True Dreams of Wichita

Society draft #1

2010-08-11T06:27:00.001-07:00

To the nation that I fall in place for, I would like you to know

I do not want your money in it's masses

I do not want your capitalism in our esteemed towers

I do not want your student's revolutions

I do not want in its entirety your rent

I do not want your rich giving me money nor your poor asking for it

I do not want your energy drinks or healthy fast food or cow skin rugs

I do not want your vegan attitude nor your 12-pound steaks

I do not want your promise of love with every pretty girl that walks around your corners

I do not want your cars that crash into our busses and run over our children

I do not want to be left alone frozen in a glistening paddock of ice

I do not want to walk a thousand kilometers to find your greener grasses

I do not want you to meet me in a truck cabin, feet bleeding and face beaming for adventure

I do not want to ruin your precious works of art on my brown coffee

I do not want to find your smoke butts in the drains as a trample on them, smoking

I do not want your sexual revolution slapped in my face

I do not want your lack of imagination slapped in theirs

I do not want your vacant lots of concrete nor your fields of shade thrown by heavenly towers of glass

I do not want your jobs in their infinite godlike powers to give me and you and your mother; wealth, ass and brain searing life.

In the wealth of my eternal love and infinite depression I know to be standing anywhere is to be standing in you now, our hands in marriage with room to move but such a room made of mirrored walls -- no where to go. In Melbourne tonight we are each other sitting in my room on your streets spitting venom at passers by as they wave their blind eye in disgust of you, me. Forgive our sins against you to make you who you are, to identify ourselves within your eternal caring grace, holding ME up when YOU see me at my weakest and knowing in wise civilisation to throw me down to the earth from whence I came if I were to ever out grow our ring. Hand in marriage I will not leave you Melbourne, not when you need me most.

I drink to you tonight and day, an eternal silent toast to your silent numbers and I--hidden numbers, my neighbours their children and their growing numbers; for your fields will become their homes their paved streets and their nature is at last yours and ours

and it will provide as you, I need

and it will take as you, I need

and it will offer glasses for our blind as you, I need

and it will clad our FEET in leather of cows-animals so that we may walk our thousand kilometers to find our paddock to lay in, watching the sun provided as a gateway to our heaven as you, I need

and it will care for our sick as you, I need

and it will bare our feet on your blue stone walkways so that we may meet our love at every corner as you, I need

and it will defy us in nature to make us grow together in holy matrimony as you, I need

Forgive me, forgive yourself Compton, Bethlehem, Istanbul, Tokyo, Sydney, Berlin and London as we walk together from fields of earth into streets of marble and plastic together as lovers grown old we will remember and lament our cold days spent so that we may touch the stars together,

Holy moonlight memoirs

2010-08-10T09:18:00.000-07:00

The two sat, perched on the grass of his front lawn, the still air of the night had instilled a sense of a special occasion, their words echoed off the stars while the moon shone it's holy light across their eyes; locked to one-another. No, the relevance of whatever past they had, whatever future they may have thought lined up for them at that time didn't matter at all anymore, their sentences tumbled out of their mouthes and caught each other as if soft butterflys would land on each other ears with every word they spoke. They thought each to their own and they said to each other how time was always at one point, how this moment would never end, they would peruse the outer limits of philosphy in hopes of discovering a way to sit there in the holy moonlight for-ever. Together they were scientists, philosopohers, mathematicians, rebels and lovers in their struggle for their infinite moment of euphoria, they would have felt fear at the eventual loss of their night, had they not been so intwined in each other. Unbeknownst to them though, they were right, time is a singular moment and if they were so much as to turn their necks but the slightest, to break sight of one another; they might have seen into their future, or into their past.

But they didn't. He stood looking in at that night from the future, wondering why he never peered over his shoulder to see what would become of them, to not want to open his pandora's box of knowledge in the hopes of saving his heart and mind from what he now accepted as the inevitable break-down. He looked only behind him staring constantly at his, hers, their past, because it would be the small moments they shared together that would play in his mind. On the road trip to interstate, when she sat leaned against the window, landscape flushing by her beautiful face, why wouldn't he just lean over and kiss her on the cheek? Nights in bed while he lay comfortable and she lay distressed, why did he never ask what was wrong? If, in that holy moonlight night he might have looked over his shoulder into the future, he would have seen himself looking back every day.

But she, she didn't look back. She lay in their past looking up at the sky and into their future, at that holy moonlight night where she would finally get to see him again, peering into her mortal distance, wanting to imagine every fine detail of every moment they would spend together, it was almost more joyful in itself to imagine him as it was to be around him. She would see endless nights spent in bed together, combing each others minds and bodies with such fine detail and she would know that every embarrassing childhood memory and every mole, freckle and bodily imperfection would draw them together, closer than any other two before them. They would be pioneers of each other and love itself.

