An ongoing series of “Serious Writings” apon the writhing skin of the Magnet Sun

May 4 – On, Greenhouse

April 16 – Abril às Vezes

March 12 – Março no Mar

February 15 – On, Showers

I burgeon with life
too tired to write
like the night ends at sundown
the stars are a woman
bloodshot violet and sulphur
warm salt mixes with ochre
lapis neck
left handed sex

~

My head sits elsewhere
between two pinpoints of light
double exposure has me drawn in all directions
Imperial blush falls to my shoulders
as teal wastes my hands
serpent grows long in the drylands
Incisions apon the limb to propagate devout
Visions of beauty with a pear in its mouth

december 2

Ive been blinded, by the mist
I see your future in your future’s arms
With kodak hair and hellsong
&another third arm

You took down, dutch ground
& my sun
& i tried to not cry
& i dont know what else, i expected

Acres notes, late october, before the great rockslide of november 21st

Eleven
Triangle
Sailor
Some symmetry

Evangeline
Shadow cast
Smoother
Shaved

Beater
Piss air cant harm you’!!!

……———/…..-..-……———-:::::::::
Barbed stomach lining
Some thoughts get lost in these hills
Im not able to look for your rings again

But ill still take pictures like you do
&ill still write poems for you

Sssssssshhhhs~~~

Calico fiend is done for now
Those song will lay in rest for now
Ill move two, Ill be from south
It’s hotter now, up here
the Line sprouts and furrows
Plantlife returns to form & steam
Rises from this earthly mouth.
Dirt lines this ground…

Shhhsss steamlife hails in
New elevation
Water comes to with
Oral tradition
As in,
Ther watermarks
&water talks shit

New font laid outside the circle,
Something came this far,
I dont know what else to say…

Therwatermarks&
Water talking…

The, impish serenade three answers ,
with a booming voice from the clouds:
“the Flametree speaks for you,
The carpet grounds ,,
&this house is covered in a ropey vinelike substance,
like, this eden

dream cont…
september 12september 12

I saw them before, lying on the road
I saw them change

tape, radio

note– rebalance sample at 130 drop, removing ‘instrument’/voice and leaving percussion and breaths

Bushroaded head found in some older pages,
Ive not told, if I cant breathe or clove saviours.
August it hurts to breathe over,
“The air’s just heavier, thrower”

Says it’s sun exposure running down his heart,
I’vnt known what to believe but its not hard to
see the glow from within his eyes;
this light, this heat, comes from the inside.

Moon hangs a grin
Dear runner rolls us

My right jaw rings tight, corralling bent down my back

White light, white heat, hurdles towards us ,
Now I manage to catch it rust.
Now im seated where you sat last,
The height leaves an impression of class..

//-//-//-//-//-//

tawny eye, tawny moon
frail Sightline feigns a swoon
Thrower showed face
With red eyes from noon

=========================================

lstdrmlstdrmlstdrmlstdrmlstdrmlstdrmlstdrmlstdrmlstdr
///-///-//////-///-//////-///-//////-///-//////-///-//////-///-//////‘last dream’ (?),,, ‘arrow’, thrower

