tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4754864889364894292011-07-30T20:19:09.187-07:00someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.comBlogger651100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-88208645287586077152011-06-30T13:43:00.000-07:002011-06-30T13:46:51.732-07:00

In a rice field, you and Iwhere form and shadow meetadmitting soaking secret spurtsamidst the sunburnt ripening seedswe mould our bodies wrapped in silk flesh spreading mud on fleshTo plant your soul threads deep withinfingers sculpting hard to softsenses thick and glisten crisp breaths thinning breaths entwinedchests stretching swell to meet.Hidden from world’s hurried liesWe pace to the

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-83718014999656250152011-06-29T14:20:00.000-07:002011-06-29T14:25:37.964-07:00

The man had scraped together six dollars and thirty cents, just enough for a slice of pizza and a bit of dirty water. “This makes me a bit of a regular now, twice in three months,” he beamed at the television set in the corner. Cameras flashed. A Minister spat into a microphone. Everywhere was news, amusement and abuse. But he didn’t complain—it was, after all, warmth from the chill, and a

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-47530662850343917422011-06-23T02:32:00.000-07:002011-06-23T02:53:01.936-07:00

Every man has a myth, and every myth has a pom pom.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-71600760931044066262011-06-20T21:35:00.001-07:002011-06-20T21:40:13.736-07:00

You move skyward, until the air clears, and the moon’s shimmer is just beyond your grasp. The skirt of your garment floats like feathers, and behind the rush of wind nothing but stillness in the night. You dive backwards giggling, doing somersaults over and around, until you glimpse a form floating towards you. What’s in a name? He asks, tilting his head in a question. You ponder and open

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-12238880519446623072011-06-20T21:22:00.000-07:002011-06-20T21:34:54.609-07:00

The broken man at a wooden pianoSqueezes out half a tuneEchoes in the Washburn chamberUpon it hyacinths in bloom. He no longer recallsThe Old ShanghaiGlimpses so, fragments bareWhite streaks in the sky

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-7564580422201873902011-06-18T23:34:00.000-07:002011-06-18T23:59:48.768-07:00

The lemonade sweats in the shade, and Peter is cutting off lizards' tails again. Someone somewhere is having a barbeque, while the cicadas dance to a rehearsing trumpet miles away. The woman rolls onto her stomach, crunching the dry grass beneath her. She shuts her eyes to the sun, but feels at sea, unmoored and drifting left and right, floating eastward.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-42232147091078504012011-06-17T19:42:00.000-07:002011-06-17T21:08:58.368-07:00

She would stand for hours before the mirror. She would place one foot in front of the other, turn her body to the left, turn her body to the right, move in, move back, then turn to shuffle her feet again. It was always easy to tell when she liked when she saw. She would smile, gesture at herself with her hand in a fanning motion, and make approving sounds. She never did, but if she looked into

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-68265919141245893582011-06-15T23:03:00.000-07:002011-06-15T23:09:28.616-07:00

Her cheap perfume overpowers the burning onions. She must have sprayed between her breasts, barely contained in her dress. She is moving her lips, prattling on about the latest movies, hinting, no doubt, that I should take her. Instead I watch her forehead creasing and uncreasing, as drops begin to form between the lines. Is it the heat from the boiling pot of pasta, or is it discomfort from

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-74709952474590895382011-06-14T01:21:00.000-07:002011-06-14T02:05:07.391-07:00

I could have been a psychologist, an actor, an editor. I could have been a journalist, a teacher, an architect. I could have been a doctor, a night nurse, a social worker. I could have been a pianist, a violinist, a Nobel winner.I could have been an astronaut, an astrophysicist, a rock star. I could have been a William, a priest, a film director.I could have been a loving wife, a confidant, a

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-80261305503399633172011-06-12T23:47:00.000-07:002011-06-13T00:00:29.013-07:00

The ant took it as a sign of his final downfall when he landed on the hard plastic of a maxed-out credit card. He had advanced more than thirty centimetres carrying an enormous crumble of sausage when a keratin force sent him flying into the air. At the highest point, he saw his childhood home deep within the confines of a brass Indian typewriter, and was momentarily engrossed in tiny memories

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-66852021443505666662011-06-11T02:23:00.000-07:002011-06-11T02:32:17.433-07:00

On the marble terrace, in a seaweed coat, the man sat on his swing. The hint of tea in his glass of lemon was not quite strong enough. "Fucking Iris," he thought, and felt it was time again. They never last long, but this one unusually so. The rat poison this time perhaps, or the ceremonial knife in the head. There's the axe in the shed, or the cement in the garden. The barrel of red in the