And on that holy moonlight night, when they first kissed, they would swear to each other they saw themselves peering in from over their shoulders, they would swear they saw themselves smiling.

11-aug-10

smiling memoirs

2010-08-10T08:24:00.000-07:00

Everytime she would see him she would succumb to feelings she felt best left alone: obsession over his little imperfections, beauty spots if you will, replaying nights that seemed to delve into the abyss of timelessness and moments of stark perfection sitting under the spring suns. Forever she knew that one day a time would come for her to leave those feelings behind, but, oh just to squeeze every last moment out of it.

She would have to leave him though and as if like a birthday present taken away every time she had to leave his side, an ever constant thorn in her side, never letting her forget that he wouldn’t be around forever. Summer would come and she would visit, what she told herself, would be one last time. Again she found herself lost in the magic of every day, she would rest her head on his chest posing flowers against the sun, studying the sillhoutte and intricate details of it while she felt his chest rise and fall.

Again she left, this time telling herself, convincing herself, that the feeling was worth keeping and that the moments spent with him were never to be lost in the midsts of time. Autumn came, while it rained outside there was a drought in her mind, a thirst she couldn’t fulfill with any reservoir of water. She was alone but for in her dreams.

They had plans to visit one-another, in the backyard with the warm summer breeze blowing the smoke from their cigarettes into the starry night, eyes locked to each other anything seemed possible then. But winter had come and time had taken it’s toll, memories faded into the background of every day woes and joys. It’s hard to tell, but sometimes when I try really hard to remember… I can still see her lips smiling back at me.

11-aug-10

101 ways to avoid the vote

2010-08-10T06:12:00.000-07:00

1. Don't register
2. Register clinically insane
3. Send them hate mail
4. Burn parliament
5. ...then write them and tell them it was you.
6. Organise a red revolution
7. Drown the Prime Minister
8. Drown the opposition leader.
9. Drown them all.
10. Buy a pistol and shoot the fine.
11. Pay someone else to vote for you.
12. Get paid to vote for someone else.
13. Leave the country.
14. Lose yourself in a permanent acid trip
15. ...then vote for the pink elephant.
16. Organise a coup at the local school where the ballot boxes are held.
17. Befriend the Secretary-General.
18. Buy the S.G. a classy hooker.
19. Buy the S.G. a sheep.
20. Photograph the S.G. with a sheep and bribe him.
21. Excersice your right of free speech and declare war on the country.
22. Excersice your leg muscles and kick the ballot box until they kick you out.
23. Start a hippy commune in the desert.
24. Hide in a bush
25. Hide in your lover's bush
26. Claim sexual freedom and parade around parliament naked.
27. Ex-patriate to the Carribean.
28. Handcuff yourself to the Prime Minister and set her on fire
29. Become conjoined twins with the Prime Minister
30. Have a hangover on the final day of registrar
31. Read the policies of all the parties and burn their pamphlets in disgust
32. Live in a cave so they can't find you
33. Build a house in the cave and invite all your friends to live there
34. Declare your house a seperate nation and start a despot society
35. Declare society perforated and stick your cock in the holes
36. Declare the vote to be nothing more than a piece of paper and throw it in their faces.
37. Refuse to leave the house, even if they ask politely.
38. Don't vote, recieve your fine in the mail, frame it and sell it as pop art for tiwce what the fine is worth.
39. Go to America and vote there, they need you more.
40. Become our king.
41. Become our queen.
42. Become a queen and try to sleep with the S.G.
43. Succesfully sleep with the S.General then write an autobiography and sell the book succesfully off his fame.
44. Claim to be from the Shining Path
45. Claim a family connection to Jesus
46. Claim Jesus told you not to vote.
47. Claim they're all reptiles.
48. Claim they're all damned dirty apes.
49. Build a ladder to heaven and live on an asteroid with the little prince.
50. Smoke some weed and tell them not to worry so much.
51. Smoke some weed and forget to tell them anything.
52. Give the Queen a good time
53. Give the Prince a good time.
54. Give the papers a good story.
55. Wish you were back in Kansas.
56. Take Tony Abbott's innocence.
57. ...then give it back to his daughter.
58. Cross the border to Mexico and live as a holy man.
59. Sell all your posessions and pay your way off the grid.
60. Join a cult and give your vote the the leader
61. Love them until they tell you to go away.
62. Fill fizzler sticks with cocaine and hand them out with your business card.
63. Follow them around without saying anything until they send you for rehabilitation.
64. Realise this is a lucid dream and wake up.
65. Stare at the television until you don't care anymore.
66. Send telepathic messages to them saying kill... kill....
67. Brainwash the nation into focussing their powers on re-creating cats the musical for your entertainment.
68. Brainwash the nation into voting for you
69. ...then proclaim yourself the next messiah and take all the women to a desert island.
70. Shoot the Prime Minister and blame it on Oswald.
71. Shoot Oswald and blame it on the Prime Minister.
72. Start a flag producing company and weave a micro penis into every flag in the country, only revealing your actions once your master plan is complete
73. ...and subsequently be extradited.
74. Make love and forget about it
75. Make love in the ballot line
76. Make love in the jail cell
77. Join the space program and forget to return to Earth
78. Give your vote to the aliens in space
79. Give your vote to the mailman
80. Give your vote to Stalin and proclaim a democratic communist take-over.
81. Get wasted every day.
82. Spike the punch and get them wasted every day.
83. Become a vagabond.
84. Become a hobo.
85. Give them your neighbours address and hit the road.
86. Follow the yellow brick road and get lost in the land of Oz.
87. Tell them you have no arms so you can't vote
88. ...when they ask for proof cut theirs off.
89. Create artificial intelligence and give your vote to it.
90. Marry your robot in international waters and never come back.
91. Spit in their faces.
92. Throw wine in their faces.
93. Throw your face into their face.
94. Change your name and have plastic surgery.
95. Live in a stormwater drain under the local police station, they never look close to home.
96. Stare at the ballot box until they tell you to go home
97. Bring a cat to stare at the ballot box until they tell you to go home.
98. Become a crazy cat lady.
99. ...get a sex change if you're a man.
100. Drink laxatives on the day of the ballot
101. ...and shit in the box.

