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The fact that you do it makes it interesting

It couldn’t have been a mistake burning it all? Because I couldn’t carry it. It only hurts when I read good writing because I’ve stared at walls in rentals. I’ve punched the bedding and fought to the very end of my shifts. I tried to be good and remember their names. Latte armies, prams – I knew one day I’d beat it and find that checkout chic surrender but even my signature couldn’t stop it. I still made sure that oven was spotless and did my best with the shower glass. Just enough to keep things out of court. The worst that could happen was a bad credit rating which is actually good for gamblers. I think God is watching when you trap another human being in an expanding folder, even worse if he climbs in unaided. You see all this going over the handle bars. But if that didn’t happen I wouldn’t have woken up before my dreams to see what I was missing. The ratchet of dos, dont’s and what ifs winding down, innocent fishing wire eventually takes the gulls foot

I went to the races today. Someone I work with in my professional job is a part time bookie. He met me at the gate and gave me a members ticket. Going upstairs he said, you’ll have to tuck your shirt in. I froze. I can’t do that, I’m wearing a Macdonalds belt. That’ll be alright just fold it over, you can untuck it when you get up there. At the entrance I made sure I pulled out my 100 notes and looked for the ticket. Where is it? Seriously? It’s ok, I know this lady, can you give him another one? I must of dropped it downstairs. The first thing I thought was you shouldn’t be here. I sat down with his friends, old boys, rich guys. He knew everyone there. I noticed I started talking about selling my record collection and the profit that I could make. I even made it easy to see the past sales charts on my screen for the Dr next to me. We went down stairs for the madhatters and he introduced me to another guy who said, why is he wearing all black? Because I’m a punk and I don’t have any nice clothes. Lucky I didn’t get my cheeks pierced last week. They were all whispering about a horse called supernatural, apparently the trainers were very confident. We all went down to look at the horses and that one was a beauty. Calm and ripped. They put their bets on and I’d had a double shot latte by now so had some courage and enquired to the old boys what the return would be on $10. $75 they said. Fuck that, I’d need $7500 to make it worth the effort. Oh nooo, only bet what you can afford to lose. Maybe I’ll just put 100 down..but shit.. This is the money I got from selling my drum kit, and if I win I’ll think, I did it once I can do it again. That’s why I don’t drink alcohol. They actually didn’t disperse, but hung on that last line for a bit. Then went to collect their winnings. Doesn’t matter I just sold a record I shouted!

Well I sold the couch. My house mate came home and saw the space where we’d all sat writing songs and listening to recordings. She started moving all her stuff out after that, and singing that R.E.M. song about the end the world. I keep seeing little signs that it’s the right thing to do, certain themes, patterns. Seattle is at the top of the list, seems inevitable really, there’s only two problems.

  1. A record collection of about 1000
  2. Working Visa

Storage is not an option. Plus I want the money. It’s only when you get serious about change that your present circumstances start offering more, as if to say – don’t leave! I thought it was pretty cool living next door to a tattoo studio for five years but they just moved out and now there’s 5 chicks in there teaching art classes to NDIS clients.

I haven’t felt like writing a blog like this in a long time – just bare bones without trying to make it cool or interesting / poetic. This is probably how I should’ve written in the first place.

Commissioned by the City Of Swan, Western Australia

Bad day told to smile 

chased by my own ribcage 

it’s in every smokers eyes 

first thing about quitting

is to never do it again

the govo cockatoos dodge

cars at sunset flying 

upside down like shot

feathers floating down

fella leaning under sign

State Route Fifty One

ants try drag bones

all the way from QLD

just coz never been here

hitched nullabor myself

discharged after 6 years

authority not real. That’s

the only thing I learned 

that I wasn’t ordered to.

Nothing like coming down hill

when you’ve been away

and seeing that windmill turning

sleeping down by the river

the trains are deafening

but block everything out

the carriages passing

above the fishermen say

“take a break from driving”

They reckon what are you

doing? Coz I took a photo

of them I said same as you

interview at music shop

ended up talking honestly 

made his chair squeak 

What music do you like? 

Music is pretty limited.

must find way of playing

without touching instrument.

Everyone just waiting for chorus

The last song I made was

reading random sentences 

out of my diary and throwing

pieces of lego at the guitar

singing I bet Ed Sheeran

aint stacking shelves

What’s wrong with that?

