When you want to stuff the thing you loved so much

Something that was alive once, filled with an alive thing, breathing and talking and fucking and eating, but now wraps around a bag, or shoes, or a person’s shoulders, or on their head, or around their cash and credit cards, or it’s on the floor, and they walk over it, every day, with their own skins, or if they’re wearing shoes, with the skin of something else, like the 2, or 3 if you’re lucky, layers of paper that stick together on a toilet roll, however they manage to stick layers of toilet paper together, touching, and together, but if you pull them just a little bit, they will come apart.

She kept her old fish in the freezer, next to some mice and some baby quails, all in paper towels and plastic cups. She dug out the insides of the mice and one of the quails, but I don’t know where she put them, in the bin, maybe, in another plastic cup. The fish got to keep its whole self together, wrapped up tightly in resin, but she had to piss while it was setting, and pop-pop-pop, bubbles froze inside, probably while she was wiping. The fish looked like shit, half the tail dried up in the air, wires twisted around it. The quail looked like shit, it was hard to keep the feathers on, and the wings on, and the beak on. The mice looked like shit; one lost a few feet, the other lost a mouth. Fuck this shit, she said, and put them under her bed, wrapped up in paper towels and plastic cups.

Ford Froth is Infinite

Like general ford frothing at the mouth, there are always tiny bubbles in the space between bubbles, tinier bubbles in the space between tiny bubbles, like the cosmic soup of the universe, percolating between lips, like the average colour of the universe, like getting lost in the absence of absence in a latte, like a ford factory, where metal is being stamped in sync with other metal being folded and one can’t be stamped if the other isn’t folded, and the women pass the metal through the machines, like the only thing they can do anymore is this single gesture, because it’s the only thing they can do, except in one gesture there are smaller gestures nested, and it takes up an infinite of these gestures to complete one gesture of the other, but it is only one gesture of a potential infinite gestures in the production line, because some infinities are bigger than others. She thinks, oh shit, I can’t remember if I used my left or right hand first, then, nah what nonsense is that, it’s left, I’m left-handed, pick it up with my left, work with my right, no, wouldn’t I work with my left and pick it up with my right, what is every else doing, I can copy, but that doesn’t feel right, maybe if I shake it off, ‘NO BREAKS’, ok, no breaks, which ever hand it is, I’ll just use one, this one, which one is this, ok it’s the right, I’m sticking with the right, in and out of the bubbles, bouncing from tinier ones to less tinier ones, sometimes they pop but another slides in to take its place. Shit, she thinks, no breaks and i need to shit.

elastic face, maestro looks, sweaty upper lip, dragging on 15 mins, dirty dishes, sore heels, stale mouth

elastic face, maestro looks, sweaty upper lip, dragging on 15 mins, dirty dishes, sore heels, stale mouth

Collecting names of products, whose names have become generic

Kleenex, Band-Aid, Aspirin, ChapStick, Doona, Thermos, Videotape

Hoover, Tupperware, Velcro, Teflon, Bubble Wrap, Laundromat, Thermos, Brassiere, Zipper, Glad Wrap, Kleenex, Band-Aid

Escalator, Linoleum, Rollerblade, Jet-Ski, Hacky Sack, Bubble Wrap

Band-Aid, Cellophane, Post-It, Tupperware, Velcro, Super Glue, Bubble Wrap, Thermos, Zipper, Brassiere, Glad Wrap, Speedo

Aspirin, Heroin, Adrenaline, Coke, Biro, Sharpie, Texta

Band-Aid, Post-It, Jet-Ski

Hacky Sack, LP, Hula Hoop, Muzak, Ping Pong, Jet-Ski, Jacuzzi, Rollerblade, Jeep, Frisbee, Videotape, Bubble Wrap, Heroin, Lava Lamp

Linoleum, Teflon, Perspex, Bubble Wrap, Glad Wrap, Cellophane

Memory Stick, Google

this is me trying to block out the light behind me with my own space

this is me, what i believe to be a consecutive 5 days with the same headache

this is me not sure how to count what one headache is, when perhaps there are spaces in the feeling

this is me thinking, stop whining, your bestie is currently stuck in bed unable to move and you’ve gone outside

this is me thinking, ok! i’m just going to take some pain killers and start writing

this is me ovulating, wishing i wasn’t

a part of town where all the streets are named after characters from robin hood, except for yours

life is like the plastic wrapper that surrounds the newspaper that is thrown out of the back window of a white, 2000-era toyota

it doesn’t have another purpose except for being there, to hold the newspaper for a little while, before you strip it off

maybe you’ll put your hand in it, or try to stretch it as far as it can go before it rips in half, and then you will have a flaccid sheet of plastic

maybe it will get left on the front lawn all day, while you’re at school and your mother is at work, and when you come home in the afternoon after getting off the bus you’ll bring it inside, and when you try to open the newspaper, the dew on the inside of the bag shakes loose, and smudges the pages

maybe you’ll try to read the newspaper, but it’s just the same word repeated over and over and every character is called the same name and it really doesn’t matter what that word or that name is

so maybe life is like the newspaper inside the plastic bag, or, life is like the white, 2000-era toyota, with faded seats and cracked window seals, or, life is like the dew that comes in the morning time, when water condenses on the grass and in the plastic bag around the newspaper, or, maybe life is like nothing at all

my breasts are so sore i have to wear a bra

my hands are so cold i have to wear gloves inside

my nose is so dry i have to put lip balm on it

the world is going crazy, right?

i don’t understand how people can take nice, clear photos on their webcams, seems impossible.

i’m pretty sure everything is impossible.

