Where a Spanish man comes as a cowboy.

The beat was like exploding balloons.

Jumpy little fuckers

Dead goat. Bury it Priest. Nobody must inform the next of kin.

If your day is done than have some cocaine because she doesn't lie.

Delete the disrespect, inspect the intellect.

The post movie high.

Horrible distaste to do nothing.

Use it against them. Ever vigilant. The answer is there. Lollypop.

I am dangerous. And I know it. Which is dangerous.

I am nothing. I am RVRFNX

The face lift. A re-awakening. Don't give it to them easily; trust in the knowledge.

I will assault your senses.
I will assault your mind.
Probably appal human kind.
But don't be kind.
I'm young but I'm fine with the fact that I'm deprived.
I trust only in history.
His story.
Fight me.
Tighten my springs.
I'll find wisdom in the eternal springs.
The ancients to me sing.
Don't trust me?
At least give your children the ears to hear.
Face your fears.
It's written in the years.
And you know it's true.
As evident as a fresh tattoo to a blind man.
Crude and bumpy is the road that leads us.
Crazy/brave that's me digging my grave
alone for now
an elegy to a noun
speaking about me.
And I'm not guilty.
It's we that I speak of freely.
You interested?
Respond to me.

La Phoenix. New life is within.

I love it when you go outside to listen to music and the crickets keep the beat.

Travelling with the night. In my car and my bed. The cool night air and the thoughts in my head.

The thought has changed. Old was once positive, now it is a negative.

Perfume dispenser.

Et Vespa. A logicians dream.

I can stand in every ocean.

No time for small cars. A serious appraisal. Amurrika.

At a time when the hills were flatter.

The boy racers in a one horse town.
The ability to ask questions.
Man.
The pissing.
The drinking.
The music.
The gay.
The rape fog.
The view.
Not in that order.
Alcohol and pizza.
Old Crow.
Paul behind the bar.
Bom funk mcs in the car.
Pat always has the plan.
He's an ideas man.
Not focusing on memory just working on the moment.
Lettuce from out of space.
Down an endless forest path.
The old soldier.
The belligerent safe.
The wallabies.
The fresh smell.
The beach sound.
Nat King Cole.
When I fall in love.
The sandy touch - when I wanted nothing else but to be touched.
In some weird deep sense.
The sea still seems like a place for exploration; it almost killed me.
I love it.
I cannot desecrate this land with butts and what ifs.
When a lunatic lets go.
On a beach that is cold.
Humanely bold.
Lit some fires.
Burst some ideas.
Packed up.
Glass of wine.
Golden elephant.
Beach.
Sunshine.
Take away shop.
Bon Jovi.
Burning our way out of this town.
We rolled into tea cup mountain.
Nice river.
Good chips.
No shirts.
Throwing chips and stones at the gulls.
The teradactyl pelican.
Thai food.
Cold breeze.
Cruising through the night listening to the Offspring.
The toilet stop look out.

Being unnmade. From a grown man to some sperm and to an egg. To chemicals.

You can't spell reporter without poet.

It feels like I have been punched all over. The dirty words: Black town, grating on my happiness. Garish burning. Silent slits seep desire. Flung back. A rubber burnt tire. Air rippling my senses. The radio changing the tempo. A taxi ride.

That long drawl. Suspicious.

Conversations and conversions.

I am a mirror. If you are clever, I will be clever.

Teenage wasteland.
The smells of alcohol and cologne.
Poisoning the perfume.
Sweat and pheromone.
Music and the moan.
Drugs and the unknown.
It's the dance floor.
It's Kings Cross.
It's home.

Part two.

Keeping the music alive lean on that speaker box I move this could die. I know I won't be leaving here tonight.

When you make a girl walk ten metres for a cig.

The trip home with Les. (taxi driver).

I will rock one thousand nations.
And raze hell from this earth.
Truth will be perfected in reasonable pitch.

Braveheart with babies in pouch. The stay at home dad.

X

Play down ceasar.

Like a boss acoustic.

The witness of your life will be manifest in your children.