C’mon we both know the

the problem with getting

a job is how to get rid of it

Just trying to finish what I’m 

doing so I can do wat I want

Sometimes when I talk ppl

look like they’ve been plucked

Why am i even here? 

brushing teeth in carparks

don’t need anymore stories.

plenty of blogs already 

bums just think they’re bums

they need to quit their jobs

hipsters and flippers too,

blondes wishing they were blonde

something has changed in you

You were much more honest

I can’t stand paying landlord

even the cat is using me

Raining & beautiful though, 

All lights on in the river. 

past double story black pub 

laughing shadows around

doorway in the smoke 

arms around each other 

young old and wheelchairs. 

Another sober day, 

proof don’t need god 

or those plastic chairs. 

still doing the right wrongs

If I could just make splash

under bridge glowing 

with beautiful slime. 

The last time I went, 

everyone who spoke 

at war with own head

each looking at the next

who’s more bewildered?

the sheer confusion

in that room 

and most of it 

in my own chair

Using every cognitive resource to achieve the male ideal an insecure narrator invents the ultimate alias: a renegade leader and sexual athlete. Compared with reality when males generally have no distinction between self and identity this example disassociates to the point the inner alpha is an entirely seperate person. The plot is a process of uncovering this great hijacking of consciousness while avoiding the pitfalls of preaching. The ending is reminiscent of schizophrenics who believe intricate paranoid delusions and sadly even when in recovery grapple with the lure to former glory by apparitions of masculinity which they have not yet possessed the grace to throw a sheet over.

But you never know who sees you, so don’t be invisible.

I love people I don’t like for being themselves.

Pablo Picasso spent his career trying to paint like a child.

The best advice I ever got in recovery was to knock yourself out.

Let’s be honest your going to anyway.

Enjoying the ride?

When no-one loves what you do,

Love them so you can (love what you do)

And they will end up loving you anyway

Even if they don’t

Honesty

And I don’t mean confession

I mean never making a mistake

Not even one, ever.

Get it?

You’re alright!

Cya

Hot chips are technically sugar. I was down at Alfreds last night having a soup. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I had it in my mind that I don’t need to fill silences. It wasn’t a serene understanding, more like treading water. I’m watching me there and I can’t see a problem. Say hello or don’t, get in the car, go home. The only thing worth writing about is the fire and I didn’t notice it.

How ironic are hipsters? So gorgeous that they’re terrified, and you can’t get near them unless you’re better. You know the ones, you’ve known them for 3 years and they won’t follow you. Then you get the Normies; GOD BLESS THE NORMIES. You know everything about them and they don’t even blink despite you being better.

I’m a loser. Think about it. If I’m a winner you’re a loser, if you’re a winner I’m a loser. I saw it. Not right now because I’m ambitious but I did. I called someone a loser then realised they were just trying to win. Which is what we’ve all been conned into doing here. I dunno if you get it. Maybe you want to, I know two people like that. I won’t even understand this next week but it’s fun to do. You can just tell when somethings coming from a different place. It’s lost its grip. I was looking at someone’s profile who’s got it all and the bio says, “Don’t worry I hate myself.” Death and dreams are made in the same factory. If I write in a way which encourages you to compare yourself you’ll have to go get drunk. Why, because I’ve got guts. I’m so outgoing I’m suicidal. I’m not suicidal. No-one is unless they believe it. I used to. I saw something funny, a cinema full of sheep watching a movie about a paddock full of sheep. They’ll never get out.

Respect to The Work of Byron Katie

Listening: Joy Orbison’s new album, Still Slipping. XL https://tossportal.bandcamp.com/album/still-slipping-vol-1

Do you ever have so many fantastic things to write at once they get bottlenecked? I look amazing today. I put that down to stopping when I was full. I seem to have so many great clothes when my life’s going well. My life goes well when I get my own way and I get my own way when the Dr gives me a 3 month work exemption. Having great hair helps.

We were out last night and a girl kept passing behind me and saying sorry even though she didn’t bump me. We agreed that she was hot so I said, “Poor girl,” and turned my back to her. I don’t know where I picked that strategy up but it worked because I never saw her again.

The book I’m reading made me jealous and want to start dating. The problem with dating is people only like me if I don’t talk. It’s hard to manipulate people like that. Eventually they realise I’m not actually cool and I have to call them posers for the rest of my life when I’m trying to go to sleep.