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-88803074951798117752011-06-10T00:28:00.000-07:002011-06-10T00:30:52.780-07:00

Here you areblueberries in the grassa green door wherethings that shouldn't bea letter boxand red boxed lettersbodies full of ailmentsthree times oldwhisperto break fast by the fall have meby a lanternlots and lots of sunthen at lastsomething for the wood on wood

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-21416523112202736122011-06-10T00:06:00.000-07:002011-06-10T00:09:14.379-07:00

The child has been watching a solitary goose in the pond for hours. Should he grow bored this minute, should he grow tired, should he skip back to the house, he would see his father through the back window. He would see his father bound to the legs of a vinyl chair. He would see his father's open mouth masked by tape. He would also see the stranger, enormous in jealousy, set to rip off his

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-86355205819793686352011-06-09T00:01:00.000-07:002011-06-09T00:02:05.824-07:00

What is it about driving down ten-lane highways that makes me want to yank the steering wheel to the left, just a little? It starts, without fail, with a sob that comes from nowhere. A year ago I sobbed in the courtyard; two years ago I dared look at the horizon at the edge of the farm; three years ago I clawed my way up a cliff; and four years ago I flew sky high in the depths of winter. But

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-79670557200360411242010-08-24T22:03:00.003-07:002010-08-24T23:51:36.060-07:00

My parking permit expired yesterday, and I don't have the money for another until the end of next week. If I am not permitted to stop, then I might as well drown in this mirrored river, and keep within me the sound of these words dying. Some sounds crisp, some sounds fading, some sounds dulling the brain. I once believed in the declaratory power of words. Pen it, and it was. I believed this. I

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-45429337165831697942010-08-24T12:51:00.002-07:002010-08-24T12:59:32.305-07:00

There was something awkward about the three of us walking to your home hoping you would be there to answer the door. It was the days when the only way to find someone was to physically go to their place. We rode the train in silence, hopped the turnstiles in silence, walked in silence, having decided that a week was too long not to have your charm infusing our drunken conversations. We knocked

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-29628177782685740992010-08-23T03:44:00.002-07:002010-08-23T03:48:42.069-07:00

Within the close quarters of a housing estate, there was a bull. The largest blackest of bulls, and on its head an intricate set of horns ejaculating in all directions. It could have dreamt it was a moose, but it wasn't. On both sides of its body were singe marks where a branding iron had been: "Service with a Smile". Its hooves made a rhythmic but urgent heartbeat on the dirty tiles, on which

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-14478835062152554882010-08-20T12:35:00.004-07:002010-08-20T15:57:57.528-07:00

It is easy when they are young, gullible and in love with the world. All that is needed is some measure of attention, a kind word, and a bit of a smile, and they will trust you. I even made her go ask her mother to create some illusion of legitimacy. Some things you can't fake, but for everything else there is a mastermind. She ran to her mother and said I want to go to the park with Auntie

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-14515581024263613162010-08-18T17:22:00.002-07:002010-08-18T17:39:37.180-07:00

Pain in right knee; open eyes; stare at ceiling; close eyes; now knee throbbing; shift around; tuck quilt into a sleeping bag; pull quilt over head; hide; try to sleep again; shut eyes; one; two; shut eyes tight; three; wide!awake!; curse; peer at clock; will it to go faster; beg; will pay; fucking knee; then heart pounding; realising; recalling; forgetting who I am; remembering who I am not;

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-84608861784775471282010-08-18T00:23:00.004-07:002010-08-18T00:43:41.082-07:00

transience; circumstances; motion sickness; expectations; momentary; flowers wilting; explore; yesterday; tomorrow; now; flowers in full bloom; rot; before; soon; disappear; after; the now; the then; indifference; blue bottles; expire; you; i; word; wording; words; crowding; write; writing; writes; fuck; piss; shit; breathe; blink; skin cancer; barely moving; temporary relief; fiction; lies;

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-87012502578552511172010-08-17T10:58:00.000-07:002010-08-17T12:09:19.554-07:00

You stayed up all night to pack but left the floor for me to mop. I thought I was just here to take you to the airport but you made me help you clear out your apartment. It took a whole hour and an half in which time the hazard lights had drained the battery in my car, and once your bags and half your life were loaded it refused to start. There was a frantic rush while everyone ran around

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-49356246503087401812008-03-19T00:56:00.002-07:002008-03-19T01:02:44.902-07:00

