Wednesday, August 11, 2010


Steel creaks and
Wood bows
Mighty ships
The ocean throws
Who would wonder
Who would know
The terrible creatures that lurk below
You're a first class monster
A deep sea disaster
A calypso god-send
Satan, Master
Tentacles and horns and the eyes of hell
Beneath these murkey depths
Calypso does dwell
I saw him kill
It was Satan's will
And in Satan we trust
And who would know better
To indulge in chemical lust
More innocent blood is shed
But not at a loss
Into my mouth they bled
The Satan inside
Hell fire red


Chop chop chop
Buds blaze and
Lungs rot
I'd remember yourself alive
But I keep forgetting I forgot
And if I were to stop
What would be to remain?
Trying to refrain? Stirring from realizations
Of what we have and haven't got?
I'd rather not
Chop chop chop



Chain smoking at 10:30 o'clock
Bottles empty
Filled with writers block
Unhealthy like the resin
You stoked
And it's not easy
I think my heart is broked
I could sleep down at the beach
But I don't go there
Sobriety is too far out of reach
I could fall in love with you
But I think not
I think I loved you once
But I forgot
My coffee is cold
My wine is warm
And I couldn't care
That I'm still awake at dawn
I could care, but I'm too high
Now there's nothing left
But moonshine raining from the sky


There's plenty of fist fights
A frosty city night
Damn, look at her
I bet she's tight
Niggers be everywhere,
Throwin' their fists
Everyone's dying inside,
Cutting their wrists
The dystopia of the future
God rape the Queen
Floatin' like a ghost
Injectin' hero-ween
This is the future
And we're all dead
Ten year olds dressed like whores
By twelve they'll be givin' head
Guns cock
And bullets spray
Bodies fall
A blood soaked new day
There's no place to rest,
No place to hide
Find somewhere safe
To watch the sun rise
This is the future
And we're all dead
I beg to differ
It's all in my head

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Another poem

A dream, a glimmer
A hope, a flicker
Moonlight wont hold,
Hold you no more
Star shine, moonlight
The space between,
And life
I am nowhere tonight
A motivation,
Too much is unwritten
Clarity and fog,
Are just the same,
When anything is everything
And I'd be lost without
This tobacco and flame

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Summer is over but it wont fuck off.

The soft autumn scent of another desolate morning. The sunset full of dread marks a turn in time. The nights are long, sleepless and the dark never dulls the stains. When another dead sun rises, faint relief rises in my heart. Sleep may come, bringing with it fitful rest and unwanted vivid dreams. The dreams are terrifying and I wake up ill and shaking. The house is always empty and quiet. She is at work and the doors are locked. I am safe. But then come the terrible things beyond my nightmares, the roots of them. Pure, blinding, white-hot emotion, numbed by the fact that I can't feel that many negative emotions at once.

So I had this dream, I was talking to my Mother. We were at my old house from a few years previous, sitting in the back room. I'm quite sure I was high. She was wearing a loose fitting blue shirt and black pants. Sitting on the computer chair. I jump up and shock and start firing questions at her. How are you here? I thought you were dead? How can you be here? Have I been asleep for months? You're dead. You're dead.
She begins crying and saying. Why would you think I'm dead? I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'M NOT DEAD. She begins to get very angry with me. Crying. How can you be here? I have your ashes, if you are here who's ashes are these? You are dead. She just gets increasingly angry and cries more and shouts more. And for a second I almost believed her.

I do not know what this is meant to mean and I do not know if it means anything at all.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Death Is Inevitable

The sky is grey with electric charge. The pure static joy of the clouds. The hangover from the weekend past lingers like soot. The long journey home is mixed with dread and relief. The sweet vodka burn of the longest bender yet, detachment is blanketing. I ride the train for hours at a time, the strangest feeling. " Next station, Karrakatta. " I want to get off here, but I can't. I ride to Perth. I want to get on the Clarkson train, but I can't. I walk from the station and wonder around, buy a drink or two. But even in company I feel alone with my thoughts.

Public places

Moments of hell intertwine their way into our everyday lives. The moment when your head is spinning with sickness, the lights are too bright, Asian man on one side scoffing down wok-in-a-box or whatever the fuck. Middle aged woman on your right cackling and muttering to herself. You need to bite your finger to prevent your hand back handing something. These scenarios and much much more await you at your local internet cafe.