I told my Dr I was better than everyone but only because I’m unemployed. He said that Centrelink’s job is to kill me and his job is to help me stay alive. He said I was bright, but most people won’t realise because they’re employees. No question, I said, showing him all the writing I’d done in his waiting room and how I learned to make music in 6 months. Would people be interested in your music? Probably not and we both laughed.

New Chris Music

4 Jan 2018

I was at Rifo’s with Lawrence and told him I had 19 of these journals. He said I should start screwing with them. Did I have the trick? Why did I have the attack of the holidays? I sat with mum for hours, we read Matthew and she cried three times. I told her I struggle with a love between God and art. She said art is in his image and not to surpress it. Then I saw Lawrence then Sam then picked up the velvet book and burst. I was supposed to go to bed but the ink kept gushing. It had been stuck all this time inside a jelly of fear. Afraid of ridicule for being soft and wobbly. But now it’s like the most amazing cordial. I just know this is what they mean by purpose. Bad energy stays in the throat but the chords are relaxing, my voice is breaking again. Things are really starting to change because I realise I can’t. Mum said I need to get checked out. That there’s a good therapist in Mt Lawley. The poison needs to come out, it’s tearing you apart. I said don’t worry about what Aunty Pat says. It’s my Facebook and I’ll write whatever I like. That was a poem for chrissakes. She said, “Maybe I should listen to it with music?” I sung Dadada. It really does sound like your going off the rails though. I said I haven’t been on the rails since the 60’s. At that party, on a big property. A girl said we may as well get married and save time. So I took her to my room, there was clean clothes allover the bed. I said I don’t bother putting them away there’s no point. She got in and I went into my high school garden for a leak which went for ages. When I got back to my room it was rearranged and she was crying. “He came in wild with language and pissed right there two times.” I said, “Right,” and went and cut up his toy engine with a hacksaw.

IMG_3838somewhere-new230/07/2015

Withington, Manchester.

Trying to hitch out of Uxbridge nobody would stop. Frustration? Then remembering that I was free now, not when I got there. If I didn’t get a lift I could camp in the park and I’d still be free, even when it rains. I don’t have to worry about collecting glasses, what the housemates think of me or feeling guilty for choosing my laptop over my girlfriend. I changed spots.

A taxi driver picked me up. He drove taxis because he had no-one to answer to and could come and go as he pleased. I exclaimed. I’m petrified of not coming and going. I’d rather be beaten than employed. He said I’d made the right decision because London is a toilet. I told him about my girlfriend and how she has this special power where she actually forgives people. He said, I was better off without her and gave me five quid and his number.

I was at a complex intersection. Iron railings all around and tunnels underneath, nowhere to stand, peak hour traffic dark and raining in Birmingham. I considered breaking into the boarded up Ruxtin hall to sleep but tried a little longer. I was close to pitching my tent in the park when someone held up traffic calling out to me.

They say they can only take me a short way and laugh at everything I say. I seemed to start impersonating myself to entertain them, realising they probably weren’t used to picking up Australian hitch hikers and I had an edge because I was different. I could do no wrong, keep it simple and smile while they offer me jerky and cigarettes. You could say be myself whoever that is. I ended up at a Welsh hotel and they shouted me a room.

Kev reminded me of my dad. His voice whined like a Scouse’s and he used fast anecdotes that I didn’t understand. He valued wit in men and cackled like the intro in that Feel Good song in the Gorillaz. His teeth twisted and pointed straight out like a beaver.

He used to hitch hike 20 years ago and told a story of being picked up by a man in Dagenham. ‘He seemed alright to begin with and suggested I stay at his place. I soon realised he was a fookin gay and said nah I’ll be right. He kept insisting and luckily he pulled over to have a cup of tea, so I had one with him then went to the toilet and fooked off.” We all laughed.

I sat with Kev and his 2 sons at The Stanton Hotel in Chirk. They had about 3 pints each and for a moment I considered joining them. Kev chain smoked and repeatedly offered to buy me food and drink while getting money of his sons for the next round. All I had was £50 in the whole world but I still felt guilty for accepting the hotel.

I went upstairs to write, and Kev knocked on the door. “Aren’t you Australians meant to play guitar or something?” He kept shaking my hand and repeating himself, I thought he must be drunk.

He said goodnight and that his son would pick me up in the morning to take me to Manchester. “It’s been a pleasure,” I said. “I bet it fookin has!” he said nodding with a high brow.

