haiku: l'oreal dye box

l'oreal dye box 
untouched - fresh bouncing tresses 
man drowns. sud-filled drain.

pandora's box shut

your 
message
lies 
unopened
pithos 
of pandora
my phone 
flash
offers 
temptation
but
i can't 
reply
no matter
how much
i want you
last night
overwhelmed
in a weak moment
i called
knowing
in your 
hellbent path
of self-destruction
you'd be busy
no answer
because 
you were
and i can't 
message back
because
i love you
almost more than 
anything
except 
myself
pandora's box
must remain
shut
for there is 
no hope

if i had a wand

if i had a wand
i would wave it
and our laughter
would piss off cat
meowing his derision
for our silliness
as it washed over
the balcony
and the theatre
beneath, played on
instead of being
stuck, here.

i am sick with love

i am
sick
with 
love


strangely
terminal
dangerous
liaison
steamroller
atop
barely
affords
breath
snot
tears
the 
unknown
juices
unplugged
flow
in a 
toxic
mishmash
of 
resistance
my
ability
to care
crushed
by your
beautiful hands
[which i love]
beloved
IDTC
how they 
once
caressed
my lower
spine
as it
arched
back
into you
quivering
how 
i yearn
for your
touch
always
even now
to share
the 
horror
such
sadness
how we
would giggle
exchanging
naughtiness
our
destructive
anecdotes
framed by
collective
mirth
your
unmeeting
unchangeable
eyes
the 
town
became
too small
suffocating
trust
already
packed up
taking
the crystal
with
it
noone
notices
my
outward
projection
only
wavers
sometimes
soul
shrinking
beneath
unanswered
calls
delayed
meetings
more
- if
i stay
i will
surely
die


i am
sick
with
love

i'm sorry

i'm sorry
i crossed
the line
no matter
what you did
i shouldn've
gone there 
too
it's ironic
isn't it
that i'm
apologising
to you
when 
you owe me
thousands
but 
who is 
counting
now?

haiku: if you laid me down

if you laid me down

beside old hedgehog roadkill

i would be flatter

panda girl with wine

while enjoying slam poetry at caravan sets last night, unbeknownst to me, the lovely geoffrey goodes slyly drew my portrait. please note the plastic cup of wine. and the fact that i am wearing a panda hat [it was cold in/outside].

your arm lives

your arm 

lives

around me

as we walk 

down 

the street

your shy eyes

expect

nothing

search mine

as we meet

offering

possibilities

your laugh

and upward

intonation

a window

into open

vulnerability

yet sureness

     - aaah

the old

never 

favours

comparably

with the 
new

your words

your words 

for another lover

wrapped around me

like an erotic 
massage

earnest cuckoo

i searched for 

the pauses

to falsely savour

their ghost caress 

but haunted you

stopped early

an abrupt finish

left me unsated

wanting more

warm eyes

I see you 

On the wings

Moving slowly 

Onto stage

Your warm eyes 

Dance, throwing 

Luxuriant moonbeams

To wrap 

My restless supernova

- warm eyes.

Increased gravity

Resistance wanes

It becomes harder

To stay out, under 

The spotlight

Alone

In the cold

Waiting 

For the impossible 

- dream.

When at rainbow's edge 

Reality awaits

- with warm eyes.

still from holy mountain - alejandro jorodowsky

Verse 11:11 - charon's lifeless spiraling waters

haiku: sleep - a stranger now

sleep - a stranger now

old fanned flames lovingly lick

my untouched pillow

in beauty may i walk

i shot the above image as the sun went down at "in the night garden" an evening street exhibition for sydney fringe festival 2011 which i partook in with the uber punk monk propaganda kids & a bunch of other talented shadow illuminating alchemists. 

a celebration of light in all its manifestations in hidden corners & crevices of industrial hood, st peters. behind the wonderful & artist collaborative tortuga & index studios.

the text "in beauty may i walk" is borrowed from the ancient navajo. an integral poem in a nine day ritual, called the night chant. seems like a pretty great guiding principle to me.

pied piper of waa

forced 

free 

the 

truth

made 

you 

shrink

crying

you say 

the others

are not 

important

you're

trying

to 
clean
up

the mess

you 

keep

creating

old habits 

die 

hard
still

stuck

on the

same 
tune

it's 

me

you 

love

IDTC

super 

friend

sans 

lycra 
suit

lies

and 

truths

now

indiscernible

i wonder

what 

the others

would 

say
- stuck 
on the 
same 
tune

the pied piper of hamelin by eroogroof

silhouette film slices [part iii]

part of a series of punk monk propaganda stop motion films conceived by emma sanderson & myself for mischievous sex pop trio, fun machine. executed with a handful of similarly mad & talented punk monks, we handmade five of these suckers in seven days.

toxic: the very first of the hedonistic stop motion wave. this is where we cut our sharp teeth. a little more raw & crude than most of the series as we picked up the pace & skills along the way. we're still very fond of it, the song & band [of course].we LOVE LOVE LOVE the menstruation river, scarlet canal & dancing toxic tampon imagery... and no, you can't turn them into pearls girls.

this one by myself with emma sanderson, ky-lee menzies & craig bunker [bunkwaa].

silhouette film slice [part ii]

the above clip is part of a series of stop motion films conceived by emma sanderson & myself for wonderfully mischievous sex pop band, fun machine. executed with a handful of similarly mad & talented punk monks, we made five of these suckers in seven days.

this one by dave cheng with ky-lee menzies & me. by the far the more sophisticated of the group, ah te was the very last of the series as we went over deadline kicking, screaming and almost falling apart at the seams. by which time we'd really sharpened our claws with davey raising the bar just that little bit further.

haiku: freshly chilled cider rocks

bar stool siren her
fieriness lured me onto
freshly chilled cider rocks

haiku: blew my mind awake

just a few shared words
last night, in a crowded bar
blew my mind awake

silhouette film slices [part i]

look what us punk monks made for our beloved band, fun machine! 


part of a series of stop motion films conceived by emma sanderson & myself. executed with a handful of similarly mad & talented punk monks, we made five of these suckers in seven days. 

haiku: this urban decay

this urban decay
offers up men with excess 
baggage + addiction