anyone ever waltz into a shop called officeworks? anyone ever think themselves clever (not just for that, insert anything)? anyone ever try to fuck with their modem, make it wireless or something? anyone ever have a friend who works in computers? anyone ever watch said friend become flummoxed? anyone ever start to think all yr life-skills are disappearing? anyone ever questioned themselves: who am i that i really need online access?
in other news, i got excited at a kids soccer game today. i wasn’t going to, but then it got to like 3 all with a few minutes to go, a bunch of 7 years olds wildly kicking and elbowing each other. it was a draw, but wow…
& violet prefers to sleep during the day. i don’t mind. i’m driving a hundred k’s a day in & around 40kmph zones, dropping people off, picking up random things. i do it on very little sleep & as i drive around i think about poetry blogging. sometimes i have music on but the car only offers a tape player. sometimes i listen to the bloc party’s last album. i think about the nostalgia in it, & where they go with it.
my friend roland has joined a band & is playing in a band comp at sydney uni. playing in a band is fun. i love sydney, but i also hate it. wish i could be there: we would get drunk & talk of times passed.
each new celebrity gossip correspondent is More
camp than the last every personal feeling is Less
stable than before there were newspapers you Are
quite lovely searching for love online all Writers
are unique if & only if they wouldn’t collapse Into
the abstract each ubiquitous chain offers a Healthy
menu every menu has words has wormholes you Go
softly into that photo-processing lab all barcodes Offer
signs of things that once were each other person Looks
a stranger every day new disasters hit you perhaps Even
feign the look of worry all the time the people Perish
each morning is colder than a fistful of years ago Every
pope was catholic you took a dive all the doors Marked
exit seem closed or in need of repair a joke each One
then a top
if you like, you can check out my review of Pam Brown’s peel me a zibibbo in Galatea Resurects # 6.
i don’t really take much time to talk about family life, the adjunct fun, frustration & histrionics. but this is one of those rare occasions. when laurinda & i got together (nearly 5 years back) she had 2 children, aged 3 & 6. consequently i now have a great deal of experience in raising children (thank you caleb & isaac). but up until now knew nothing about babies.
i think not many people do though – babies just come into your lives & make themselves known. there’s lots of advice going around, but no-one really knows anything. violet was doing everything right then (after a night of coffee & lightheadedness) she had to be removed via caesar. the poor thing had the cord wrapped around her neck. no-one could predict it. yet now she is here & our lives progress on with her in them. look at me: i’m back on the computer at night, writing a blog entry. i’m not frantically pacing the house, screaming baby in one hand, dirty nappy in the other.
btw thanks to all of you who sent your best wishes electronically.
i’m wanting to use ‘nectarine’ in a fleshy context then
a hiss with the flick of the last switch lighting
an infinite hall filled with examples of home
the poet & bad movie buff richard lopez squishes
pictures to worlds, one little book at least says
just imagine it & fruit can be done
photographs no longer naming people in the downsurge of current &
the shadows of things (from here to mesozoic) that once were certain
play about / i walk smack into a coat &
appear to be fumbling for shapes, walking one foot forward
as such but in a slowed retinaesque motion / the strong pulse
of philips view-screen clicks ah then the moment weighs
a decreasingly heavy amount, & fades, ponders earlier beers
before 6.30 pm enhancing a solid television show:
the poet & playwright nathan curnow
without chewing was ingested by funniest home videos
not wanting to doubt this but the cat perused the integrity
of six million men hit in the balls / a handful of babies not ready
to walk yet, despite the ability to make good comment, wisecrack
(with voyeur-patience warner bros sound-men lurk & leer)
oh well the intaglio of a bedroom appears – said men are bearded
it’s clear as afterthought emerging resurfacing happy
in the heat of old-school lamps, metal a green chemical-fire
in certain aspects: when you flick objects, collide,
you buy into something tactile, books espouse peace
in the dark where ideas sleep, when no-one pays attention:
all of a sudden & you’re laughing, your wife
plucked to awake, it’s late, she’s a banana…
by michelle buchanan & derek motion
World time differentials stand still. I play tennis with a couple
of banshees & a man ditches the ‘genuine’, imagines the top office.
We all want things.
I read once about a town in
on a nest of burrowing spiders. Babies come up missing.
Wow but I like this & picture a movie ‘Spidertown’.
Surely set in
I hear the homeless freeze in your cities.
Like popsicles. But we wait in line at the fortune telling
machine, insert our 5 dollars, wait impatiently for the message
to slip from the slot. It always tells us what we want:
you choose your own fate.
I am afraid of death. Sharks, spiders, crocodiles
and anything that has a mouth big enough to bite. Most
of all I’m afraid of drop bears and war. I cannot sit under
the eucalyptus tree or watch much tv these days.
Thousands of things to fill any category. The imagery of fear.
To spite martial upheaval I read much of eucalypts (I still read).
The parasitic pattern of a scribbly gum is a meditation. & still 9 to 5
computers glow like the memory of words not said, specific dates.
& there’s stasis in movement too: academics wax on the
new-lyricism, quote southern poets. It gets colder.
We wait, make lists.
I once made a list of all the things I wanted to do. Skydive,
see Madonna in concert, grow wings. Things like that. Number
nine was to be within so many degrees of Kevin Bacon.
I’ll cross it off now with a footnote that it happened
while we no longer waited for May.