When casein is denatured, it becomes da-Sein.

The skin on milk, when you warm it up, and the hot liquid slides against the cold air, and it goes solid, to protect itself, and you pinch it up and put it on the side of the cup’s lip away from your mouth, so you can drink the milk, not chew it. It might call itself protein, and protein is good for you, but you still don’t want it in your mouth.

Once, I met someone who lived off the skin that formed on soups, and they were happy, but they were wasteful, because they didn’t eat the rest of the soup, it was poured onto the same patch of grass every day, and at one point, the grass died.

Perhaps they were Nepalese, and said to me, yeah, durr (turr), I enjoy it. Or were perhaps Japanese and said So? And I said, no, thanks. They said, yeah alright mate, suit yourself, and I said, look I’m really sorry, but I think you’re a ghost and might have been dead for 1000-1300 years, and I’m not sure I can trust a ghost for meal advice, because, well, I guess you don’t eat, and they said, shit, haven’t you seen the movie Casper? We eat, it just falls through us. That doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy it.

i cry approximately 2/3 days, sometimes 1/2

today i cried, as in, i am crying right now

i didn’t mean it to happen, or to even think about it, i only just realised there were tears underneath my eyeballs, on the lower lid

i did not cry yesterday, but,

i did cry the day before

the day before (yesterday, the day before yesterday, my birthday) i cried, about a few things, i was also slightly drunk



i just realised, i did cry yesterday

do you see that? google says i have, like, allergic conjunctivitis, like, i basically have conjunctivitis all the time because i am allergic to everything. you can’t tell, but the skin on my eyeball is swollen, like, it’s all puffed out. It holds on my the iris/pupil, where i guess, it doesn’t have the capacity to swell up. it is very uncomfortable, it’s like there is something inside it, but really it’s just my eyeball skin no longer fitting in the socket, behind the lids. oops. i think one day it might just droop out. i walk around a bit with one eye closed, try to get its juices to heal it, like saliva does, like when you lick sore part of your body because your saliva helps it to heal faster, and i tried to eat my breakfast (its 3.30pm) but i couldn’t quite get my hand to my mouth, like i am used to, because i was only seeing it with one eye. sometimes i will walk around with both eyes shut, to see how i might manage, also because i may have a headache and light is very painful, it is very hard. when i ask you, ‘which sense would you prefer to lose, if you had to lose one’, and you say, well definitely not hearing because music is my life, i will say ‘fuck you’, because do you have any idea how much independence you will lose and oh my god, music is not your life, being able to go and buy some bread is your life, or not being hit by a car is your life. i know you can live well when you can’t see, but shit. i’m happy that i can see and hear and smell and taste and touch and you know there are more than 5 senses right, thanks.

a taxonomy of taxonomies to write

of skins

of chewing and swallowing

of cuts, scabs and scars

of potential senses

of transparency vs opacity

of ways in which to have sex alone (and with 1 or more partners)

of things you do, which you don’t know why you do it

of the parts of your body that can dance, and the music that may accompany it

of consuming yourself and others

of that points of view you can inhabit

of itchiness

of wet patches, including snot, spit, sweat and piss

of types of folds

of qualities of taxonomies that make them different to other lists

These are some short stories i have written as ‘prezis’, as in, like, dynamic powerpoint presentations.

If you know how to write code, call me, as in, like, send me a message, I want a 3D space 

my ears hurt from the cold, i am trying to write a week-by-week schedule for the next 19 weeks. i don’t know what i’m doing, at all. but i think i feel ok, except there are a few nerves, just a little, just chillin i guess, while i’m trying to think of all the books i need to read, and how fast i can read them, while also remembering their content. i don’t know if i can read all the ones i want. i don’t know how much i need to put in my schedule. does my supervisor need to see that i will look at anatomy textbooks as story inspiration? that i’ll probably come up with an idea while sitting on the toilet? anyway, i’ll be reading on there, like all the time, probably. do i need to schedule in my meal breaks, how much i sleep? because i tend to need sleep, more than i think, an average person needs sleep. phew, this is tough shit baby.

tumblr says

i wore this shirt 16 days ago

in between now and 8 days ago i got my hair cut

i haven’t protested in 3 weeks

i have a lot to be angry about

and so do you, this is two thousand and fourteen