So I’ve been clean for a year. That’s 365 days. You need to be here, I said at the time. I was on it for twelve months, at least, or maybe it was much longer. You remember the exact day and time you put an end to it but you never really know when it all began, kinda creeps up on you. You need to be here, I said again. But he said, Don’t worry about it, you know, lets you know you’re alive, and

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-62711404663545427892008-03-02T01:10:00.002-08:002008-03-02T01:13:55.324-08:00

Thirteen, they said, it keeps growing in the corner of my desktop. No sooner will it fade than they will place it on an inkstone chiselled with sharpened metal, and with the palm of their hand will smash it, pound it, grind it, scorching with ultraviolet light. Can’t it stay that way, can’t they leave it alone. Stop feeding, stop holding, stop loving, stop trying so fucking hard, or it will

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-51405128749030690562008-02-25T17:20:00.002-08:002008-02-25T17:28:15.767-08:00

I used to run ahead of you across the fields; across the wheat fields, mud fields, and across the grass baked crunchy by the afternoon sun. I would look back to laugh at you with hair falling between my eyes and across my face, taunting and teasing, stirring your indignity with the right words, like snow, like always. Your head would spin and your face would redden as you tried not to laugh. But

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-34466962026818128582008-02-11T01:30:00.000-08:002008-02-11T01:33:51.179-08:00

Most nights I put on soundtrack music in order to drown out the noise in my head. That is why I am sometimes woken up in the middle of the night by a Spanish man telling me I need to go find my son. Other times it’s an itinerant question uttered by a man about a ferry ticket, the answer to which is on another track randomised elsewhere. Or on some nights, just some now, it’s these incessant

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-89362093332271980422008-02-07T16:02:00.000-08:002008-02-07T16:23:50.759-08:00

My arms have gone numb from being squeezed between a thickset man and a well-built woman on this bus steaming with acid indigestion. About three stops ago people started looking over their shoulders at the suspicious package in my lap as the smell started to penetrate the butcher paper, the sticky tape, and then the plastic bag. Soon the bus driver will ask me to step off the bus probably,

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-15345111112831085282008-01-20T09:48:00.000-08:002008-01-20T09:53:24.538-08:00

Ask me. Don't leave me alone with my head. You know and I know that these are only rubbish words. I am not even good in support. Without you, the words fall away into a landfill. Without you, the words refuse to roll in the grass. Without you, I barely even register on the atmos track. Without you, I am obsessed with holes in my fingers. So splice me into your life. Give me but one frame a

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-38945356170053013002008-01-18T19:34:00.000-08:002008-01-18T19:43:30.874-08:00

I am someone halfway, and I am not a hoarder.I am not defined by the things I have kept since the age of three. I am not explained by shoeboxes of the miscellaneous bound with twine. I am not these shelves of books, not the archive of ticket stubs, not ancient textbooks, not red and blue paper kites with missing strings. I am not bound by tired rules of evidence, or by contemporary trusts. I am

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-51100423827555505682008-01-04T15:32:00.000-08:002008-01-04T15:50:52.990-08:00

Half the people in your apartment block have left for work by the time my watch reads 9.24 a.m. There is a young woman who steps out with two orbiting kids into the late morning sun at 11.52 a.m., her face seeming sunken and pasty, even from this distance. Then there are two old ladies from level three who emerge together, walking-frame by walking-frame, precisely at 1.37 p.m. – it takes them

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-57524109900466789112007-12-28T12:11:00.000-08:002007-12-28T12:28:48.001-08:00

These four blades have not moved since the beginning of winter. They have hung on thin threads, silently gathering winter dust. They diverge from the fragile centre of and above my head, an open sore of darkness blinking in quick succession. They descend upon me in an unspoken hush, to slice, to cut, perhaps to carve. I stare at the bulbous hub of mechanics at the core, until each blade is

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-73211812897201215692007-12-25T16:23:00.000-08:002007-12-25T16:25:34.683-08:00

It was the hammering of the nails, the chains, the chairs, the flat tire, and the basketball court that did us in. Ten years of wild world haven’t done us any good. Now we crawl all over the earth. They all thought we would succeed, cream of the crop, but now we can’t even converge on a single point of light. We all did our bit that day. Each of us. No one saw – we were sure, weren’t we. But

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-66270804370886722362007-12-12T23:40:00.000-08:002007-12-12T23:53:47.940-08:00