The jewel in a man's crown is his grand children.

overturning our unconscious assumptions

We define divine providence by flashing lights and clashing ideologies against common methodologies

Etched memories into a sandpaper slate with swift breezes and crisp tides hammering at the thought.

The disenchantment. Fed to us through electronic tubes. Give them everything. I am walking in a straight line. Probably a desperate believer.

Head over heels in love with you and society only reels, only seals the temporal. The mundane job.

Silent prayer and the rolling stones. Did they sing this song? Or whisper my sentiments alone?

The only difference between the 1st century and the 21st is the materials. Vices are still vices and tyrants are still tyrants.

I am a GOOD writer. Little by little.

Your veins will pump battery acid but not because you've been running to freedom.

Deep space, Deep bass. Reality burning at my eyelids.

Deep Faith.

Never under-estimate the Old Irish.

If somebody watched me it would have been a prime time comedy.

I raise that eternal rose to my lips and kiss it sweetly.

Drink myself into oblivion with Nick Cave and the Ship Song.

Stephen Garcia the eternally young.

It's a degree that loads us with dynamite in a world of fuel. Jeremy on the 11th.

I see writers who write for money (when they need no more). Authors who whore themselves out for fame. And I find it kinda funny. I find it kinda lame.

Babble on Babylon

I try not to worry about if I am going to be here for a long time or a short time. What I focus on is who I am around whilst I am here. People like HST and Bob Dylan are constant friends of mine.

There are so many additives in this city water it makes me want to crush my empty glass and fly out the window each time I have a drink of this chemically 'enhanced' liquid.

I was sick of finding the-girl-I-could-never-have so I went looking for decent girls I could always have.

From my hospital window I looked out and saw the homeless man holding his simple psalms on dirty cardboard and then I realised what the words meant.

Cancer patients were his favourite. He liked the androgynous look.

Always needs to shit. Finds out he has colon cancer. The start of the book is a shot of a bald cancer patient in a hospital gown in a hospital bed typing on a computer. (it's the protagonist) and he is narrating saying how funny cancer patients look. From the viewer's perspective, it seems like the narrator is dissing the cancer patient on the bed - they won't know that he is the cancer patient until the end.

The climax is when he meets a girl and has a change of heart. He falls in love with her from the start. He goes to see her and she isn't at the hospital anymore. Her records get mixed up and the doctors tell him 'they passed away'. Before the doctor can say: "he was a..." (thus giving it away, the doctor is talking about a guy but our narrator is looking for a girl) the main character has run out. (In fact, she was transferred to another hospital). So he goes home and tells his friend he is done with the game. His friend urges him to stay but he won't. A few months later (after his life has returned to normality. He's focusing on his job, and what not) he has a routine health check up and via this he finds out he has bowel cancer. He is taken to a hospital on the other side of town because nobody would take him seriously at the normal one (his reputation exceeded him). Low and behold he sees the love of his life at the new hospital. They kick it off. She eventually dies in his arms on one evening and he passes away not too long after. His friend finishes the book and puts it on the balcony - (he used to kill pigeons on the roofs and watch them fall to the ground) a dead pigeon falls and knocks the manuscript off and it falls into the bin below. The homeless man who is digging through the trash finds it, gets it published and makes a lot of money.

(perhaps include funny edits when talking about the homeless man... 'He smells - but i'm sure he couldn't find a proper shower with no money'

The main character (perhaps the narrator will be the homeless man) lived near the hospital. And from his apartment window he could not read what the homeless man wrote on the cardboard. But from his window in the hospital he could.

I joked that I had to get it written before your show ended so I had the chance to make it onto your book club.

They have gotten to Bill Murray. "I just want to say Jay Z down in new york today singing was that song was very emotional" Forced to say that? Hmm

Today means nothing without tomorrow or yesterday. We need all three to live decently.

I find that good people are either too considerate to be illiterate or too illiterate to be inconsiderate.

And each minute is another 60 seconds that you should embrace, love and make the most of.

Aye you.

And as I returned home Muse played.

