Society draft #1

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

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

J

smiling memoirs

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

J