the forgetful idleness of my heart

sleep
throwing knives, the metal handle type, at a girl, i throw one; hard enough to circumcise a tree. the dark tip rebounds off her head and into a table. she laughs at my insecurities.
they came to take her. she told me to lock the door, forgetfulness the idleness of the heart. he came bursting in like an eyeball through a sleeve: the hairy wolf.

i was and am him.

waiting at the waters epicentre; on a type rope of wood, laying about with friends. although sharks come intermittently with their tight nit group of innumerable friends: teeth. i gaze about in wonder to the black stump of my arm. don’t worry, don’t have a psychotic episode the world is only made of 70% water and there are so many things that we don’t know of that reside in the depths of its lashing heart.
i will just restart and try again, after fifteen of these similar, regrowth phantom limbs i run to the shore.
why?
after the hairy wolf.
his face: gaunt, porcelain and sharp, like a reincarnated junky, although the person has only ever been born and will only ever be born a junky. sunken eyes, like golf balls that have hit home, cheekbones being the most prominent feature.
he begins to distend and regurgitate.
i do the same, but i have doubt, can i defeat him?
i believe i must have for now i am in the bar.
the wolf is inside, although he has transmogrified to his human form.
i sit he goes.
Where?
the man next to me, dying of the slack jawed alcoholism, that affects us all at one time, but he has been doing it for 40 of his 32 years of life, his teeth have become cigarettes and he talks to me of the philosophies of life, while i listen to the lawnmower in my heart.
he tells me the pain of the wolf.
i sit creasing the paper of my mind into involuntary sculptures of Brassai.
i am thrusted outside.
facing the wolf again.
doubt rises through me like the howling of Dresden.
i can summon this but can i sedate it.
we must fight again and we do.
i end up at home, frothing from the tortures of my now reticent mind.
she is with me and we, i mean, i have locked up.
the forgetful idleness of my heart.

The knife rebounds, table wood.
She is beautiful, shaved scalp, sharp innocent features.
I am done, for the wolf has come back.
I find a gun of acid. I pour the majority of it on the wolf.
Not enough on the innocent beauty.

I have failed and I will be left behind.

memory lost

houses have a memory too, this one is lost

i thought i should write something to explain these then i thought against it, i may put something afterwards i may not, but you will never know for i could change this post and pretened that this never happened, but then you may think that if i was going to do that why would i tell you about it...

and like you i need to begin

beginnings are what they are; beginnings, and like you i need to begin but beginnings are so passé, even the word passé is passé (coming from an australian mouth passé sounds like you are trying to bring forth an accent you don't understand but feel cultured by doing so, thoughts and images come to my mind of a dining table; people sitting, dressed up, waiting to affect each other in some way or another, pain and pride come to my mind, and one person red gown, tiarra red gloves with doily like frills, a person like you, it is you actually, asks a man a gentle man mind you, to passé the salt, oh how delightfully cultured and funny you are, the gentle man in his tux of starched influence gives a side-long look and you think {i didn't ask him to spit on the face of the person next to him, which is a woman in green, watch it slide down her face with that drooling bubbly roll, and fall onto her plate and exclaim with a rather large grin to everyone but you: do you like my tie!} and he slaps you, the warmth and glow of it leaves a pregnant stain upon your cheek for quite some time, to be precise until your death bed), come to think of it this posting, the title, the photograph with the font and its opacity, the blog itself; is all passé and if it is then so am i, so rather than not being passé i will begin.