I could hear the doors playing through the wall in his room and he called me 10 minutes later. “Do you have an alarm clock you drongo?”

Mitch picked me up out the front, I didn’t get a chance to look at him much but he had small brown eyes. It was a struggle to talk but I dug deep. He was kind and unsure. I don’t think his old man shouts him hotel rooms.

I got into a posh part of South Manchester and found myself ravaging a tray of McDonalds. I don’t look after myself anymore and I haven’t been meditating. I’m also having dreams about being Lou Reed.

I’m staying with someone I met in Mexico. He’s living at his uncles for nothing and gave me a top floor room overlooking a jungle where a fox lives.

I will over stay my welcome and think about it for years.

Flo is not happy but I’ve run out of sorrys.

Do I really have to meditate for the rest of my life just to keep it together?

I have a new job and am starting to dread going in already, but seriously, what on would I do if I didn’t go? Sit on my laptop? Or wander around again for the next 3 years wishing I had something meaningful to do.

I’m starting to value my time off dearly but too much of it is miserable.

Here’s a picture I drew of Figo The Fruit Fly

July 07 2015

I was falling asleep on the train coming back from Victoria which seemed to humour two dudes sitting opposite. So I layed dog eye for a bit, slowly filling my lungs then screamed as loud as I could. Everybody on the train jumped and it frightened those two so much that a part of them may never recover.

Before that I was seeing Flo off the couch terminal and she bought me a flapjack. I had been looking at her in awe, wondering if she was real. How did she know I love flapjacks? Seeing as I’d known real happiness I figured it would be the last time I’d see her before she died in a bus crash.

She was hopping, so it didn’t feel right to look deep in her eyes but I made her promise she wouldn’t die. And seriously why we won’t be together forever? Unless the bus crashes or I die of strangeness because I’m way older and live a double life around snack stands.

 

I came home and ate a litre of cheap ice cream which I had to hide from my housemates who hate Nestle. It was so bland I had to put 3 bananas in it and heaps of Flo’s honey which I’ve been banned from touching. Then I ate the chocolate which I found hidden at the very back of the cupboard from me.

I sat ashamed on my laptop and played with the cat as Finn clanged around with a mop and bucket on her morning off. Then Jack woke up full of phlegm and left a puddle of tea on the clean floor.

I went into his room while he was away in Barcelona. It was a shocking mess, a bulging black bin liner being circled by winged insects. Finn and Flo had been in there and cleaned it for him, which was most kind considering he’s a brat and refuses to wash his own dishes. While they were in there Finn called out to me to come look. The room looked fantastic and they’d written him a poem. Finn guided my attention over towards the shelf where standing upright stood both of Jack’s rubber dildo’s. With a cheeky smirk she pointed closer to the smaller one which seemed to bear some remains with hair stuck in it.

Jack and I weren’t talking. He’s a pig and I’m not paying rent. When I went into his room to retrieve my shorts, I found myself sympathetic and intrigued. This was his first time living away from home and he’d obviously had no domestic responsibilities before.

For a gay kid growing up in Essex I assume the only way to survive was to become efficient at devaluing criticism. Problem is he applies it to things he doesn’t understand or hold importance to. He got smacked out the another night by some guy in a Peckham fast fued and you have to give it to him old Jasper, he’s good at getting under your skin. They did call him chubby however.

I saw almost our entire collection of bath towels on the floor, empty booze cans, all sorts of grime and debri, evidence of independant sexual activity, scattered change, his drawings on the wall – one which looked a fine piece of draftsmanship done without lifting the pencil from the page.

He complains about being the only single person in a house of eight and at least was, spending a lot of time on grinder. Since I’ve known him, his increasing sexual exploration has entertained my own curiosity, his frankness around homosexuality is refreshing since it’s not typical of my upbringing.

He came into our room the other night and woke us up crying and saying he didn’t want to drink anymore, then denied it the next morning.

There’s no denying the allure of a self destructive person, but it’s a lot less irritating from a distance and when you don’t have to wash his frypan just to cook.