-arrow points blue, my arm doesnt know what else to say

~~~~sayy
arrowpointin in the other way…
~~~~~wouldnt rain?
I said repeat (someone else said delay)
-arrowpoint through over paper grain
~~~ ,or, some saaaavior
wwww-witchhand back in disguise
I wrote some poem for tawny
What, with throughgrain
What, with redeye
Arrowpoint’s bluegrey and their moss. (light?)
Cee, left and leaving trail,
Rounded long by his ### , and following his tail, i can
Hear him, hollowed smell
Seven notes were left scrawlin on
PaperTreebark, and ink was still wet i,, know he was
-i know he was with
/////////////////////////// id prefer if you stayed…

~
-Ill try to write but my arm doesnt know what else to say…
-I’ll try to talk but im feeling feint.
~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~“August i cant bring myself to these words again,
on, something must build before its deConstruct…
so why are we taking it all apart again
for the third time, again…
theyll only be, dust along ruq.”

(&as for him…) By stay i mean a written reason,
he looks back at me coy and I see its;; not him-
I’ve been talking up the wrong friend.
Like, i wrote up three poem only to burn and sample the ash,
Any greater narrative is folded to iterations, like, violet is a compound fracture and
I’m not sure ill write again,
but, I’ll write again. ..

Like, i read a wave after lighthouse and something in me cried out,
or, I found a home but i still dont feel at ease now,
theres something there I know it…
just beyond some folds and thin barrier:
may lie some, pacific revelatory sightline
a woolf, coyot’, a carrier.

now lie await… with
the entrails hold together by,, rope
threading pulled hard and thread outside came close to, breaking open
earlier an eye turned out, ca’vity-
I could feel spine and electric thought arced to touch my finger;
pulling back from an unwelcome visitor

But
When everything is reverend i can hold myself dear
So what do i make of this body?
Of this heat?

but, but my arm isnt all that broken anymore
but, time moves faster now and i … anymore
Bridge isnt so far away anymore…
i Dont think i can see, what she sees, anymore
(I mean, you know i wouldnt but damnn…)

…………….,,..,…..’……….,…..,……’……………
…eye………..lemon halo………………..
…its season again…
Hail on the salt flats the,
Font predicts it.

She walks to,
With a halo pinned to her chest
Pressed to her forearm
Y

Yalsica
Or, whomever thought itd be a good idea
To lay these soft monuments alongside the southbound line
Where i (and i guess many others)
Would have routined in electrical heat
At this time of a year,
Years before me.
The lemon halo means atop.
The halo stops,
Before a stormtime again,
I
I was asked to stay late again,
Im listening to old songs again.
Venner sounds like a friend.

…………””
the Horn
Provider
Merge early

july 2

Out of respect
For their bodies shall not be burned under eyesight

Ochre flowering, he/they, smells like velveteen

Moss, Amour, April 8

FCFBbBb

I do not write poem in a fever

Dig up, oh dig up from red dirt
lovers, and other I will not hurt
Rummage, in chest drawers on tiles
the water, rises up miles

Here I will write you a song once
A poem, a creekbed resemblance

ch1

Insects and runners awoke us
grey noon and grass under heavy dust
circling, arms bluesky and sorrow
a story, too hurt to follow…
~~~~~~~~when I heard “I live out there now,
wet powerlines and crowsounds”
//-//-//
I’ll fall further than the calls
of singing and joy and the sparrow
that Annie once wrote with their marrow

ch2

Night on, power through surges
ringing, cicadas on birch
reflection, a reflecting on skyline
Oateson, lover and drive

I’ve found my way back through woods now
dry bush, rainfall and woodsound
ropehang, a vine wraps and tightens
let us grow redwoods and gardens
oh let us grow redwoods and gardens

ch3, inst

August, a boy is named Commer
a poem, a writing, a song for her
width and, a wide open field
the boy makes his way past the field
Solar flares August moves through stone
and I will write of this once home
Past this feedback in Annerly streets
(I walk, it is hot)
Under throughstones Augustine once lives

The water, once mentioned has passed now
Apartments, and houses above ground
Soil lies damp in the shallow
Bargara, currents and shallows

We make our way long the creekside
Hours, up past the northside
Commer, looks fall through his hands
he lies under leaves in the sand

I met you in wind by the trainstop
oh Augustine waits by the trainstop
timepass grows gardens and redwoods
Ill write down Augustine Redwood

ch5

again, a water will rise
Overcast under eyes
under tunnelway overpassing
grey flares and slowly crossing

It is sometimes night
Innercity under tawny light
slowly under drunken light
It is sometimes night

It is under sound
I found myself inside under sound
I will walk
beyond pushing sounds
beyond pushing sounds

ch6

she stained, her pages with citrus
bitumen, hardwood and notice
she lives, two blocks away now,
beneath brickwood and clay
I met her far beyond cables
she drew lines as the frame
lights and, line moving frame
swoon fall, dance moving frame

denim on frames
canvas on frames
arms and, arms and face
Oh alternate space

moss amour
moss embrace
moss amour
moss embrace

 NOVEMBER 23rd, the print is stained and on fabric it settles heavy.