If someone came up to you and said "I'm a boss I pimp slap hoes and I'm the greatest rapper alive" Most people wouldn't listen to them. But when a person says those things against a backing track - the fucking majority of society jumps on their cock and they fucking swallow it all down.

Hands in the air with drinks whizzing around like bridal bouquets.
Tough menacing guys looming from the corners.
All the girls with drugs and sunnies driven to the elevated dance floor so they can be picked off like sitting ducks.
And myself,
the awkwardly casual loner in the corner
with shoes too long
and not enough money for courage.
The drunk kids wasting their dollars on the scam breathe test.
Naughty girls trying to touch my soul, my shoes.

Elephantine girls caressing the dance floor
with grace, so limber
as if dismembered.

Black guy in a kilt and scene glasses.
Some how making original look unoriginal.
Jesus my eyes are watering.
Perhaps weeping for something that
won't become known for a long time.
The world is round.

Should I venture into the pit of porno, the massive mash of loins?
The way you're making me feel... there is a good chance I could rub up against a girl who's skirt is prone to heading towards the ceiling and before you know it... Is taht a fun game? I'm in jail; statutory rape. This is a harsh world and at any moment a cruel cadaver could castrate your cajones... Don't fuck with destiny and you won't.

My sister said don't sit alone and use your mobile. I say fuck that.

That poor statutory rape. Intimidating all the girls.

The dirty girl and the statutory rape. The young darlings burning her lungs agape.

Je suis le common denominator balancing the scales between genius and 'special'.

I wish I owned a club just so I could sit here acting like a tool being all telepathic and shit.

Non-decent girl showing bra straps equals fuck you times two.

Two reconnaissance men discussing war tactics. She so wants to get noticed.

Jesus fuck gorilla lady. Pump those fists!

25 year old kids with polos around their shoulders.

Divorced from dancing. So fucking tired. Give me novacaine...

Not surprisingly it was a thoroughly sobering experience.

Despite that bitter perception of happiness when ridiculous notions of loneliness and vanity cloud one's visions with steamy smokey situations. The world is waiting just for You...

I have little interest in torturing the women I sexoreize.

The rise and fall of society. A glass half full of distinction.

Liberal. To be free. Free from the bucketfuls of rubbish.

I feel fucking diseased already. I am glad I did not drink from that glass.

And when I am eating my burger... fuck it feels good to know I'll never meet you again.

A ghost among souls.

She looked deep into my eyes and denied me beer. Fuck. I am tired. I did not sleep last night. I am not drunk. Not yet.

Hobknobbing these golden fog logs.

Don't take me as wrong for as right as wrong may be right I won't write wrongs!! Nor leave me left to send these leaves right to where many are left!! I won't take this. It is wrong and I find this to be right!!

Bleeding duck.

RVRFNX - A tale untold.

In for the kill.
Here for the happy meal.
Coke scene.
Grunge. Grime.

Why do I write? I love to write. It's almost as fun as breathing. Oh, also, because of the many thousands behind me.

The two figures stand awkwardly in the way. Not knowing what to do. Obviously dominated from a young age. They lack the ability to make swift decisions. They are perfect partners for a relaxing afternoon tea gathering.

Whatever does not kill me makes me stronger. Thee are some things the heart cannot give up. One is dignity. Two is hope. Three is truth.

That awkward necessity.
That desire driven depravity.
Wallowing in whining winds of virility.
Vagrant vagabonds violating virginity.
Vile violets flap flagrantly in the foul breeze.
Whilst fearsome fiends find a feast free to feed.
Fear not for the far east, hail sends half hooded hounds to howl and high light the low down brow of our enemy.

Parker Posy.

Two extremely different personalities. One that could scale to lofty heights and another that couldn't even get out of bed.

Solitary.
Alone in the zone.
Pretending it's my own.
People watching.
Reality dodging.

We all bully each other.

Delay the dividends its a means without ends this chatter amongst friends.

Toke a bowel in the foggy centre floor.

How can you love a God who gives you hell? You can love him because he also gave you life. Just as your parents gave birth to you; they punish you when you do wrong.