The moment when you look at the sky at twilight and realise for the thousandths time how alone in the world we really are. The pink tinged clouds absorb you and you wish you could bleed into the clouds and paint the sky red before the sun sets on the city you hate so much.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Fucking tired the fuck out

A night goes by in a blink of an eye
Through a thousands moments, they'll all be gone
In the morning it's all just dirt
It's funny how an idea can be so worshiped and heart fluttering-ly wonderful
Just to be messed up like a newspaper left out in a storm

Clarity Spoken
Drink Plenty Of Liquor
It's A Full Days Work

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Bring Rain and Red Wine.

What is one to do, after all else is done? It's like an adventure coming to a close, what is the adventurer expected to do once it's all finished? I sit under attack of nostalgia. I'm now at a point where I could use this all to completely turn my life around or just sit and sink back into old habits and let myself become over run with bordem and cheap wine.

Last night I was talking in my sleep
I was discussing wine
You suggested shiraz
And I was happy with your taste

When I see the Autumn leaves
Dying slowly on the tree
Soon the leaves will wither and fall
Giving way to Winter frost
The sky sings to you
Here comes another great sordid calm
All my love
Am I lost?

I can taste rain
And feel it on my face
You picked me up on a dark winter day
Your car was warm
And I expected this to be always

Monday, March 15, 2010


So much has happened over the past week and a half, it feels as though it has lasted a month. In the past week I have lost my home, my possesions and my Snowy (greatest dog ever to have lived.) God damn it Snowy you mad cunt. All to the hands of my Dad. Thanks Dad! You're such a great parent! :)
But whatever.
I'm fucking pissed the fuck off.
This was infact night 12 of couch surfing. I hate this shit. I want my fucking clothes. Bawwwwww.
Bludgeon you to death with a claw hammer, take a potatoe peeler to your finger nails, stomp on your cunting head, smash in your half-rotten teeth, poor candle wax in your ugly fucking eyes and shit fucking rageeeeee.
*clears throat*
It's not all that bad, I'm eternally grateful to some good friends who have let me sleep on their beds/couches.
Over the past few nights me and some mad cunt have been watching Lord Of The Rings and I have to say they are some of the best fantasty movies ever. Of corse the books were better but the movies fucking RAPE BABIES AND KICK ASS.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Vicer Exciser

My monument is progressing. Bereft is thy deed of completion
By all means you’ll be alive. But not intact. I’ve sewn your lips to smile.
With your own defecation on your lips I’ll knock that shit-eating grin right off your face
Abnormally disfigured designs. You observe the genesis of my abattoir. Reality accepted.
You have no choice but to comply with my scalpel. And my license to kill.
Anal seepage flowing. I can’t repress the urge.
Thy coprophagist shall ingurgiate the filth.
Grinding at your head with my bone saw breaking zygoma. I love these tools at my disposal. I’m alive.
She cried out helplessly again.
I ripped her limb from fucking limb. Just one less slut to walk this fucking earth.
I will spit right in your fucking face.
How does it taste after the lips are sealed below your waist.
You will never fuck again.
My scalpel gleams. My attention cast aside.
Hardening arteries begging for an inimical thrust. Byproducts of digestion soak the floor.
I’m searching for a hypodermic syringe to draw the waste.
Flowing in your jugular.
The heart is pumping faster.
As I lie and wait to watch you erupt from every orifice.
The necrotizing fasciitis has commenced its work.
No anesthesia applied.
This will be everlasting.
In the name of anatomy I shall dismember and attain what is rightfully mine.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Caffeine fueled bullshit adventure.

So now I'm home and in this weird sleep deprived, heat stroked, dehydrated state. Feels bad man. The whole time I was in the city I felt like I was in a music video for some kind of shitty band that has shitty soulless music of false happiness and trying to make it sound depressing but up beat at the same time, you know what kind of music I'm talking about.

Didn't see much interesting things, I saw how shit a lot of things are, I saw a lot of hopeless old homeless men and filthy abos and crack heads and what not, the usual. I did find a phone on the ground locked to telstra, which suits me perfectly. I got some seriously average coffee served by some happy bitch. Just wanted to rape the happiness out of her. Not really.

So I had a dream last time I slept, it was pretty weird. Yeah dreaming about meadows and shit again. And today I was walking down the street and facepalming at how I used to look like a massive emo while looking at even more massiver emos. I just wanted to start wrecking people. Them Lebanese bastards over charged me by $4 for a packet of smokes. Bull shit and etc.

Time is short and our breathes will hopefully be shorter.
Smoking is a slow, pleasurable and socially acceptable form of suicide and I like it.

37 degree days in autumn, fuuuuck that.

I still can't sleep. I'm about to head into the city for a cup of coffee and a pack of smokes, maybe some breakfast but shoplifting will definitely be involved. Who knows what I'll encounter on this strange Labour Day. The first day of autumn looks promisingly tame.