July 1st

February 20th with pages

February 18th with satellites

February 15th

February 7th, buildings are castles

Feb 4th

January 27th 

January 29, Birdfisher & Variations

January 8th, Indigo singalong

Cicada Singalong, Dec 19th

November 24th, My heart beats catacombs

October 25th, Cityplanet

October 17th

OCTOBER 4TH

october 3rd

i. Ive chosen to remain innocent in this situation

Started on the 13th of August 2020, possibly to be finished in a complete form sometime in the future…

    1. Couches on which we sit on, but in the morning dont’t remember sitting upon.

And I would let them grow out of me, their roots through my chest. Their noise and sudden, abrupt change of mood. Instead of saying you sing, and instead of singing you scream. With your mouth and without that, your body. Having been recycled over and over again until bare remnants of the birth remain, but it still forms a beauty as cacophony in a way I’ve seen so many times before but never bore. You left and I died as well. But this is an apocalypse of a dream so who knows when you’ll be back. In the meantime, before your magnificent return, we made noise with toys; again, screaming in a way that would terrify, but when we occasionally hit a harmony it became

You returned. Changed but returned, speaking of math, it would scare so many. You had lost your body, except for the occasional time where you would devolve into that form once again, oh how you hated it. You always mentioned how you would kill your brother the moment you saw him again, although you were high and I could never really take you seriously when you were in such a state. Talking of the romans, you mentioned how history will repeat itself and your destiny was set in stone years before. Again, I took what you said with a grain of salt but what you were saying rang oddly true. You spoke of that bathroom, the dirt floor and the shattered mirror. You joked about killing yourself on one of the glass shards but didn’t do it in the end (which might I add was a good choice). Then, going to your dad’s house we drank some oddly sweet coffee. You screamed your beautiful scream: “I have a feeling that I want to die, that I don’t want to exist anymore. The weight that is on my chest, and tightness in my stomach, haven’t left me for over a year now and they don’t feel like they’re going away anytime soon. I cannot remember for the life of me the last time that I felt fully conscious for more than a day. I’ve forgotten so many moments that I don’t remember. These sounds keep changing and I can’t keep track of them, I don’t know what to do. I’ve asked for help from myself so many times but he just doesn’t respond how can I get his attention I feel that If I don’t do something soon that He’ll do something stupid again remember that time? You know, my dear friend that I really don’t like acting so manic, that I don’t enjoy this feeling of electric heat that I don’t know how to stop it, so please bear with me for just a few more moments I need to get this off my chest, and by this I honestly don’t know but I feel that If I keep talking and taking up your time then I will come to some sort of realisation, does that sound right to you? I’ve been searching for some time now for this so-called realisation, but nothing has seemed to come yet, emphasis on yet! You know it’s just around the corner I can feel it. But deep down I know that there is no realisation that there is just blind and pointless chaos.”

