of thing. While doing so, I hear a noise come from outside. I think nothing of it. Then I hear a more pronounced noise. A car door. That was definitely a car door. I immediately head for the teenage males bedroom that I have the bags and electronic equipment in.



Now, the hole in the window wasn't immensely big. I was focusing on quiet n quick, not comfort. Climbing through on the way in wasn't easy because I was trying to be quiet and the small size. Needless to say, sound was the least of my concerns exiting.



I do a superman head first leap through the hole in the glass.



I make it through cleanly except my foot. Stupid shoe catches it. Glass breaks more. I land on hands n feet like a cat and keep on moving. By this time, I am positive that I have been noticed. I head around to the side of the house, away from the driveway, from the back. Shit. A mass pile of broken dead branches n shit. Shit. There's no turning back. In a fit of instinct, I launch myself towards the tight massive pile of sharp, pointy garden refuse.



Somehow, I manage to flick myself over the fence from in between a branch and the house while running at it full steam. Now I'm in the neighbors front yard, full of momentum. Shit. Neighbors have a dog. Turn into Carl Lewis and zip past it and then jump the neighbors front wall into the street, all without missing a beat.



My nikes hit the bitumen. I hear the front security door of the asian place I was trying to rob. No rest for the wicked. Keep running. See lookout and additional hand. They give me a puppy-like sideways confused head look. I yell at them to run. I look behind me to see an asian male in his late 20s, early 30s, trying to catch me as hard as his little legs could possibly go. We easily lose him as he isn't willing to leave his house all open for very long and plus we weren't going to let him catch us, one way or another. After wards, all pissed off, hot from the heat and chase, I find another house to break into. That one was successful.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Look where your tukus took us.

Dropped off face n had to run while puffing a cig to make the train to the city. Made it. King me. Now I wonder if it was worth it. Die regaining breath infront of lifeless people while listening to a song about a persons ending. My head is starting to hurt from my lack of train tickets. 12 mins til the thornlie train leaves. Everyone scurried like rats. I concurred. Make it on that train, lazy eyed and hazy brained. Sit across from an indian version of zelda n other mythical creatures. Just another weekday.