Shattered, shattered
Love and hope and sex and dreams
Are still surviving on the street
Look at me, I'm in tatters!
I'm a shattered

Friends are so alarming
My lover's never charming
Life's just a cocktail party on the street
Big Apple
People dressed in plastic bags
Directing traffic
Some kind of fashion

Laughter, joy, and loneliness and sex and sex and sex and sex
Look at me, I'm in tatters
I'm a shattered

All this chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter 'bout
schmatte, schmatte, schmatte -- I can't give it away on 7th Avenue
This town's been wearing tatters (shattered, shattered)
Work and work for love and sex
Ain't you hungry for success, success, success, success
Does it matter? (Shattered) Does it matter?
I'm shattered.

Ahhh, look at me, I'm a shattered
I'm a shattered
Look at me- I'm a shattered, yeah

Pride and joy and greed and sex
That's what makes our town the best
Pride and joy and dirty dreams and still surviving on the street
And look at me, I'm in tatters, yeah
I've been battered, what does it matter
Does it matter, uh-huh
Does it matter, uh-huh, I'm a shattered

Don't you know the crime rate is going up, up, up, up, up
To live in this town you must be tough, tough, tough, tough, tough!
You got rats on the west side
Bed bugs uptown
What a mess this town's in tatters I've been shattered
My brain's been battered, splattered all over Manhattan

Uh-huh, this town's full of money grabbers
Go ahead, bite the Big Apple, don't mind the maggots, huh
Shadoobie, my brain's been battered
My friends they come around they
Flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter
Pile it up, pile it high on the platter

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Just fuck off you filthy cum rags.

I've been awake for too long but no matter, there is never any solace in sleep. We live in an age of soul-eating houses, fast Internet and e-cigarettes?! Who the fuck has time to sleep with all of this shit going on. Anti-biotic over prescription and paranoia has got me sick.

Lack of vitamins and no sunlight makes Polly a blow up doll. C'mon Polly, TAKE YOUR CUNTING VITAMINS. *foreign object into designated hole* Don't you feel a little better now?

Time is marked by the amount of buts in the ashtray piling up. I just light these babies up and discard them 5 minuets later. Fuck me if I was a cigarette I'd just love to be consumed with eager lips and mashed into an ashtray filled with my fallen comrades.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

I'm bored. I feel like I'm drifting through a sea of nothing. I need something to do, to focus my energy on. All I do is sit around my house, spend endless hours on the internet, watch anime, smoke, bitch about how sick I am and try not to drink the whiskey sitting on my shelf.

My sleeping pattern being reversed now and not having a mobile phone have made it hard to even begin to build a normal life again. Or maybe I just lack the want or will to see anyone. Recent events have put a bad spin on the new year, for many of my close friends. I look around and all I see is fuck up after fuck up after break up after raging drug habit.

But what is closeness in this cold and desolate world?

I don't work. I don't study. Currently, I don't do anything. I take your money, you, the tax payer. I spend it on nicotine and other consumable shit.

A plan is born and now comes the day I write a new resume.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

I love you, peace and quiet.

It's interesting to see just how things play out.
I have a few friends over tonight. A few are past out. A few are still going.
A dragon fly was dying in my room. I don't know how common it is for them to come out at night, it was quite tiny. Quite pretty.
I went into town today for the first time in a long while. It was uneventful but I managed to pick up a bottle of whiskey, two packets of cigarettes and some wine. I'm trashed. But not trashed enough to forget why I'm drinking again. So really not that trashed at all. Well I feel good. I feel mighty fine, bullet proof you could say. But if you dropped me I'm sure I would shatter into a million pieces. I'm sure I wont feel fine tomorrow, or rather, today.
I went to the amphitheater last night. It's about a four minuet walk from my house. It was grand . I sat there for about an hour and just took in the wonder of a thousand memories past. It was quite late at night, around 10 or 11, but it was deserted and no stranger crossed my path. Oh damn it was just so good. ^_^
Fuck I'm wasted.
Much love to everyone out there.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Shitty wallpaper

I don't have any fascinating, positive stories to tell any of you. I mean when have I ever? I could tell you that tonight the delivery guy gave me free brownies, that I overcame my house binding anxiety, that I quit drugs yet again, that whiskey tastes nice at room temperature, that I found someone to co-sign the lease or that music is wonderful etc, etc, etc. But that isn't interesting and it's insignificant and if you're not ready for some more cop out whining you should press unsubscribe now.

I want to talk about loss and hatred and how much having no decent cigarettes is pissing me off.