Selling lies. The rock vodka bottle (advertisement).

When I'm typing it sometimes like a musical instrument - it rhymes and sounds beautiful and just feels so natural!

I am scared of these big fluffy people.

You

_I see eternal temporality._

_I'd like to intertwine a line every so often with a nice metaphor. Like the rose buds and the thorns, the beauty comes with pain._

_I'd like to find more within documents; both on paper and on pixels. Blogger for example, my phone and my notepad._

_I need more beauty; more faith; more similes and metaphors._

_I want to link the pen and paper,_

_I want to hear the voice and feel the touch._

_I notice the sense of truth and the sense of nothing._

_I see you grabbing onto loose seams. Falling into coarse dreams..._

_October is the fallen month,
where commotions arise due to tired souls and taught emotions,
like fountains of fear, the decisions within us flow up against our natural notions and the barriers fall down.
Tumultuous times, like seasons changing in the blink of an eye, satan is widespread and our blinking eyes draw attention to our head
where inside severe consequences lurch into the foreground.
Let us all reflect here for a moment,
a rationalised period of time dedicated to atonement,_

_Purple covers are wilting.
The same lilacs are yielding
to the powerful one,
the atomic sun._

_It is breaking me down,
couldn't find the ground,
when the temporal town
began to moan and make sound
like wolves alone and yet all around
this one man - myself, soul bound to this pitiful shelf._

_Placed here by fear I couldn't resist to subsist and make sure that I had no choice in my plans.
I did what they told me - took up the flag to fly and spread fear around this fractured society._


_Placate, vacate, these words are whispered in my ear late at night by people I don't know.
And when I wake up I can't hear myself - due to the gross noises of these eternal showers,
and I'm cold when I watch the sun grow old and sink below the horizon,
because I know that one day it is going to the last time - and I wonder how many will recognise the beauty.
And how this beauty reflects upon ourselves in our purest form - burning bright for truth and for reform
but so many are dull, and deceived and not rising or falling just being.
And it's part of the fall that makes the rise so sweet.
And part of the rise that makes the fall so difficult.
And it's the journey in between that makes all the difference,
so take the other path,
the long one that makes you struggle,
the one that knows you are alive,
the one that leads to happiness.
For on the way you shall grow, fall, suffer and love, and this is life and this is why we recognise the purity and grace of that dove,
for it too has grown, lived and loved and it naturally flys towards the heavens.
Just as we should; believers or heathens._

_But how can we resist?
When its beaten into our hearts with an iron fist
shrouded in glorious monotonous mist
deemed brilliant by those who insist
that within it must be a fundamental twist
allowing us to live in grace whilst being misfits.
It's not the shit that we have to deal with that gets me pissed,
it's the fact that it could already be too late
and I'm the crazy one for opening that gate;
for letting the sheep out of the pen
so that they may sense and then pen
their thoughts and hopefully progress so then
we may see something better within our temporal court
that may allow for us to ascend to something greater to where the eternal is wrought._

_And it leaves me here wondering why many of us can't see the end of the Devil's grin.
Why we feel we have to go out rather than have a night in.
Why we see the ancients as something grim,
and not worth our while to take in.
And to make within ourselves a strong fortitude
that gives us the aptitude to understand our lives
and therefore our deaths that are always coming soon.
By doing so humanity will be living within the tune
of being peaceful, intelligent and concerned with our eternal mood.
And it is too much to ask to be balanced, to be far away from that evil brood.
So when hate comes falling like bitter shards of ice we can melt it all away with forgiveness, the antithesis of vice._

_When our best years are spent buying things to kill ourselves it says a lot about our most intense fears,
that we cannot handle long life and the knowledge of falling so hard that we try to arrange the knife in such a manner that it will take our life before we have to pay for the false logic ingrained within our corrupt hearts._

_My heart wants you so bad,
but it cannot have you,
and your hard hair and stained locks drop around my face and shoulders,
holding you I find what I need - two hearts beating at once in solemn intuition;
but within me, deep down,
I know that this won't happen often -
because it is too beautiful.
But I am grateful, like the sea that laps at the solid cliffs,
you hurt me and degrade me,
but atleast I get to see the beauty that grows in such suffering.
Within the rockpools of my pain lies much life,
and this life makes many wonder because of its natural beauty.
Here, at this spot, in love I writhe._