10-aug-10

True dreams.

2010-08-06T06:55:00.000-07:00

I don't know,

if you know what

it feels like,

to sit on a tram,

talking to a man

balding from

cancer discussing

how he has wasted

his life on drugs,

how he can no longer rent

or pay mortgage,

own a home,

have a family because he

has nothing left but for his

street drug addiction.

Do you know what it's like to look in a mirror?

Dear Adelaide.

2010-08-05T05:59:00.000-07:00

I know why I'm a vagabond now,
i'll always be alone,
thought i'd be round for once,
lasted three days now.
Oh I travel alone, in search for this
normality society preaches,
oh how I've loved and lost every time.
I ain't crying for the change I've been
given all these times,
just wish you knew how important
they were to me.

note

2010-08-05T05:43:00.000-07:00

I wave

forget you

my mind unable

to imagine your

incomprehensible

complexity, imag-

ination not so

strong as the eyes

when they see

you next.

My mind refreshed...

On failure

2010-08-03T06:43:00.000-07:00

Attempts at writing negatively went negatively.

On dietary failure.

Consider it a bona-fide trait of a douche if you must but I find it hard to search back in my mind to find a moment in time where failure has been the one topic on my mind, it occurs to me that this is either entirely due to Freudian repression or that I never fail... although Freudian repression would explain why I can't remember most of my 19th birthday. In trying to find the humour in my failures (as I'm sure all wise buddha have done, pfft) I think back to a more recent attempt of home cooking for the new household.

On the pursuit of women and inevitable failure.

As it is right now I very rarely have anything I actually need to do in a day and because of this finding something to occupy my scarily large amounts of spare time has become an increasingly humorous affair. As a result of this I have a tendency to spend a lot of time in places I don't belong which I guess imbues a sense of invincibility in me, I figure - in my own little dream world that if I'm not meant to be there then anything that does go wrong can be disbarred in my memory and put aside in the 'do not remember' pile. So with this mindset safely concreted into my ego, my housemate and myself were sitting around today, bored to death when we decided to visit his university and bum around, because what is more entertaining than going back to school on your day off? There are two things my male mind remembers from visiting the university today. Racing office chairs through the middle of the grounds and that cute girl that I tried to get the attention of. I look back now in reflection and both of those events are rather ridiculous attempts to garner attention from the general public, successful or not entirely dependent on how I look at it.

What is it about coffee?

2010-07-21T20:48:00.001-07:00

Sipping god's nectar, brown gold, brain juice or, coffee as it's called by regular people seem to have become somewhat of a cultural revolution, it personifies people through what and how they drink it. So as I sit here drinking my coffee, which is by no means interesting compared to the wide array of cooky coffee concoctions currently available at your local watering hole, I can't help but ponder how this little cup of bliss brings out the quirkiest of personlity traits locked away in my couped up ego. I mean just on the moment of my coffee's arrival I'm already awe-struck by the elaborate, hell almost mystical, cute little love heart shape created by the artiste in charge of brewing my adrenaline hit. How is it possible, that such an elaborate piece of visual art, can be intended to be molested by my spoon as I pour and stir my sugar into the innocent coffee, it's nigh on artistic murder! But alas it does keep me coming back for more, hopefully assuring myself that because there is the same little heart on every baby coffee, that the decal merely appears and disappears to and from our reality, getting the hell outta here before it has to deal with any spoons.