 

 

 

 

 

img_7811.jpg

27 March 2015

I almost walked out of work before even starting, waiting like a moron for my boss to open his door so I could ask why I hadn’t been paid. I called him two days ago and he said he’d get back to me.
In his office he said he would call the pay people on Monday and let me know. He asked me if I was struggling and without hesitation I told him I was. He said he’d lend me £100 out of his own pocket and that I could pay him back later. Until that moment I was indifferent towards him but this changed things. We shared a hint of a smile and I asked where he’d like me to work figuring I’d see him later about the loan.
I went out to the busy beer garden and got on clearing tables of glasses and plates, scanning any horizontal surface for lost valuables. I can’t look at the patrons because my hair sucks and I don’t know what to say when they talk to me.
Chris is behind the bar. He’s not worried about his hair, neither am I really. He always smiles and doesn’t get weird. His girlfriend is best with the bosses girlfriend. We talk about Italian shirts and I squirrel wedges from customers plates. I’m doing my best believe me. I realised a drinker had been watching me wedge and a jolt went right up me as I continued stacking glasses and refusing to look up.
I found a packet of unfinished cigarettes and as Charlie walked past with two towers of glasses I tucked them into his top pocket your the man!
There was a brown paper bag under one of the tables and I took it. There was a half eaten steak and a pair of orange Ray Bans.
A rugged looking new employee brought some glasses up as I was stacking the dishwasher and asked if I was Australian. He didn’t seem to notice I was weird and we cleaned up the beer garden together in the dark singing Tomorrow by Silver Chair. I found a gold pound in the stone floor crack marvelling at it in my fingers. I added it to the other 85p I’d already found and shifted the ray bans from my bulging jeans pocket into my shirt. If anyone came asking for them I’d give them back but they’d only be looted from lost property and sold for 20 quid.
I’m aware my morals are sliding but being poor makes it ok. If it weren’t for cashing someones’s oyster card I found in the dunny I wouldn’t have been able to get to work today or buy a chocolate orange from Poundland.
I was relieved about that loan though and could finally buy my girlfriend and I some food. But it felt like cheating because I wanted to be in this position out there broke in London. Making it up minute by minute not knowing later, in the jacket alone in the grey, pecking at the path, not knowing about the nits. Carry on only luggage euphoria and no alzheimers.
At the end of shift I realised the boss had gone home early without a loan and the Ray Ban’s had fallen out of my pocket so any relief would have to wait til tomorrow.

KH

 

“Yeah my girlfriend has just signed up to her first course,” I said at the lunch table in the meditation centre. “But she hasn’t experienced it yet so obviously if anything comes up at uni that’s more important. I can only wait and see what nature wants to do I guess. I’m not going to pressure her, as with anyone, I like to try and be the best person I can and set an example.”
“It’s the best way,” said Udo, a very tall German Pierce Brosnan. He is a teacher so who knows how long he’s been practicing.
“People are always watching,” he said “and when you think they’re not watching that’s when they’re watching you the most. When you first start meditating your trying to act like a good boy and set and example but your tense, soon though you keep practicing and it becomes natural, because Dhamma works you know. Then they see, this guys serious, he’s calm, happy and he hasn’t drunk in two years. Then some time later they watch a movie or get some signal and consider it more seriously.”

There was one question I wanted desperately to ask Udo. “Could you be in a relationship with somebody that does drugs?” That is also the same question I’ll ask Russell Brand when I meet him.

My girlfriend came in dopey after a night out recently and I ignored her. It pissed her off but I was pissed off too. It’s a tough one but she’s important and has demonstrated a profound commitment to me which has been covered before. So I accept the intoxication in our life, for now.

Initially I told my 7 housemates I wouldn’t be there for the joint birthday this weekend, basically because I’ve never felt that comfortable at parties and used to deal with it by numbing myself. But I don’t do that anymore so I just stand there uncomfortable having synthetic conversations. I’ve changed my mind though, this is where I am and soon it will change with only nostalgia to remain, so I’ll make the most of this young boho world I’ve been invited into, and not just invited, nurtured. I can’t work in England yet and they haven’t asked me for a cent.

 

We were all in the kitchen lastnight. Everyone making an individual effort for Finn’s birthday. The Queen was making desert.

She realised that George had put too much of something in the mixture. “I don’t want to be involved in these brownies anymore.” George quickly tried to reassure her they would be fine but she whined in a long high pitch, “No they wont they are going to be bitter as fuck.” She started growling and repeatedly smashing a measuring cup against the bench inside a plume of flour. I looked at Jack and smiled, these are my favourite parts. The housemates intervened and after a short time out The Queen returned with renewed enthusiasm. I hate for her to suffer but it’s way better than television.

