home and whip the horses

the days of new, the forest is no different to the city and the waves and endloss expanse of blue water that joins the sky somewhere out there is the same as the people that wander these streets trying to figure out where the happiness lies.  Everywhere and at every instant, the possibilities for it is infinite.  I welcome the new year and have some great plans for some great new works.  Fighting the good fight for the freedom of expression on at least a few of australias dwindling streets in its hastily gentrifying streets.  the time was and  ever will be in the now and i will make you know my name.  Even if the skies above should break and the angels descend there will be no distraction from the absolute which is ever and always; upon us.

into the dark sacred night.

step back to mother

time and tide wait for none.

the time grows short, the hours descend and the blackness is at its thickest,
i leave this city and travel into the gathering summer, into the wild the forest and into the country where
nature waits, with tangled bough and shimmering surface.
the road leads to nowhere, to the womb to the close family.  the city is the beast as well, for we are everything but something other than the animal, but nevertheless the wild awakes in all who listen a perspective that is universal and carries the complete wisdom of life.
Beyond the high reaching cement and glass and beyond the ribbons of black tar and rock that wrap this ancient landmass.
Where the blue waters hustle and sigh, where the air is salty and the bush is tangled over the rocks before it leads into the dark shadowy glades and fens where the rocky rivers run.

the country, my country, our country, the wilderness, where the city runs silent behind me and the ancient traditions continue in from of me.  the sky is endless and no light betrays its best intentions.
but none of this matters.
its magic is in the sublime and only contemplation and patience and the eventual silence of the mind trick it into drifting into your fragile eggshell mind like a drug that never fades.

have a great christ mass and new year,
if i am not eaten by a shark i will return in the new year.

vaya con dios amigos

in a little while all the streets will be clean and we will fall into the new

sway and the world sways with you
the tall and the weak
the tired and the sweet

It comes at last and takes away the temporary and leaves the bitter taste of ignorance, the foolish space between.  Always, because the fool is only wise if he knows his folly.  Because i cease to exist at times, i move through this life in the body of a human but this is all that will tell of this, and perhaps a ghost of a memory of a life long gone.  Shoddy projector you say.  But i was born in this form and so i will die in it despite all the may come to pass.
And i have tasted a water that was older than the stones.  And i have slept in the cradle of the dawn.
So this is my salute to that life which has lifted me up to where i stand now on the cusp of the new which is also the old and all that which these words can only and should only to others give such brief hints, and always without the stamp of an ego.

the sum of all my efforts is none
in the end
who will count
and so shall it be.

the seas are all around us and we we born for the swim

light in the eternal city of night.
the shadows race from it as it flicks between the columns and then is gone.
old air that barely stirs as we push through it.
each footfall pushing up a grasping, collapsing hand of dust
it falls away and we are standing on the edge of a grassy field that leads to the ocean.
blue waves crash into white as they sigh and flow onto the fading stamp of land.
the air is warm and the sky is calm and filled with a growing sun.
we walk towards the sea, there is a small rise that hides the beach but we never seem to reach it.
dandelions pass under our feet and the bee's rise from clover, faces covered with the pollen.
but the beach moves out and away, slowly at first but quickening and now clouds race up from the horizon and a fierce wind begins to blow and the lands shake.  we turn and behind us comes a stampede, all animal great and tiny they veer round us our eye in the storm.  racing by, from ever continent, those that crawl and those that run, those that fly and those that slide.
and they are gone and behind them are the shimmering fields of dunes.
the clouds descend.
darkness pursues.
a dying insect trampled in the terror, kicks itself around the hard green grass, pushing itself around and around in a futile struggle against its time.
i turn back towards the ocean but there is nothing but blackness and even the ground beneath seems to tear itself away.
and then there is silence.
silence and a different shade of black, the cloud is lighter and the air smells of damp earth and fog.
the horizon is defined by rolling hills of blackness and a copse relieve the moon on its path towards me across the dew and the silver cloud.
little holes in the sky remind me of other worlds and a falling star divides the sky for a moment and then is gone.
we are all alone now.
if we raised our hands up they would fall away into nothing.
split into their compositional fibers and molecules and rejoin the plasma the gave birth to all life and what all life will once more become. spreading from our hands through the mystery of our clothing until we are complete.
again.

