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| Saturday April 01 |
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[3:04 pm] END OF TRANSMISSION
This blog comes to a head. This blog comes to an end. Adieus to this blog.
New blood awaits you elsewhere. From March 2006 onwards.
:: three worlds away from anywhere in the world ::
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| | Tuesday March 21 |
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[12:35 am] HOW'S IT GOING TO END
Gone to Vietnam. Alone.
210306 |
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| | Sunday March 19 |
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[2:07 pm] WANDERFUSS
It doesn't matter where you go, where you wander. |
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| | Saturday March 18 |
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[10:54 pm] TIME, THOU BE SLAYED
A: Are you keeping time? Quick, tell me where you're keeping time!
B: It's lying at the bottom of my bed.
A: Has it fallen asleep yet?
B: No, I think it's waiting for the stopwatch to get it started.
A: (nudging time) Hang on there... I think it's dead.
B: Maybe it's all shot to hell.
A: You do realise that we've killed time without even trying, do you?
B: I probably fed it too many cello classes.
A: Father Time is possibly pissed at you for killing his son. He might be after you next.
B: Time after time!
190306 |
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| | Thursday March 16 |
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[10:13 pm] AS SURE AS BOGUS
I think I have found the answer to life. The answer is 'escape', and if you think I mean killing yourself, I don't, you idiot.
Close answers include 'distraction', 'bogus living' and 'boatrowing'.
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| | Tuesday March 14 |
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[2:17 am] MARCH OF THE MANGUIN
A week in excess. Time is bliss is more solo travel.
150306 |
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| | Saturday March 11 |
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[4:47 pm] BLEED AND BLED
Cambleedia, safeye. (2006).
120306 |
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| | Tuesday March 07 |
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[5:13 pm] FOUGHTER
n
(fg tr)
SOMEONE WHO FOUGHT IN THE PAST AND NOW NO LONGER FIGHTS. e.g. "He's a boxer but his boxing gloves are all hung up. That's a foughter for you. It's all over for him."
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| | Monday February 27 |
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[4:40 pm] TATTVA. OR, A NEW BOOK CAN ONLY CHANGE YOUR MINDSET FOR SO LONG.
It is time for my insightful post of the day. Here in front of my stark white grey desk, with the feet slightly peeking out of its shoes, I have nothing to say. The TV has yellow unyellowed Post-It notes all over it. They have no chance; they get shown the bin. I imagine people dragging their lazy feet across the carpet floor with no one hearing the gorging sounds as the carpet silences them. I am listening to Nick Cave pleading on soft speakers. I would like a piano-driven intention, motivation and a will. My notebook is burried underneath silly Q&As. The air is dry from all the sun sucking on it.
The papers on the walls shake in rhythm to the wind. The screen flickers when you don't stare at it. The tea is tantric acid and it is going up into the sky, waiting for the next rain to fall. The cronies are here. I think I would be frightened. Punch Drunk Love Quick Sing A Song.
Quiet time is too quiet with quiet time. More descriptions: outside the window some
left right diverts turns a swimming pool lies, seething in the ground. It would like to join the forces of nature but there is one catch: it has been bleached.
Darn.
280206 |
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| | Sunday February 26 |
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[3:14 am] DREAM DALLIANCE
I received a wake-up call last weekend. It came from the unlikeliest of sources. It was the first time we met. He batted playful remarks at me. I could say nothing back. I think I am becoming duller and duller.
He was a romantic. "What's happened to your tongue?" It was as if he could hear me think, eight years ago.
"Nothing, nothing. I hear the feet of rats under the doors. Nothing."
Nevertheless, I enjoyed our strange meeting. He reminded me of someone I had seen in a dream, who had a black cape, and as he walked, flapped all about him fantastically like a fashion statement, like a great standoff. We were snaking our way through the narrow corridor of a train exit, and there were steps leading to a flight of steps. I knew the pursuit was coming to an end.
I also knew that admiration was far from knowing.
I knew at that instant that I had found happiness. It was going to come swiftly. But how long would it last? We faced each other and that happiness, it stood right there. But soon I noticed that I wasn't the only one following him. Someone else had trailed me. And I saw that it was the pound owner, as he held up a pair of keys, I knew that we were dogs, and these were the keys to our cages.
And that was how it ended.
But with this one that still seems somewhat sweet and bitter, like when you bite your tongue too hard, I don't know how long it will be till I dare to come face to face with it like I did in the first meeting, possibly bore it to death, and drink a cup of tea with it.
260206 |
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