Passengers, so it has come to this, has it?You did not lift a finger to stop a woman from jumping onto the train tracks, but you found it necessary to complain to management about my “passive-aggressive" announcements. Who tolerates your drool, snores and greasy hair while you sleep in graceful air-conditioned carriage comfort? Who takes you home to your wife and screaming kids, not a moment too

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-13823132089554240642007-12-04T12:06:00.000-08:002007-12-04T12:09:13.431-08:00

When Doris found Bob dead at his desk, she was thirty-five, and she had not said a word to him for sixty-seven days. It was a smell that reminded her of fish broth forgotten in a hot summer room, and it was this smell that told her, even before she saw his head slumbered in a mountain of yellow tags. Her hand hovered, trembled, then gingerly traced his rubbery skin from the roughness of his

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-60314619978043591642007-11-21T11:56:00.001-08:002008-01-13T07:28:58.327-08:00

Passengers, for your safety and security, please report any untoward behaviour to transit officers. Recent tragic incidents could have been prevented by your diligence. The woman’s unsteady walk was obvious even on the grainy CCTV footage shown at the Inquiry. It was also telling that none of you turned to look at her. None of you saw how she was not ashamed of her nakedness, or how her hunched

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-54901790746546214782007-11-20T00:14:00.000-08:002007-11-20T00:16:14.055-08:00

Jaundiced. Maimed. Token fury from token mate. You labelled me, asphyxiated. Kneaded. Wedged and tainted. Hated, hesitated. Thrown and spun. Thrown and spun on a pin fixated.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-39094003306655686402007-10-24T06:42:00.000-07:002007-10-24T06:45:52.138-07:00

The first time Doris turned away from Bob in their bed, she was twenty-two. They had lain staring at the ceiling for some time, illuminated only by a solitary lamp casting ominous shadows. In one swift movement, and with a deep frown between her brows, she rolled onto the left side of her body to face the wall. Was it the unsightly tuffs of hair on his knuckles, or was she tired of the way his

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-2033725356837631452007-10-09T04:56:00.000-07:002007-10-09T04:59:25.267-07:00

Passengers, I apologise for the shakiness of this ride and the breathy chill inside the carriage. To keep warm, please snuggle up to the stranger next to you, and hold their hand. I could make up excuses for this technical inconvenience, but truth be told, I have not stopped shivering since I heard the cop’s description of the woman. When he first saw her strewn across the tracks, there was

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-272261456130530042007-10-03T04:46:00.000-07:002007-10-03T04:49:55.435-07:00

Label me cinder. Label me lush. Label me mortal and pink. Label me blind flying, label me seven times soaring. Label me rolling in the grass pitch perfect, high above the mountain juices flowing. Let us stop time for yearn, stop time for linger, stop time for forming golden amorphous. Label! Labour! Love! Incline to inspire, inspire to recline, recline to delight. Prolong my amity, amnesty

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-36914685183640627232007-10-01T12:08:00.000-07:002007-10-01T12:17:05.606-07:00

The first time Bob had a thought for Doris too complicated to be expressed by a simple sticker, he was sixteen. It was true that Doris had an uncanny ability to understand each of Bob’s sticker-thoughts – sometimes even when he didn’t – but this particular thought was more important than the meaning of his fragmented life combined. He considered and eliminated every sticker shape, every colour

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-89939921887898522962007-09-28T12:13:00.000-07:002007-09-28T12:23:14.404-07:00

Passengers, we apologise for the congestion. The train that hit the woman is understandably upset and has gone on stress leave. We assure you that we are doing all we can to manage the chaos. Please do not panic. Please do not run. Please stop screaming. Do direct judgmental stares at the woman in the red feathered hat — her son was swept along by the crowd into the next carriage whilst she was

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-62745229422466076652007-09-27T09:13:00.000-07:002007-09-27T19:12:24.879-07:00

The first time Bob affixed something to Doris, he was five. From a sheet of stickers his mother had given him for obediently observing bedtime for the last three days, he decided on a circle, medium size, because his mind could not handle corners. And even as he did not understand, the circle happened to be green because he had seen the way Doris laughed with the other boy. Bob approached

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-53965059079291921582007-09-22T09:20:00.001-07:002007-09-22T09:31:20.013-07:00

Concerned passengers, I had a quick peek at the note before the cop waved me through the police tape with a languid hand. It wasn’t much of a note, not the usual farewell, not a jumble of scribbled despair, and not typed out instructions indicative of any will or intention, or of any testament of an unordered mind. It was a rather cryptic strip of plastic tape printed on an old label-maker stuck

