I wish I could transform into
Godzilla
And smash everything.
You all flee from me in panic, but
I don’t care
Because I’m too busy smashing
Everything
And also, because of the question
I wish I was the exploding man
From that TV series, “Heroes”
I would explode right now, and I
Hopefully wouldn’t hurt anyone,
Just make a nice big explosion,
Maybe collapse some walls
Because I could,
And because of the question
If I know that I’m going to feel ok again soon, then what’s the point of feeling like this right now?
?
“I’m gonna hurl myself against a wall,
because it’s better to feel bad, than feel nothing at all”
[a quote from a song by Warren Zevon]
I will fill this area of the page with words, so as not to waste paper. As predicted, the Godzilla-exploding man mood passed overnight. And the question, what is the point, echoed through time. All things pass after All. Then we come back to the paradox of absolutes, that beautiful paradox: if nothing is, then all is.
If nothing is original, then everything is original.
If nothing has an ultimate purpose, then everything has an ultimate purpose
What, then?
Just so that it could happen, so that event could come to life.
Flee, fly! Responsibility is coming! Abandon everything, yes, there’s no time. Too late, it caught you, lured you in with shiny dreams.
But it’s not so bad, after a while you will forget why you were running.
The pay is bad, but the hours are long.
And somebody’s got to do it.
Apparently
No-one home
Just me and the noises
Just me and the objects
The air is coloured by Shankar Shankar
Just Just Just Just Just
Peril… boredom
Peril… solitude
Sure there are things I could be doing. But for now I will sit and taste the stillness. Like fine wine.
I haven’t had a fine wine
For the longest time
Just when I get to enjoy it, I will get joined by the people.
It already happened
‘tis grand, ok,
I can keep writing on
I don’t know George, but I know people
Spending more than too much time looking for a pen that works, so that I can put words on this page.
We were drunk on the power of glue guns, leather offcuts, curly pipes, and something else. That’s all I’ve written sofa
My mind has a mind of its own, so the song tells me. Today I discovered that time flies, even when you’re not having fun.
Really I just don’t want to go back to the cardboard, the papier mash-up, the prawns.
White floor, white ceilings,
Squashed in between the whiteness, uncountable logos. The brands are fishing for eyeballs, they use tricky lures, this is a good fishing hole. These eyeballs are easily caught. I wandered through K-mart, that store that gives me such an urge to steal something. They sensed it, checked my bag on the way out. Just props. They only checked my front pocket, damn, I could have. I see a product called shameze, or ShamEze, or SHAMEze
Spring is here, what a thing.
The brilliant sun vies for attention with the raging storm. Apollo and Thor doing their party tricks just for us. All around me is Brunswickness. Brunswicked, there is no rest for us. No respite, no smoko. We are busy giving our piece of life, liveliness to these concrete surfaces. Like mice running in wheels, we all work to create this place, this community, the kind of place we would like to live. Word to the nonnas, the mammas, the relentless drive of coffee, the paste-ups, the people with nowhere else to go. We choose to be here, for this reason we can consider ourselves lucky. That word calls forth that old memory, wisdom from the unlikeliest places.
“There’s no such thing as luck. It’s just opportunity meets motivation.”
This of course doesn’t account for bad luck. Opportunities are everywhere, you just have to know how to look. Misfortune is everywhere too, but you don’t have to look for it. It finds you.
Getting to the end of the book now, time to start filling the empty pages that are, like this one, stuck between much earlier pages. When I lost this book, I struggled to know what to call it. “I can’t find my book.” Too ambiguous. “Diary” no, I have one of those and it’s boring. “Journal”, so serious, who am I, Hemingway? Going back to these pages brings a realization, that everything you do is a diary entry, and everything you make. Be
No comments:
Post a Comment