Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.

God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees! -- The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,

******-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks ----

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else

Hauls me through air ----
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

White
Godiva, I unpeel ----
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry

Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,

The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.

Intangibly, it cometh and goeth.
Substanceless it slips in transition from one immeasurable instant to the next. Equitable to infinite space, in terms of distance, infinite time is a concept quite alien to the finite human mind. There is no proof of existence, it is a human conception with no sensory component, an illusion and utterly immeasurable in real terms with only a human contrivance to calibrate it....(and poorly at that).
Time is the silken zephyr on which we lay our dreams and aspirations. It is the currency of deep religion and is regarded as the ultimate sword hand of God. Incorruptible and absolute it brooks no favour, seeks no fame. Irreversible in it's cold implacable, unquenchability it merely, unfeelingly.... proceeds.
M.

Line them up like candle sticks
There, in every empty frame
Quiet, aligned, they greet me home
No two ones the same.

I came in from the bitterness
They fought their way on through
Blades and pines, the wilderness
More lines, yes, they speak too.

Are they notes of senselessness
That speak of wintry boyish grief?
Clearly, when the tears are long
The lead is ever brief.

I came to cry the voiceless song
Of terrors vague, but bleak
To beat my breast in poems plain
Intended hugeness, meek.

Dusted ‘long the desk far edge
The shavings are as ****** things
The grey won’t bulk, only defend
Both placate my rememberings.

Get these bards out from my head
The depth into, foolishly repenned
Confirmed in life as substanceless
--One to the window again.

Failed pillars of the balm I sought
Look there! The thoughts I had to lame
Cut from sweet youth, dumb and aloud
Deaths all lying silent, in vain.

Those faint shades of negate-gone
Drop down from the general tear
Left to cradle th’abundant soul
In silent tongues, songs left to bear.

In the fullness of time
The state may be reached
Where man’s comprehension,
Embedded and beached,
May run the gamut
Of realms unconcieved
And bring him to terms
With the great unbelieved.

He may come face to face
With his devils and God
And face stark realisation
That old pathways he’s trod,
Have rendered him sterile
And lost to the world
Of enlightenment’s treasured
Potential unfurled.

He may curse the day
When he wallowed within
The restricted, dark walls
Of his ego and sin.
The restricted thinking
Possession allows
And the deadening influence
Of substanceless vows.

When he wallowed within
The restrictions of self
And condemned his tomorrows
To rot on the shelf.
In pursuing the way
To such shallow relief
He convicted potential’s
Sad limit....A THEIF!!

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
3 December 2011

"I am matter trapped in reason"
           -scrawl on a restroom stall wall


1am


A couple blocks from the centre of town. The haze of rumbling sub-bass, the buzz of a hundred voices, the multifaceted shapes of flesh in heels and black dresses and puffer-jackets congregating outside nightclubs. Converging on the heart of the city, each voice becomes distinct, discernible from the background noise, a palpable aspect midst the otherwise nebulous air;

'We could just commit? I'd be so down for a chicken scorcher..'
'Ah man it's Gary! Gaary bro! bro! Gary!'
'I-it's okay, do you have your I.D on you? no, aah, no don't lean on the bank doors when vomiting, you might set off an alarm. h-hey, yeah you, sorry, do you have any water she could borrow?'
'Well you know, even though maccas is out of the way...'
'Aww mate gary! GARY! Aww yeah! Show us your ******! Gary!'


2am


A small gathering convenes on the lawn of a nondescript flat. the building next door is covered in scaffolding, a mess of pale grey illuminated orange parallel geometries hanging, droplets of mist swirling in light breeze.  indistinct chatter. Shuffling figures standing around packing herbs into a small metal cartridge. A flickering light. Coughing. Repeat.

On the other side, over a small fence and through a window, a figure stands in his kitchen naked, looking out, watching. An indeterminate expression.  

A voice of the circle calls out.

'Hey! Hey ****! what the ******* looking at?!'

the figure turns away.
'Ha, oh man, I bet he's gonna go get a shotgun. I beat he's gonna ******* **** us!'
('oh man this ****'s naasty')
'**** son, ******* look at him go, I think you're ******* right.'*
('dude, we should ******* maccas, are you keen? I'm keen.')
'Oh man! oh man, I'm so pumped. are you pumped? I'm so pumped. Aah, we're gonna die, I so ******* hope he does.'


3am


The streetlights have gone out a couple blocks down. Rather than the usual orange haze, the dumped cars and pavement are illuminated by the traffic lights alone, a universal filter flickering between crimson and lime.

A man approaches from across the street. Moment of apprehension. Mid twenties. Staggering. Broken nose, blood down front. Flash of switchblade in hand. Increasing apprehension.