For one, with loss, you think you've finally got a grasp on it, you think you've gotten an inch of acceptance. And then BAM, the dirt isn't gone, no, bam and you're back to square one and nothing makes sense and you can't even fathom, let alone accept what the shit has happened. The stuff we take for granted is amazing. It's a super cliche but it's so true, probably why it is so cliche, you seriously don't know what you have until it's gone.

Secondly, hate is ridiculous. The kind of hate where you just want to leap across the table and stab them 23 times in the throat but you don't, you smile and chit chat just because you want to make that moment of revenge all the more crippling and unexpected.

Third, I've been smoking my Dad's winfield blue tobacco for the past hour, it tastes horrific, but it's better than going without. I could buy my own, if I was 18 or at least looked it. If I want to kill my body with nice tasting tobacco I damn well should be allowed. Fuck you Kevin Rudd and all the rest of you pieces of shit up there in parliament, you fucks didn't even make this law, but seriously, fuck you.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Alice Practice

Scars, in you, son
You shrug it off
Except that you don't

Better, it surely
It don't fall out
I live low
I lisp, I die
Sugar shooting
Bled with dead beats
Only crawl
Your sad eyes
Quite christian

Drop it, it's dead
We drop it
and took the body home
Sad eyes

Scars, I'm chopping dagers
See you'll never walk
only stagger.
sad eyes
Quite christian

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Sickly Dreams.

The sky was grey and green, suffocated by angry clouds. We looked out to sea and saw what seemed to be a sea container half emerged in the strange water. Sloshing fast through the water we reached it quickly, climbing inside we were mistaken, a wonderous structure had been built some fifty meters high. But just as soon as our attention had been grabbed by such a thing a projector had cast a film for us to watch on the wall. It happened to be Titanic. We watched in awe of the surprise. But something was off, the bodies started falling from the top of the structure into the water around us. Torrents of bodies.

Confused, we were suddenly rocketed to a platform at the top of the structure, above our heads was a small opening into god knows where. On this platform were all of our friends sharing drinks and cigarettes, so we stayed for a while until maddeningly intoxicated. Someone, I can't remember whom needed something of what I can't remember, so it was apparently up to me to go and get this thing, it was a matter of life and death. I was provided with the keys to a some mode of transport, I was told to climb through the hole above.

So I climb through, pulling myself up I am shocked by a futuristic landscape; a metalic tunnel of lights and car lanes. Then I see it. This car. Sleek and dark blue, the oddest shaped car I had even laid my eyes on. And gosh I was too drunk to drive. I stumbled over to the car and let myself in, it started with a high pitched hum. Entering the highway was intense, the power steering so sharp. The accelerator was so easy to push down. I lost control almost immediately, 1-200kmph in 12 seconds. Shit was flying everywhere. I was bouncing into other cars and the highway walls but no damage was being incurred to the car. I looked out of the window and realized I was in Cockburn. I needed to go there to get the thing. Whatever it was. So I turned off the highway and pulled into a car park, suddenly sober.

I got out of the car and was joined by another person, they had no face. Without we walked to the back of the car park into a complex of pensioner homes west units. We crept up to a particular unit and peeked through the window. It was grey inside and it appeared that the old woman was in the shower. We went to the back door and tried it. It was unlocked. We crept inside her home. Walking quickly we got what we needed from her kitchen. As we were about 6 feet from the back door she came out after us. We ran from her house, leaving the weird woman and her grey house behind.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Winfield Blue Tastes Like Shit.

It knots and twists and folds and rises and twists again. Preventing me from leaving the house. Stopping me from answering the phone. Anxieties cold talons are gripping me and refusing to relinquish it's hold. So that's when you get a knife, and cut it off at the source, cut it's fucking legs off and tear the talons from my flesh. She was the one that always tore me away from it's nasty grip. She's gone and I'm trying to learn to hold a knife. Trying to learn to live now. Each day it gets harder and I'm sure I'm forgetting everything I've learnt. Where are you now? I need you more than ever. Shock melts away like sugar in the rain. Now I'm left with this empty hole.

Monday, January 18, 2010


Magic looses it's momentum
Like fire on wet grass
The reality of death
Sinks in slow
Like a slow burn cigarette
Why should yours flat line
While my pulse remains
Pushing toxins to my finger
tips and blasting needless, numbing nothings
into my spinal suffering
I am a broken leaf nothing
Touch me with your eyes, limp and brittle on the pavement
Touch me with your fingers
I crack and crumble
Into nothing

Friday, January 1, 2010


I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disapear
You are someone else
I am still right here

What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way