Hiccup sigh...

Please hit me,
So that the face may feel.
Crab scrambles across familiar terrain,
As the sea does it's thing.
Knowledge recruited to the mind,
That already knew.
Music from an apartment,
For an absent audience.
Hooo, hoooo, hooooeeeooo.
Saaa, seeeeeaaaa, seeeeeoo.
Cut this fillet,
So it may be defined.

Today's menu.

Not a facebook update...

Four hours of rearranging inanimate objects to reveal space that will serve as a pregnant void awaiting the unleashing of industry and creation. A quiet purging of social-networking and mobile technology to permit meaningful connectivity to that world beyond human consciousness, a pigeon with a limp for instance or a cheeky puddle of water.

Tick, tock, tick...

Until the next note, after the static expires - let's play some.

Ghostbuster.

She patted my left shoulder, i wandered why, then my right, followed by both my hips.

Apparently i had ghosts tethered to me, ghosts from the land that i live on. Spirits caught in limbo, well if my major anatomical joints could be conferred such a description. So naturally, she removed them for me, as we continued to dine and be merry. She was a witch doctor of 20 years experience, myself a serendipitous guest unknowingly haunted.

'Three females and two males' she elaborates, 'the female ones have been preventing you from forming meaningful relationships in recent years.'

Why of course! Makes sense now...

The eyes of my translating friend widened in sincere astonishment. 'What?' I ask, 'more than 5?' No. Don't be afraid she reassures me, which curiously had the opposite effect.

'What? Do tell.'

'They are coming. All 468 of them.'

'Eh? Who?'

'Your ancestors, they will soon arrive here and rid you of these ghosts'

'This is a good thing right?'

'Of course'

Home now, feeling lighter. Or is it heavier?

7 minutes.

"Hey there!"
"What?"
"Nothing, just wanted to get a response from you"

He turned the corner. The pavement was littered with concrete wrinkles characteristic of an urban landscape engineered on the ad hoc whim of town planners playing catchup to an unrelenting gentrification of an old ghetto, now forcibly hip, and ostentatious. Except for the pavement, a quiet bastion of honesty.

She threw her right shoulder against the rough inertia of the brick wall. A smile unfolded. The cheek, the audacity, the nerve. Ipod vibrates in left trouser pocket with a brevity suggestive of an SMS - her ex. Focusing on the space that delineated an absence of him she settles on taking in the ill-defined space that punctuated this ill-defined moment that will pass like many before, with a exaggerated mindfulness disproportionate to it's significance.

He walks on. Tomorrow they'll meet again, for more of it. For now, artichoke soup awaits. Cold hands find their way into warm jacket pockets.

9 minutes transpire.

Acorn.

Somewhere there is someone traveling interstate to deliver an acorn to a loved one. An acorn found below a tree during an afternoon stroll that was spent inwardly thinking about her. A walk through suburbia, amidst parked cars, lawn mowing and neat bricks with tapered concrete driveways coloured by an inner hue that is anything but paedestrian. An absence of epiphany, kapow and noise. Just an ordinary stroll to the tempo of a meandering mind that culminated under a tree to be that sole witness of an acorn falling to the ground.

So as to be picked up. Delivered. And shared.

Ode to Ocarina

Dear Katherine,

I broke it.

The string got stuck upon the corner of the table as i swiveled in excitement at finding a website that would slowly make a clay musician out of me. It took half a moment to smash upon my ceramic floor.



So sorry.

I still wander why i didn't just attend your graduation when you invited me too. It didn't matter that we were apart. Being there would have.

I remember you. Not always. Not even often. But i remember you. You were a bit crazy. Crazy enough to think that you could change for someone, craziness that made you believe that such a thing would be worth it. It isn't.

Hope you are well, married and happy. Not necessarily in that order.

Remember that leaf, with the ink on it?

I do.

Ordinary things.

Days are filled with moments collected for that conversation. A conversation that explodes from a dormant reservoir of an unshared biography. Moments that are characteristically silent and coloured with the narrowed aperture of eyelids as the spirit focuses it's energy to take an inner photograph in all the dimensions that only an imperfect memory can capture. Which is then stored away, and forgotten indefinitely until it reappears during 'that' conversation.

About filipino chicken feet.