Safe in the assumed knowledge of the hearts safety, a glance at the café's wall reveals coffee cups galore, big ones, small ones, paper ones, glass ones, I feel I could safely assume coffee cups are about the most diversity many Americans will ever encounter. It's almost bewildering to think that if the lady to my right is drinking a café latte like myself, that it can be so, so, so different to mine, perhaps because of her previous marriage she sticks her pinkie out when she takes a sip and that from ordering coffee for so many years from different cafés she has made an almost obsessive compulsive habit of asking the waiter for two sugars, only to get the reliantly frequent reply "You put the sugar in yourself". Now assume that perhaps I can relate to her out-there two sugars and pinkie latte, then what if I attempt the unthinkable and speak to some exotic coffee drinker, someone who drinks say; saigon or dare I go as far as ... a mocha. One can only imagine what anecdotes they might provide: "Back in the summer of '92 I was baked off my tits when I discovered De-caf mocha with soy, been drinkin' it ever since", or "my ex drunk short black ferociously, he broke up with me because I couldn't keep up with his pace in almost everything, since then I drink one double shot short black with every meal in the hopes he'll take me back", yes I feel people who can't deal with a simple latte might just be to much of a handful for me. Unless of course the cute girl on table 7 drinks mocha... then I might just be able to make an exception.

Why not try my hand at poetry. All the beret's are doing it.

2010-07-20T00:06:00.000-07:00

Live not free *On the current of life
It pushes one *To not where you desire

To find introverted *Despair reveals true the heart
Limits will show *Seeds of desire left stagnant

Written on skin *Your soul for all revealed
Wish not against *Their soul equally for display

Through great words *Few such men are remembered
Through great actions *Such men will write history

___

Arguments
drop them in my mailbox
I won't be
around to read into
what anger will
undoubtably be written
in our
actions

don't forget to
put a stamp on
it.

___

Brown; shit.
Brown; coffee.
Brown; heroine.

___

God gave men,
testicles.

God gave men,
pain.

God is a man,
kick him the balls,
when you see him.

How about a little forced introversion?

2010-07-20T00:04:00.000-07:00

A girl walked up to me today with a questionnaire, a faltering step and nervous eye contact tell me she doesn't do this very often. "Hi, do you mind if I ask you some questions?", no backstory, straight into it, she definitely isn't doing this because she wants to, I can only imagine the boring teacher who has tasked her kids with finding out useless information about society (either that or her teacher is a commie spy). "Is fashion important to you?" she blurts out, how does she expect me to answer that? We'd all like to think fashion is second nature to us all, I ask her: "can I say maybe?", I mean c'mon, it's not like I go shopping for clothes, but hell, I'll make pajamas look cool if I have to. To my dismay, she doesn't allow me to wank my ego, "sorry only yes or no", well that's great, now I have to pull down my little iron curtain and admit it... or lie "no, no fashion doesn't really mean anything to me", I mean how could it, there's faaaar more people who pay attention to what they wear, it's all relative... right? She scribbles down my first answer, I can safely guess I'm going to have to create a temporary persona to answer the rest of the questions now that I've said I don't care about fashion (look I don't alright, I seriously would go into the city in pajamas, I swear), out pops the next few questions "Do you think fashion has an influence on society", it depends, do you think walking around naked would have an influence on society?. "What does fashion mean to you, expensive, an art collection, or other?", you know I've got to answer expensive, is it a sign of my demographic though? Poor coffee sipping boheme hipster-wanker, who can only afford an annual budget of $0 on clothes? Perhaps I have worked labels up in my head as a direct correlation to money, and we all us coffee sippers know that money is evil, do I really find label clothing to be the bane of society? This girls questionnaire is beginning to reveal more about my personality than I'd like to know I think. So here I'm sat, thinking to myself "this far into the personality profiling she could begin telling me what I was about to answer" and was I right, I could see her holding the pen to the answer she felt was about to be blurted out of my mouth. I thought I was cool, original, digging not caring what the world thought of my look, when here comes an innocent school girl to shatter my delusions! She looks happy as she finishes the last question, with a cute grin says "thanks!" and walks off, proud to be another page closer to going home, "Wait a second" my friend next to me notes, "...she didn't ask me anything!", oblivious to the fact that I have obviously just saved him from soul crushing introversion!

note

2010-07-20T00:00:00.000-07:00

A face to the words. Enjoy what is to come.

Sonic Manipulator

2008-05-05T02:03:00.000-07:00

For those of you who live in Melbourne, holy crap he has a face!