'Oi, were you at that party? You with that ****** that ******* punched me?'
'N-nah, sorry, I wasn't there..'
'How do you know if you weren’t there?'
'Well.. which party? not that one over there?'
'No no, the one down that way'
'Where?'
'The one on high street.'
'High street? isn't that like.. somewhere in Mornington?'
'No, it’s.. the one we’re currently on.'
'...wait, really?'
'..yeah? I.. i think so?'
Both start looking around uncertainly, the man looses balance and tumbles rather dramatically into a fern.
'Um. Are you alright...?'
'Haha, yeah, just, rather drunk. and maybe concussed?'
..."/Cough/ ..Anyway, you seem all good ****, don't worry about it, sorry to have bothered you."
/awkwardly puts knife in pocket to shake hands/


4 am


Return to town. Humanities dilution and waning departure. Droves of seagulls dive in, assuming command of the area and the plastic bags. Only a couple handful of figures remain. Police cars and taxis patrol, dance in concentric circles. the last drunken remnants of raving students lie down in the street, clap their heels together

'Tell George to hurry the **** up or he’ll be left behind!'
'What?'
'I said hurry up! We're going for a Maccas mish!'
‘Who?’
'I said we’re going for a Maccas mish!'
‘Aww mate! I’m keen! Hold up.'

Swirling isolated points of light escape from street lamps caught in rows of trees, and a confetti of shadows swim along the sidewalk in motion with the gentle breeze. A twenty something in a hoody cargo shorts and sandals explains to a policeman in breaking drunken fevered tongues how,

     love, love, love, is the godhead and the godhead is love;
       within us reaching out, but also on the outside reaching in,
          it makes you whole by ripping you apart.

while vomiting on the officers car


5am


  A blanketing dampness sets in. not quite rain, but an omnipresent mist. A gentle fog slowly folds out, wavering among pale streetlights. While substanceless, it still holds form as an ambient covering poultice; drawing in the illumination surrounding into opaque convalescence, but then
     dispersing too,
                                    in turn.

sometimes when i'm alone
i sit and wonder about what went wrong
what made me constantly phlegmatic


unable to feel empathic
i used to feel things so deeply
but now i shrug and stare emptily

i wonder why people are still surprised
when they should be used to what we are
we used to say "ignorance is a bliss"

and still nothing is truer than this
since the day we wondered why
our world has gone awry

we fight wars based on words from fictional characters
and **** our minds with substanceless chatter
****** did it first and did it well
divide and conquer is the magic spell

by putting the blame on others
they get to control us better
it's easier to control a fear-consumed nation
than to control one with its own opinions

We bought a dream
at the candy store
-custom made-
It had our names
a promise of what could be...
We wanted to believe. We did.

we wanted to belong
we wanted it to work
we are so pathetic
we need to ******* stop

Candy coated is our kiss
but what lies underneath...
it's nothingness, it's the steamy core
to the bliss what you miss!
(I miss it too, indeed)
It's not surprising you did
what you did
our kiss lacks fundamental things
You rush to other chicks
I rush to him

But what do we do, what do I do?
With all this sweetness towards you
it doesn't turn me on, but I do love
your pretty face...the way you walk

If my mind was sane, and so were my heart
You would be the one, you would be the one
But we're all mad here - you know, right?

I don't want you the way I should
and you neither do
so what we are here for?
virginal marriage,
satisfying our parents dreams?
that's what is wrong with this!
Our dream is empty
like rotting candy
Substanceless like careless romance
Tasteless like bland songs
Blood injected with desires
of a life looking good, but no juice!

But it always was
it has to die quick
it has to be ripped off.
What are you here for?

today i wish i had grass to settle my bare feet in, a printer to take my reading away from the screen, and friends to unravel some ideas that I have percolating but barely have words to put to yet. i want post-it note messes and tangential rants over fruit smoothies in the sun.

today i wish i could thread together fringe ideas and substanceless maybes by myself. or more accurately, i wish the doctoral research project was not so lonely. that it championed collaboration of ideas and became a project of care, of community, of compassion not focused on colonial concepts of breaking ground first but instead of ruminating, pausing, treading water, observing and reflecting. on inthemoment not firstpastthepost or beforetherest. rest as pause as care as vital as lifesource of thinking. dreaming first. dreaming always. dreaming and idealising and creating. mess becomes beauty. becoming. the doctoral project is a waiting place, an expectant limbo or rather a succession of waiting places, elevator lifts to new floors but never a transition straight to answers. never up up up. elevators that move in all directions. escalators maybe. certainly shopping centre escalators. forever stalling, breaking, too fast, too slow, unsteady as we step off.

what a mess. and yet what beauty. and still a project that requires so many moving parts, so many individual pieces to function, to culminate in the final result - movement. forward or standing still, long way round or unmechanical steps. organic. always.