reign on our parade

autumn is clutching still at the lower half of this continent, some people also refer to it as australia.  Cold fronts this late in the year surely point to the la nina weather influence which crushes certain weather conditions onto this place.  Makes the grass grow greenerer anyway.  And at least we don't have a drought anymore and it will make the bushfire season a little offset perhaps.  Unpredicatable water and sea conditions will however make the sailors dig their heels into the dry docks and shiver in the squally conditions or toast mashed mallows over little tins of kerosene and talk of la mer.
 Campers better pack their tarps and shovels cause your digging drains and drying wet wood to smoke yourselves yellow while your babies cry as they are fed upon by mosquitoes and even the koala bears will probably take shelter under your car and maul whoever decides to approach what is now their territory.  Apart from that, take care on the roads and drive safe.  Over to Bruce now with the Sport.
Bruce: Thanks Reginald, you sure are a relentless optimist, how about i come down to melbourne some time and we both slit our wrists in a spa bath of warm champagne.
Reginal:  Thanks Bruce your such a comedian.
Bruce: i wasn't joking.
Reginald:
Bruce: man whore

god takes care of old people and fools, the devil takes care of all the rules

the summer chills take hold in the uncertain lights and the houses all tucked warm and well swept shine monotonously from their roots to their pretty eaves.  My hands are folded and stretched and the empty streets by night that i ply know my name by this or that letter and a gesture of limitless life.  Silence and noise are my only friends and each takes a turn at holding me down while the other runs for water and to just fly across the streets in fitzroy.  Look away to your window where the outside world is hushed even in its cacophony, where the greens lead to grey and to the lost colours that hide behind the shadows and tangle with the other lives that ponder past unperturbed by a lossless train of thought that bypassess every station and never dries your pens or inks untill it's carriages part before a widening sun that consumes it and all your thoughts and the infinity is washed with the beginning of a new chapter, shapely like the last and only earmarked by the slight chance, the same that rules all of this.  World

and we went down in the valley, to pray

and the distant ships come rolling in.   Their masts are bare and their rotten sails litter the decks strewn with ruin.  not a soul come to throw in the bowlines.  Not a soul greets the smiling eyes.  Not a soul catches the last disapearing rays of sun before the darkness runs across the stones to the quay.  Beneath the ships the water ever and after stirs.  the wood creaks and groans and speaks of its own in a tongue thrice forgotten.  The beggar laughs and the crowd looks and he points to the moon, a sliver in the sky, being devoured by a hungry beast.

a mountain in reign leans down into a valley of black water

high up there in the shrouded peaks lurks a dark beast, its hair is matted with the guilty souls that have dared to tread past its keep, up there, high in the hidden, away in the russet grasses and the cold windy barren lands, where rocks are ever cold and the sun is a distant friend whose rare smile is but an echo upon this hungry face.  a thousand steps lead to here and a thousand further still upward into the blackness and the ice beyond.  But here, here waits Sikel, the barren one, the leering sleeper all slumbering in an empty land.  There are not even bones simply shale, crushed up and sucked dry, little splinters of what once held flesh and sinew in place and now, ha-ha tasty sweet flesh, suck it from the brittle bones and grind them down to gain the moist marrow.  Such feasts had Sikel had, times of old where marauding armies came and never left and time when pilgrimages to the old palaces came and never left, ha-ha, such excess.  But time were growing on and Sikel was grey now and its own bones began to creak and bemoan the cold and the wind.  Catechu was the first to get past Sikel since Sikel had taken root here, and to be worse Catechu had laughed and mocked as it fired past and up the step into the mist and darknesssss above.  Sikel began to live of the fat slime fish that inhabited the stagnant marsh pond and after a while realised the humans do not like being chewed.

slowly at first like a crocus in spring breaks the ice

it shatters the land's surface and inhabits that spot where there was only days ago the white coveted earth.
the petals are shut but the suns lengthening gaze warms it to the pistol.
the silver life in its veins charges like a geyser and the sublime shivers.
there is a grove of beech beyond the rocky field and beyond is mountains snowy and distant.
there is a steely blue sky above and beyond there are clouds wispy with a grey weight that drags them across the craggy rocks and down into the valley below.

