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.

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.

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

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
Gone
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

SNOWY : THE MADDEST CUNT

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.
YOU FUCKING PATHETIC WASTE OF OXEGYN DIE CUNT DIE
*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.

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.