grounding, like toes in the daisies and heel-crumpled buttercups. natural, nature, not a fix but a part of the process. stopping, breathing, back to roots. basics are care and care is anything but basic in frenetic lives. but removing bureaucracy, deadlines and paperwork as limitations, ignoring processes and breaking protocols is a glitch in the capitalist machine. a glint in the grin of an accomplice who revels in the breaks, the breaking, the pauses and fresh starts in new branches. divergence is crucial.

deep breaths, cool breeze through cracked windows and a reminder that hot laptops on crossed legs will be there tomorrow. now to rest and to think. always thinking, always distilling. but today the sunshine is more important. the levity of the outside more pressing than years-away deadlines, Bureaucratic Other forces.

today is paperless, weightless, endless. new life grows through cracks, persistent nature and persevering natural. in my own time. how else will the project evolve?

The setting sun warms the surface of the sand and the light dances into my eyes as I stare down the distance of the beach wondering why I was here. The waves were quiet and dark crashing onto the shore in a methodical fashion always seeming to reach my bare feet yet falling short just before I can be graced by their cool touch. As I walk farther down the shore the sun begins to sink below the surface of the water as if to hide from the events unfolding. As the light drowns beneath the darkness I watch it suffer as it breathes its last rays of light into this world. It’s gone… too soon?
    The wind now sheds its embracing touch for its more wild nature. The trees flail as the gales bully its boughs into submission. My clothes now seem to lose their connection to my skin and flow freely around my body as if I am the ***** and they fear my touch. The sky finally paints over its last layer of red with the ominous presence of the violet clouds. The smell of the salty sea is usurped by the oppressive smell of dead rotting fish. Heat fades from this world as the cold cloak of the night seeps from the other side.
    My mind is lost. My feet now move towards the waves as the water glides towards me. It washes over my ankles with sharp bites as if to warn me not to challenge the approaching tempest. The sand below my feet falls away from itself as it is taken by the waves. My knees feel the touch of the bitter waters but they stay strong; they know their goal. My shirt has now become damp and heavy as it becomes continuously soaked by the deepening water. The water has become resistant to the pursuit of my goal as it mounts its final resistance. Lightning strikes in the background and thunder soon follows. The quickest thought flashes over my mind as I consider the possibility that I am making a mistake. But it left as soon as it came and I remembered the pain in my life, the pain in my heart. I hear a roar from deep within the heart of the ocean and I see my future, my past, the present. The world has accepted my desire and has welcomed me with open arms. I stare at the coming wave and for just a moment I see my twisted reflection dancing; whether to mock me or to celebrate my relief I no longer care.
    As if I was just a leaf in the path of the eternal wind of existence the wave smashed into me and flung me deep into the sea. Deeper and deeper. There is no sky, there is no sand, no wind, and no light. Only the water, deep and apathetic to any regrets or second I may have. I feel only water; in my mouth, in my nose, in my lungs filling them to the brim seeking to quench my thirst. My eyes do not burn from the sting of the salt, they burn from the pain in my heart. My head hurts, not like it always has, but like its trying to hold on to what I had, what I have left, this place, this world.
    I see only darkness now. I hear only my thoughts now. I feel nothing. I am nothing. I thought that when I was gone I would be in peace. That world was not peace. That world was an awkward conversation, glances from strangers, people you thought were your friends, friends who you thought thought of you as more than just a thought. Simple thoughts, substanceless with no end in society, bickering, distracting, trying to find a place in a place you think doesn’t want you. When the truth is it's you who doesn’t want you, and that’s the only thing that matters. I wanted people to like me because I thought that me could be made better by them because they told me they were better than me. I allowed myself to be pushed down and run over with no resistance because I tried and I had failed before, I just wanted it to be over. But now I want closure. I don’t want others to die thinking that this is desire, that this is ecstasy. Next to me is where they shouldn’t be. Pain, suffering, regret, fear, anger, revenge… it's all a raging fire I hold close to my heart. I wanted to put it out with water. A deep and dark water that there is no return from. If I do others will follow. They will ask me, “What should I do holy father?” Jump into the water. Nothing is not the solution to everything. The fire they have given us is strong, but jumping in is so wrong. Only when I’m on the edge of the diving board do I see the true extent of the water. The slaughter of all the people’s hearts and all the people’s souls. I know now that my feelings aren’t something to hide, that my feelings aren’t something I can put to the side. I can put out that fire.
    Tears run down my cheeks. Their taste is ambrosiac. My shadow forms along the soft surface of the sand as the day rises slowly. I see the great expanse of the ocean and I remember everything that anyone has or will have done to me. I look down the length of the beach… and I start walking.