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-19825599325313151842007-09-16T08:26:00.000-07:002007-09-16T08:29:12.064-07:00

Passengers please be advised that the trespass has been reclassified as non-accidental. The person left a note.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-63265517721446052262007-09-13T12:27:00.000-07:002007-09-13T12:39:25.831-07:00

One night half a full moon ago, I peered into other people's houses under cover of darkness as I was walking home. Each house had its unique sounds of loud argument, equally loud lovemaking, and even louder plasma screen television. In all three cases, profanities blasted through thin weatherboard walls and lifted off rooftops into the night.But it was my carousing neighbours six doors down who

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-90428647944319930632007-09-12T12:10:00.000-07:002007-09-12T12:16:07.473-07:00

Passengers please be advised that this train is running approximately sixteen minutes late due to an accidental trespass on the train tracks. We apologise for the delay and kindly offer to put on a series of syncopated sounds that could pass for hardcore elevator music under appropriate lighting. Thank you for your patience.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-81355069513298568162007-09-11T10:56:00.000-07:002007-09-11T11:15:04.479-07:00

It is manageable, to a point, to occupy your mind with texts, with images, with pixels, with numbers, with lines, with shapes, with shapes of locks, in order to avoid having to deal with the rubbish churning in your head. You can do this until you are exhausted, until you can no longer keep your eyes open, until you think you are safe from your thoughts enough to turn in, but once your head hits

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-50258554729718300882007-09-10T13:44:00.000-07:002007-09-10T13:50:20.403-07:00

Serose. Songbird. Soothful sense. Rebreathe. Think out centuries of restless sleep. To sooth. To lose. To choose to lose. To choose youthful release. To choose songful heartbeat. Sepose. Soulsong. Sensual unseen.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-48466436828231927812007-09-10T13:30:00.000-07:002007-09-10T13:39:06.621-07:00

It was the marde that festered. Anticipate so to mend it, fend it, tend to it. It locked tholifical dislain for dredom and might, burning all cages in quick succession. Quickness was never late. Ruin turnish of time, tick tick and tock, tick tick then tock, and the sky motioned drip gush nushling down the river main, prescripting hastened breaths on forewarned glass. Whenso disbotic? Whenso

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-69809065167188522042007-09-05T08:11:00.000-07:002007-09-05T08:23:43.688-07:00

I wake up each morning to champion a cause of which I have no deep conviction. Even before my eyelids reveal the world in the selfsame sordid state of being, I persuade myself to repeat, No, I won't do it today. No, I won't allow it! It will stop! Just this day! One! I carry on until the curtain moves and a solitary ray of sun cuts through to spotlight a corner of the bed; until my alarm clock

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-39138051060214229582007-09-05T01:47:00.000-07:002007-09-05T01:48:52.961-07:00

Amass the minto sun. Toil the manuf braithe falling too fast for the silotin. They will frustam but do not mear, do not deripate, do not be mortaken. Freelight the thought by and by, only miss the sefiranti. Stop crave biss murtle muss, and scope mort streaming by and by.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-39069037751859382042007-09-04T21:30:00.000-07:002007-09-04T21:36:25.100-07:00

Passengers, please be advised that this train is taking a detour to avoid the centre of the city due to the high steel fences, street-corner loudspeakers and moving eyes that fix you. This is not to say they have constructed high fences over the tracks – I am merely avoiding the area in protest. No one consulted me about the special event clearways and the call for everyone to catch public

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-23921023179636069952007-09-02T17:50:00.000-07:002007-09-02T17:52:23.092-07:00

Passengers, in the event of an emergency, oxygen masks will drop from the sky. Place the mask over your nose and mouth before screaming. Save yourself, before forgetting about the pleading child next to you. As you make your panicked escape, please do take a moment to fill out the Goal of Life Questionnaire and return it in the red box conveniently placed to the right of the inflatable

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-35176111747068466722007-09-02T12:21:00.000-07:002007-09-02T12:28:08.575-07:00

Sweep. Gather dust into heaps while you may. Hear the sound of bristles weeping. Sweep to hear the sound of horsehairs brushing. Sweep to nuzzle to tickle to bristle-me swristle. Sweep to say six-o-three and whistle. Sweep to drip into floating floors adrizzle afizzle. Six-o-six. In the room where they sit, sweep to gather the sounds of papers before they crumble burning, crisping and sizzling,

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-5336626731866863032007-08-30T08:03:00.000-07:002007-08-31T06:34:01.938-07:00