endloss sleep on the turbid waters neath clouded moon

fragile baby dreaming with little clenches as the dreams ripple through from neverwhere into the physical plane of now.   Ripples echo the halls and river caverns and the roots of the trees soak up the tiny threads of life.  winds restless and growing push in and swirl around and the colours of the street outside tremour with the mottled sun.  satan in inside with me and waits by the window smoking a cigar and drinking cheap cognac.  The smoke curls up and tugs at the blind before being snatched out the window into the glassless boundary.  the wall is a little white and tape appears at the edges where draughts taper into the permanent matt finish of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne, of melbourne.  living la vida loca
joi de vie

caetechu and the island of souls

crush in the ancient gallery as the faces peer up from the stone and wall around and dusty light flickers and cascades from a hole in the distant ceiling.  the faces lidless keep watch and every footfall echoes down and along the corridor.  In the distance there is a dreadful drumming, a monotonous throb that rolls the sand beneath me.  waves of the sound echo and shimmer around me bound by the earth and the stagnant air.
I push on into the darkness and follow a winding staircase down, into the belly of the mountain, following the drum and its hypnotic snare, bound around my spirit and walking me, into the valley below.

tired eyes in the holow scul

the flesh is still peeling out at the kiss of the lime slaked and raking fangs across the folicles.  All music is broken and re-assembled before me and the black and white memory is an italian passer by.  Pedestrons on a sidewalk that seem to know me better than i know me and know me from a passers by opinion and their little thoughts and words and that it passes back to me makes me nauseaous and changes my opinion of my opinion of my grace and my race onto the train goin my way.


al i really care about it the silence in the space between my heart beats where all illusion drops to the sides and where the bass drop in some of these tracks.  Death the surreal skeleton hunched in my slit eyes and chasing my shadow to get close to where i am still.

still.

christmas in michigan

an island of a kind forever
and ever into the night
upon a lazy afternoon
we set out to the light

with a broken back and shoes
with holes right through
the patchwork quilt
authentic enough for two

the light changes too quick to hold
and the stars take over
the mould of the dusty sky
is forever in my eyes

where the distant winter is already
kissing anothers cheeks
i'll see you again so soon
always before i am steady

the beat of fives is a harder glass
filled with a with a wine
more for me than you
but sometimes its itch will pass

and it was gone.

galloway befriends the yellow ghost

the beach was pure and white despite the frightfully grey and sleety rain with clouds
grounds still squeeled under foot and paw and the shadows of the dunelands there were definitions
i looked up towards the running water rolling towards me in three's then it leaves
back down the beach towards its mother the weight behind the sprawling fingers
and the prints again, swirling behind me one two and thee, the three none on bended knee
it's a forever kind of beach and the island out there we'll never reach and never care to
reef rings it and throws back towards land and the distant waves break over that
can you taste the salty air like when you visit the windy beach in winter the one time that you always recall
when the wind was full of ocean spray and the foamy waves smash into each other with chaos
a desert of water further than you can see and deeper still into the black and crooked floor with all its animals
old tire marks gasp for breath as they are drowned by rolling sand and little white shells mosaic the floor
the seabirds are used to it though the gulls look pissed and their usually sneering eyes sneer with vigor
and a single breath is enough to fill the body with all its magic and the mind doesn't work so hard at all                  

blessed are the pure of heart

green is the grass and blue is the sky before the night is close, a grey cloud takes a breath from the sun and then the golden light touches me again.  The death is all around me and it has my blood on its insect wings.  A steel grate lines the dirt and the grass leads to here in a gentle slope.  Trees and things bend and move and little bark takes up root in my hand, my wings unfold and shimmer behind me and then stretch out and blow the dust from the webs and all the animals turn around and the ground is soft with pine needles and the air is cleaner than the air in the grey and black and white city.  windows outside my window reflect the trees' outside my window and their fresh greenery.  it is black and orange in the night and moves ever.  god is in my empty mind and satan rests on either hand, humans will be extinct before the last tree is gone from the earth and i must be getting somewhere, because it's taking less and less effort to appreciate the beauty of life.