_And there is so much time to do everything
so much of everything lies within doing something
but we do nothing
If we were to attempt something we may find everything
if our eyes are open at times when they should be closed._

_Let's devour these hearts so that we can disguise our truths to the world,
let's parade these cancerous unknowns as facts so that we can empower the money men
who moan for more gold in their pockets like poor souls trapped in strip clubs with paper power riding between their hip bones and their g-strings.
It's no hard reasoning that brings us to realise that these things
cause rifts between good times and bad stings;
as wasps and bees cause allergic reactions in our bodies,
it shows we're fragile and so is our mind at times when it is difficult to be at ease
when we're caught in the pale, purpley-green spotlight of a blown up tornado tearing apart our livelihood whilst the rest of the country watches on its knees
in front of the television praying to a God that doesn't exist within these walls nor in the temporal halls. Please oh please,
they scream as the same gale force winds tear apart their temporal lives piece by piece,
material value lost with every natural gust - and no amount of insurance will cover these losses -
this is bigger than monetary value - this is psychological damage.
Now that the material is inextricably linked with our own happiness it is no wonder that we try to become happier through fads and instant transactions. Nobody is happy just sitting down and watching life happen. Watching the birds and the bees, the bark growing on the trees, the earth-worms enjoying the dirt below and the leaves bringing us fresh air upon the pleasant breeze.
It's simple things like these that breed within us bliss; living on nature's soil we embrace hard work and toil that leads us to where we are happy as a character foil to temporality of this realm._

_Let's carve our thoughts into stone so that forever more intelligence can be related to rock-solid truth._

_And those purple covers once moved in gracious tones,
overflowing with sharp desires and low moans,
slippery solemn moments captured the atonement to something greater than those.
Such small people.
It is within these moments that what our society slides towards what is known;
and so the subtle intensions of those, that eventually fall like boulders towards roads, become evident to our once ignorant eyes._

_But I see purple covers wilting. And I never thought I'd see so many retirees hit golf balls across temporal greens rather than redeem their wasted lives and spend their time influencing and teaching the new generation about their history and their historical lives._

_Were it not so easy I'd like to call our history and our pride a burnt out furnace cold to touch, were it not so easy I'd like to propose that we stoke the fires and coals with time-hardened knowledge and truth, if it weren't for the constant decay of primal matter via the insidious and dark infiltration of modern and post modern ideals, a controversial proposition I do know, but when you stand for nothing you fall for anything, and so our coals are weak and futile and our fires are but poor reflections of our by-gone bonfires, or flourishings that have fallen by the way side - blown away by fast food and materialism._

_We're all so out of touch that we think we're in touch. When nobody touches anymore what it means to be touched has been lost. And so we're not touched by anything - give us Nihilism, give us helium, so when we act stupid we can sound stupid too. Is it too much to ask for a passion to understand, to love, to forgive, to life?_

_And when our society views hard work as 'old fashioned' it must mean that what we do nowawadays is not hard work at all.
Perhaps it's because people tend to pick up things that are immediately attractive - rather than things that will grow on you._

_These messages were once alive in the ether,
but they fell, pulled down by grasping hands groaning for meaning.
Stripping the universe of beauty in the search for freedom._

_It's time to go down in flames,
to have the truth thrown back in your face,
to have no home, to walk alone,
that's what's going to happen when the truth rains down,_

_I want...
To see the reign come down.
To hear the fame fall down.
To smell the truth become known.
To touch the beauty in God's nation,
To taste a world without fear._

_When Satan's stain sears the town.
Then everybody will know
I tried to make the truth known.
After passing through this town,
after living here and now,
I'm leaving with no burdens.
Giving truth to the unheard,
leading the herd away from the lies,
feeding fire to fire-flies.
Veritas Odium Parit.
I hope you never forget you._