 

The Queen

 

Here’s a poem I wrote for Finch’s 21st birthday.

ambitious eagles and their cloud politics
wondering queen in lollipop glass
singing oceans
seven angels painting
mountain water
sunset dreaming
cute roses
a flower staircase and it’s miracles
rainbow thunder
sky possum
raining spells gather sounds
teddy bear’s invisible hopes
swimming poems
baskets of cherries
special apple summer comes
drinking cups of moonlight
canal boat reflections
orange pigeons
dolphin sisters
lemonade butterflies
friendly violet spiders
sometimes you could hear the cats dancing
bathing spirits
climbed up into her bed in the stars
charlie’s flying
space kisses
the colour of tears
singing bubbles
magic windows
fairy bread smiles

They all sit around and critique my pictures after development, I almost enjoy it more when they tell me they don’t like something.

They get me into Uni every few weeks and I go round looking at their work and reading in the library. I got access to the computer room yesterday. Cagey. Sat in there all day scanning my negatives. Loads of my girlfriend’s mates kept coming up for chats. I was just waiting for the tap on the shoulder from security. Then I saw Oskar and he’s across the room like, “How did you get in here?”

I think the cortisol was still in me from earlier on. On the way to uni we were walking past the Pelican and an argument broke out between a driver and a pedestrian. The pedestrian accused the driver of trying to run him over because he was white. Another passer by got involved and so he turned on him. Face bright red and dangerous. Zipped up jackets and trainers beating on the car window threatening the passer by with “You fucking racist black cunt!”

It broke up and they went opposite ways but the passer by looked very agitated walking in the middle of the street. I called after him and asked him if he was alright. “Are you fucking alright?” he shouted. I repeated the question, a little puzzled. I wanted to tell him the pedestrian’s vilifications were not the general sentiment.

“Who the fuck are you!? FUCK OFF!” I felt nothing and stood there looking at him. “Are you fucking off?” he asked.      I don’t know why I didn’t, maybe I thought love would conquer all or maybe it was pride, but he took a reluctant glance at the floor before running towards me, he had a hood on and brown spots on his cheeks, round glasses, “he won’t hit me I thought, he’s bluffing.” I saw his brown fist slam into my mouth and my head jerked in the other direction but my torso remained. My gf was on the corner watching. He jogged off, shoulders relaxed, the tension had been released.

Growing up you had to be ready to fight, not just ready but prepared, that’s why I did kickboxing, but there became a fine line between defense and offense.

I considered running after him and fighting him, it burned in my gut, but I know better now. Whether he realizes it or not he will suffer for that.

I felt embarrassed for caring. Like a stupid missionary.

+ high-res version

This is the Sunday Flea Markets at Mauerpark which means “wall park” as it was part of the Berlin Wall and death strip.

I was captivated by the cold industrial energy and the grit.

The way people dressed exceeded my comprehension of style. Trench coats and military greens, deep organic colours, fur coats with boots mixed with dreadlocks and facial tattoos.

People talking to themselves with black eyes, a man showing his penis, the biggest public karaoke platform, twirlers, a kick ass drum circle dance party and alot of weedsmoke.

I’ve still seen no place like it.

C008358-R4-06-6A C008358-R3-30-31

when i get angry at them i cant stand it anymore and

I was trying to change my head

then always folding my legs and only seeing some blackness

i said it is the nothing

it was hurting and sweat was coming

i keep to work

i am always trying to perfection my head

in there some secrets cant hide

then i was dirty and i think nobody can friends with me

i was in my head at the bridge and so far down is the water

when im sitting on the steps jack said if i was ok

he told me did i ever kiss a man

i wasn’t but i had before done some things

then my girlfriend heard it and asking that she doesnt know

i am telling her and she was always my girlfriend and said dont ever changing.

i am asking the questions everytime what is the point for all this things in a book

everytime the pictures and blog and in and out some breathing

finn said not always changing yourself

i was inside dont know who am i

then i said hi im chris bell!

you cant even answer your own question

There is no answer for always breathing

You will all the time ask it and learn dont to ask it at the same time

I think that was called a paradox

you were always tricking the mind so it cant see whats your plan

always saying what is the point!

then i said nobody knows it

because!

dont always looking for some instructions from somebody different

then i drink the coffee but not some beer why?

my head wants to looking out the clear window

not if it has a shit inside

so how to stop saying why?

you can’t and you keep in and out some breathing

i think it was accepted

all the time life was entertainment

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5 Nov 2015

I became fascinated with Perth graffiti in the early 90’s after seeing “PIST – GAS” tagged in the alleyway next to my house in Beechboro. I was 11. Writers usually operated within crews and from my observations “GAS” appeared to be the most prestigious one.