And with that you left the room. I followed you to the lounge where I found you pouring yourself a glass of milk, you drank it and then continued: “But I have a feeling that all is not lost, both now and in the future. I know that If I can at least live on today then I will be able to at least live for tomorrow and that is a good sign. If I don’t stop now then I can’t stop ever. It’s a default, living. My life is my default. To change it would be to cause a disruption and I can’t deal with a disruption of that scale. However, a benefit of that disruption would be change and change feels good at times. I believe that If I change in that way then I might be able to finally become aware. I’ve been searching for this Awareness for so long and I’ve never known where to find it but deep down I have a feeling and everything just changed I can’t predict this why do things keep changing? I’m sorry I’m rambling again. It’s the dog again, he is screaming. He is screaming. We wrote him a note but he didn’t listen. I think the neighbours are going to call the cops at a certain point but what’s there to do? It’s not like we can just sent him away. I am terrified. Terror has been mentioned before but compared to now, I really am terrified. Terrified of what you might ask? Well I’m not entirely too sure myself but I think it is of something beautiful. Like that album you once liked, it started out so soft, so subtly, just a digital whine. But then it quickly and loudly got very manic. Again, with the manic. But you know what I’m saying. It was terrifying but you were so mesmerised! You were in awe of the beauty of destruction of hearing someone’s mind slipping as you are now. It has become an obsession of yours, to observe the scared, the hurt, the abused, through their art to feel a connection to problems thousands of lightyears away from you. You feel that if you understand how they think or feel you will then yourself, feel what they feel, and when they feel repaired, better, at the end of the story, at the end of the film, at the end of the album, you will feel better yourself. To hear the bittersweet castoff regarding, the saying of “I am not healed but I am healing. This is in the past now and I am on another journey now!”; it makes you feel. And that is all you’ve ever wanted. To feel. Oh, how you will in some regards never understand. You are wired different from me, and I am wired different from the next person. Nobody will think as they are all the same. You will never understand how others understand. You will never feel how others feel. Sure, there is an issue here, you do not feel aware of your understanding, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start to understand the way you understand and feel. You put too much time and effort into trying to think like these idols of yours, they pour their hearts and souls out onto you and you drink it up, every droplet a new truth, a new realisation of ‘yours’. When will you realise that your realisation is never going to come from someone else, but it needs to come from within, and it’s not just going to come, you will need to wait, to work, to realise for it to finally come. And you won’t need to look at subtext, read between the lines. When you realise what your after you will know. And I can tell you this as someone who has never had a realisation of their own, all I have ever experienced is other’s realisations, which gives me the information to share to you, but you already know this because we both desire this realisation which we don’t even know exists. We walked out back, sitting on an old couch in your back yard. You picked up your guitar and we sat facing each other. I was sitting on something, I can’t quite remember, but you were quite skinny at this point. You looked close to death which was ironic considering your pseudo-religious beliefs at the time. I remember that, over the next two or three months, you would suddenly loose more weight (hospitalised for it at one point), but then when July came around you started eating incredibly healthily and put on all the weight you lost over that year. Your tattoos started to stretch, the linework foal on your bare ribs got fat with you, you would joke. You played your nylon string guitar with your shirt off for a while, singing something I can’t quite remember, I wish I took note of more of this as looking back on it, it was quite an inspiring afternoon. I remember you got out your shitty video recorder and started taping at one point but I think you sold that off at a later date to help guy a new bass guitar. 

    2. 2001 Hyundai Elantra.

We barely awoke the next morning, although we had barely slept. It was sometime around noon, I heard your dad say, but we had stopped caring about time days ago; it was irrelevant in many situations, and as we never had anywhere to be at a specific time of day (other than the occasional: “meet in the morning”, but even then, we barely obliged, often leaving those meetings late enough that the person in question would have left by the time we got there). We drank coffee, my appetite was still not great, so I just packed myself some fruit for later.  

    5. Remnants.

We had gone to the bench, it might have been private property but nobody ever called us up on it. It’s not like we were particularly obnoxious, we would normally just hang out and smoke cigarettes. We forgot to buy another pouch, you swore. 

ii. Oscar see through red eye

Finally arriving, he will be let down.

But how was he to know?

Before he was to leave, she was to say something to him: “There it was, all round them. It partook of eternity.”, there was a coherence in things, a stability; something immune from change, something, something which shines out. Reading the sign: “THE RIPPLE OF REFLECTED LIGHT”, she said:

it surrounds us all,

it invigorates us all,

it loves us all,

it becomes us all,

it remains, and of such moments, the thing is made that remains forever. This would remain. And as such, we would remain. While it may not seem it, what we are currently is, and always will be; as while, yes, a body will die and energy disperse, what is now will always be, it will never not be, it will just be in a different way than it is now.

And with that he will leave, only to be let down once he arrives. Well, not quite as he arrives, as he will spend at least a day waiting and being before he would find himself to be disappointed.

vii. Lighthouse, watchtower pt. 3… maybe 4 (Listening to your death on vinyl and asking: “why is this the event which splits time into ‘before’ and ‘after’? shouldn’t it have been something a bit more significant?”), or some abbreviated version of this title such as ‘Lighthouse, watchtower pt. 4’ 

fillershit…