Archive for August, 2007

yeah no

chris might be saying there’s a dozen new theories left
to read all about he might have indicated three are
disappearing so who knows now but with the traffic &
all the proposals we all get simpler like this tall chris
is balancing a street-sign & the moon on his left ear \
john is better for looking up he carries worse cartons
of beer \ john is a freelance journalist who fell into
the position he has no talent for words but escapes
gravity routinely \ if then a hat for hall levy violence
on smile inches waste pounds many dalliances &
covert tomes cruising back paddock phone counters
stretch to felt orange boys & black cat buttoning
you up \ chris is apt when wetted with an inner-city
drunk he marries the sound \ a pat solipsism \ a crafted
meaning & all that with meanings several – but what is
articulation in this whirpool of freshness & branded
car? was that a question chris or john is saying brain
deadly we can’t read \ hear the tonal lift \


lines in a dell

playful rocket smidge chooses man to operate sad
flights queenly claims frown amidst the fancy
of a night illustrating bits of meaning: five plain heifers
out back & yo flipper’s a space over lines flickering 2 moons
nearly explode & nail-artists get a feel for wood
telling friends the ‘buy a new car’ thing
stinks of mirth & dung & ginger \

beef is the new fish is the new afternoon tea licking things
as a jewelled purse sells time major faults rumbling go
away accusations are all sayings are all acts you’ve been
accused of & glasses men can offer answers like puppets
‘we’ve never been better off’ admit
some who are missing \



i bought a dell. now i blog from the couch. who knows what this will mean.

blue moons, then blood moons. where will it end?

bernard fanning has this line on one of his songs: ‘we’re wishing on the same moon’
i liked it better before i worked out what he was saying. who wishes on a moon? & why would it be so important that he (or his dramatic self) lets a loved one know this? damn.

i copied a good thousand files onto my dell. surely they can’t all be necessary. 300 are word documents. the rest, i don’t know, possibly data for libraries for applications i haven’t used in years. i like to seem flippant about things. like the fonz. or hawkeye.



i begin like an artist or michael landy to

delete my life at least a few years worth

of it & not property only poems only data

the figures sit buddha-like saying a cute ‘not-

much’ that i couldn’t perhaps it isn’t good

i rent out the function room at budget-motel

the vacuum lines white on a coarse carpet &

i project the action via presentation via white-

screen via laser-pointer…

the people milling there think something about

the statement but do they really see it

one of them has thick glasses on & there are

only three people in attendance i hung

‘breakfast’ on the doorknob

i take my computered mind away

i hire a sky-writer called gerald i

transmit to him instruction via a new

& lightning bluetooth connection

my disappearing self drifts

over the city a man takes a shot

of it utilising his mobile i can’t help

but follow him & later while he

pays his car insurance (i need to see)

i take it from his pocket

the smoky clouds of doc extensions

it brings back memories of the poems

i find a quiet nrma cormer & reflect



del W(if i’d only taken up a trade).doc



what john howard thinks about while walking





hk;las–> *7f%

i don’t know what to post here. really, i am just wasting your time. i’m staying up late to do some typing, but i’m wasting time searching through facebook for people that will never ever join. like my friends from year 2.

there were three kids called ‘chris’ in the class. so the teacher nicknamed one of them bob.

there was an ad today – it was about how you could buy a race around some track in a V8 supercar. i thought about it. you could go really fast.



laurinda is getting her hair done &

it could be something radical something

short or it could be something halfway

between normal & unusual so there’s a surprise

in store for me (it all revolves around me) violet

sleeps but previous to this she told me how pissed

she was about it i know this feeling too i stay up

late then rub my eyes then think oh i must sleep

in order to function but surely there is something

creative i could spit out at the late hour & it will

be taken from me for good with sleep \ i used this

awkward slash in something i wrote a little while

back (the vagueness &/or vagaries) & someone

commented on it saying it was good that it did

something within the piece i’m not sure i intended

it to but now i am sure because it feels nice when

people say nice things about what they think were

your intentions \ but \ what do you do when someone

on a blog talks about a theorist you have never

heard of let alone read like how it might have

happened on a friday \ & what can you do about

that now? if you’ve never heard of the theorist

at this point in your life, what are the chances

you will discover the tomes, read them, develop

an opinion before your funeral? to which all your

closest & dearest attend i wonder what sort of

woman violet will grow into i like to imagine her

as an artist because she likes to look at things esp.

the television \ that’s pretty stupid isn’t it

this writing here & now would end nicely if

laurinda were to pull up in our brown corona

i would see her through the screen door past the

laundary housing the computer & i would write

oh she’s home i better stop writing & see which

haircut was the winner it is all about me



a couple of my poems will be appearing in page seventeen next month, a great little book that comes out of melbourne. what’s interesting though is they are both pieces written during the splatter period of june. ‘june was first’ was written on june the first; ‘a matter of seconds’ was written on june the second. these two were written very quickly with no edits. i sent something else too, something i’m fairly sure had quite a bit of editing / tinkering performed on it, & it wasn’t selected.

so… it seems the splatter method is winning, at least for now. it won’t stop me working on the poems of longer process though. it’s just that i’m in the habit of editing poems into ignoble deaths. perhaps there’s a happy medium lurking somewhere. i do like dobrez’ idea about dransfield preferring a ‘focussed spontaneity’. i think.

in other news i’m not really able to get out into the country. the page seventeen launch falls on my wife’s birthday; the promised fun of tina & the young writer’s festival is just outa reach. oh well. i’ll meet all you people in real life one day.



starting browsing through my print version of otoliths 5 that arrived in the mail today. it’s really good, & leads me to wonder whether i can do the same sort of thing as an editor. i think the clincher is the eclecticism. otoliths has writers from practically everywhere, & they are of all different inclinations, stylistically & thematically.

Jennifer Strauss said many years back (yes, a quote) the regional journal is something she can find “little intellectual justification” for. and the anthology i’m shortly putting out has some regionality. however, i think i can be certain in saying this year we’ll see a large mix of international writers + australian & riverine artists. what does that mean? otoliths is great because of its reach. fourW has previously had zero reach; it will now gain some. has to be an okay thing…

i just like a good read. pieces that fizz & bounce off each other.

back to it.


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