My fingers stopped mid-word over the keyboard when the poet and recovering addict slurred, “No use planting daisies in winter, surely they will wither before the end of the year.” I looked across my desk, searching in his face for what I could not find in his words. His eyes struggled to stay open and his lips quivered without the reassuring aftertaste of a voice. I made inquiring sounds from the

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-35890995092097995742007-08-28T16:18:00.000-07:002007-08-28T16:21:19.412-07:00

Passenger in the red shirt, please be advised to take your fingers out of your mouth because when you almost lost your balance making your way to the seat after the mass exodus at Wolli Creek, you made a fumbled grab for the unhygienic handrail. Suffice to say a bunch of screaming kids were spotted earlier burying their hands in grease-bucket fish and chips on their way to the aquarium. This

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-42156710242766634042007-08-27T21:01:00.000-07:002007-08-27T21:47:58.374-07:00

Passengers, please note that this train has decided not to stop ever again.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-56351403064015446312007-08-27T14:58:00.000-07:002007-08-27T21:46:41.621-07:00

Passenger in the third carriage, fifth row from the back next to the aisle: please be advised that I have a surveillance camera trained on you. Yes, you.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-81916378513049793132007-08-27T08:18:00.000-07:002007-08-27T08:20:13.974-07:00

I have yet to see the core of me dying. Even as I burn the duck’s tail and watch it melt into the earth, I have no wish of turning. Is it the faraway tree you see? Is it the slow-motion capture of the reckless splatter of dark unsweetened tea? You post-construct your reactions as if they were instinctive. Now it comes as second nature and you don’t even know who you are. Tear it down forever more

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-33778239971025294592007-08-27T07:36:00.000-07:002007-08-27T07:37:45.679-07:00

Passengers are reminded to admire the deep immeasurable chasm between the train and the platform.

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-53313832219611974422007-08-27T07:31:00.001-07:002007-08-27T07:35:36.918-07:00

Passengers please note, for trains to Maladjustment please proceed to the end of platform 3. First stop Ineptness, followed by Obtusefields, Gross Incompetence, Some Wit Hill, Some Naiveté, Foolish Park, then all stations to Maladjustment. A brief stop may be made at Flash of Brilliance, time-permitting, but that’s not guaranteed. The local time is three-thirty-two one lazy mid-afternoon. It

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-70860585435553023812007-08-25T09:52:00.000-07:002007-08-25T09:56:44.860-07:00

I keep tripping as I walk in your shoes. I thought it obvious that I had an urgent need to nudge the stars into columns and rows – even before all this madness. But I suppose you have always believed you know me better than I do. I must tell you that a fading naked apparition set adrift a weeping kangaroo on a plank of wood towards a uniformed man in a cage. They all said he had a digital camera

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-19075557196508920092007-08-24T10:47:00.000-07:002007-08-24T10:51:11.031-07:00

Long ago whenever I couldn’t sleep, whenever hallucinations moved and rose from the earth like giant obelisks from under my feet, I dared not close my eyes. If I closed my eyes I would see epileptic patterns and swirls flashing against my eyelids, inducing gut-tumbling nausea beyond reason, beyond relief. So when I was too scared to sleep on that straw mat hidden under the house, when I dared

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-23999061636916997372007-08-24T06:49:00.000-07:002007-08-24T06:50:54.016-07:00

Long ago you showed me the way to the house in which you were born. You started from the sea and honked your way into the oncoming traffic on a busy highway. It was the third exit you took as you ignored the city lights, and I laughed when we lingered in the roundabout around and around. Did you say to go over the bridge? Or was it better to go past the park where you and your neighbours

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-21450706274296648292007-08-23T09:05:00.000-07:002007-08-23T09:05:55.166-07:00

I. I am hopeless sick of these same. I am fed up weary of these same. I am tired, invariable, unalterable.unchanged unchangingunbroken unbreaking These same all same pedestrian These same all same unrelentingall these same words carved in stoneall these same words set in a kilnstacked to the brim amongst the bricksone cup over anotherrunneth over and overthe waxed foot of the claywhere you

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-475486488936489429.post-77201931057632402572007-08-20T06:13:00.000-07:002007-08-20T06:28:02.107-07:00

I do not like hospitals. Too many people have gone in but never came out. Or they came out less than they were before they went in. As for me, I hyperventilate at the doctor's deadpan explanation of the difference between arteries and veins. I need to sit down, even though the lecture is directed at the patient next to me, whom I have never met before. By some misfortune we lie next to one

someone halfwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00251015269702964253noreply@blogger.com0