Mr.C

Mr Cool, Mr Sexy, Mr I’ll-give-you-an-orgasm-with-my -smile. Mr Distance, Mr SC, Mr I’ll-make-you-fall-in-love-over-cyber-space. Mr Mister sits at an office desk pretending to be an adult but doesn’t even wear a suit because he’s hip, he’s Mr I-don’t-wear-a-suit-but-i-watch-Suits. Mr i-just-want-to-make-everyone-happy makes life seem more confusing than it is, but then justifies it with that infectious Mr Loveable persona. Oh yes i would like a piece of that cake- just so damn irresistible. Mr Irresistible. I’ll meet you at the park with my red flip top phone, I’ll brush my teeth in case we kiss, I’ll stay up till my eyes are red and Monday is suffering, because you are Mr Yes. Mr Making-your-mark, Mr Magic, Mr Meet-me-one-day-when-it’s-not-the-wrong-time. MR C YOU HAVE GOT ME.

 

 

 

Hearty Boy.

She finds your decor amusing but fascinating, the lady sits on the mantlepiece above the fireplace, a traditional setting surrounded by testosterone and tumult. Foliage and grass neighbour a serious degree, you make her think, which makes her think, she should think about more you. Your hair is a growing maturity and your look is looking likeable. She thinks she likes this. The height of perfectly spaced records, framed art and grainy films with dazzling plots say a lot about a person like you. Salty is one word to leave her lips, to live daily on your lips and to one day link their lips, an interesting mix of mutual existence that have newly come to the fore. Pottering around in a place of unstable, leaves ladies and gentleman talking abroad. A talk that never listens, a talk to tempt the faint, a talk for maybe him, a talk for never her.

slice of heaven

It started off as a skinny Zafina, then guilty, smokey, tobacco. Anxiety was high before i bathed in sweat and pretended it was Friday. Satay, hash and winks took a sip of the syrup. A cold shower flooded the floor and made me eat the whole block of eden. Slice of heaven if you ask me. Love lace and regrets plan for the holidays, a simple time for rest and paint.

Salt

To finally feel sweat dry, in the palm of an audience, feels like ecstasy no bathroom sink can give you. The work that finally works, is a gift that only needs to give once. When you lick your face an realise you are made of salt, you can’t help but feel the gracious presence of blithe. Pocketing compliments, physical tears, i cry louder in the silence that let me thrive today. A body of work, energy made out of sand, butterflies from another, i showered the collective opinion. Salt gifted me the confidence to establish purpose.

free molly

Bippity bippity bop pitty patty we have a free molly for you in 41 days. 41 days till the bad goals destroy the good goals, 41 days until the cold will finally make us all feel warm, 41 days until i wear my basics. Remember when we were children and teaching teddy bears their ABC’s was exciting? Remember going to the movies with your family to watch The Incredibles? Remember when we were young and we used to love $2 mixtures from the dairy? Now if you can remember anything, you wasted the memory. Now we pay by the ounce to forget.

I am watching my flowers drink their water as the tea bag absorbs my delirium, my restless friend Molly awaits a long night among the foliage. Cheap thrills are averagely priced at this time of year, even when the thrills aren’t cheap. We sit among the stars watching our breath disappear into the kitchen, friends become benefits which is funny because my friends are the benefits. Remember the credit card that made everything disappear?

La la land lives so close from far far away and Molly has Incredible teddy bears. It only costs $2 go to The movies and there is only 41 days until i can feel like a child again. Molly is the bad goals. Molly teaches the ABC’S. Molly and the dairy . Bippity bippity bop. I forgot everything that happened…for free. Thank you Molly.

the unoriginal story, by TheWorld

We are a combination of everything we have been influenced by in our existence. Nothing is original and nothing is our own, instead a result of what we have experienced. We seep the things we like and discard the things we don’t. Unconsciously. A world constantly feeding off the energies and offers of our environment. Unoriginal is our name because our idea of creativity is all the same. Now theres a rhyme. We can claim nothing to be our own pure creation as everything about us as individuals is an effect of others, environment and surroundings- i guess you could say, ultimately we are one.

20SEP

Perhaps everything in this world happens for a reason. Perhaps we can be content that everything that was meant to find us, found us and everything that was meant to miss us, missed us. Maybe we are always standing exactly where we are meant to be standing, even if we don’t know it at the time. Maybe we can be content knowing that nothing is really a mistake, instead just a passing moment that we can acknowledge, accept and move on. Even if this ideal is all made up or not true in the slightest, it still makes sense to humans, creating peace of mind and some reassurance that we are valid and everything we do in life can be judged just that little bit little less. We get so hung up on what could have been or what we wished we had but maybe, just maybe, we have everything we need for life to unfold just as it needs to?