Me and my mates started our own shitty crews and tags trying to recreate that underground rebellious mystique ourselves.

I continued destroying endless stacks of paper practicing my tags accompanied by intermittent vandalisation from then on.

In 97 I left Lockridge High to work in Forest Chase News. Didn’t work out and I returned to a mature age school called Cyril Jackson. It seemed like people were only there for the social atmosphere including me who hung around on the oval doing dexies and smoking.

I noticed a guy I’d done swimming lessons with at those old Morley pools when we were young. He had a little brother too. I’d also seen him at Swan Recreation while playing Basketball. He came up. Way too confident and had graffiti on his Nike Air Force.

He came up at school one day and said I’d tagged on his piece at the bustop outside the BP in Swan View. He was submissive probably reasoning anyone willing to challenge his clout deserved caution. But I was just stupid. I didn’t even know there was a piece there, maybe just some kindergarten project.

We started hanging out at CJ. He was doing art and would show me his drawings. He was older and knew how to walk, people talked about him and everyone knew when he arrived. He wore jag jeans and Timberland shirts, listened to Wu Tang and Ultramagnetic MC’s. He showed me this tune on his walkman called the Poo Poo Wrecka.

After school one day at the train station he got out his marker and tagged a panel, he wrote TUMBLER – GAS followed by TWERP. He looked over at me and said “I bet you think your hardcore now coz I wrote you up.”

I soon realised that Tumbler was using Heroin. I could tell when he was on it because his face was pale and vacant, his eyes were red and his heart was generous. His gold rings would disappear some days and he would jovially anguish over injecting them into his arm. He’d winge about his pimples and ask me to help him get off drugs, get his life together and treat his girlfriend right. He’d say that he was pathetic for hanging around people much younger than him.

He stayed with me for a bit and drew TWERP in an amazing piece and told .me not to bite his style. I glued it to my file.

Through a new mysterious blue eyed friend and other people at school, my circle extended among other vandals, thieves and like minded youths. I got invited into JM by LASH even though my writing sucked.

Funnily enough besides crime, most of the writers were generous and morally upstanding among their friends, welcoming new people and sharing what ever they had, even tipping taxi drivers $50.  That’s what it was all about, making friends and getting known.

I grew up excited by what I could get for free, smashing things and going where I wasn’t allowed so breaking the law was familiar but some of these guys had been in jail and had no fixed address. They were street; their acquisitions could be methodical which took my dishonesty to a new level.

One of the big news stations did a prime time report about Graffiti and interviewed Torcher, Virus and Brat while blurring their faces. “You see me on the news Twerp?” Said Torcher on the train one day. I had taped it.

One day in the Murray St Mall we were in a watch shop browsing innocently then the next thing they’ve vanished and the cabinet door is wide open.

We walked passed an older Aboriginal guy soon after who reprimanded VIRUS for bombing up Mirrabooka I believe. Virus started asking how so and so was but got shut down, “Don’t try make a conversation with me VIRUS just walk away.”

We went into Macdonalds across the road from Midland Gate Shopping centre. There was a glass donation box half full of money fastened to the counter and everyone was too scared to take it so I walked up and cut the wire with my snips and walked out the door. A customer said “that’s not yours,” and I laughed at him then disappeared over an adjacent fence.

We went straight to the bottle shop and I bought Strongbows for everyone. TWERP was officially a mad cunt.

My family went away for a weekend so I invited people round to get drunk. Early in the afternoon the phone rang and my mate Tom picked it up and started teasing the caller.

An hour later Tumbler stormed through my front door and went for Tom, “Was that you on the phone?” His fist cracked Tom’s mouth like a ball to mit.

I started screaming and telling him to get the fuck out, he grabbed me and forced me down the hallway in a bear hug. I was drunk and crying, summoning all my rage to break free as he overpowered me. He was crying too, “I love you man,” he said sedating me, “I respect you more than anyone, you stand up for yourself.” He was just too strong, he did weights and boxing and had too much influence over me, I gave up. I’d found my role model.

We all got pissed and Tom forgave him, holding frozen peas to his pummeled mouth.

We had a bonfire out the back and some of my friends from Lockridge came round. Tumbler had picked up his mate CINSE from jail after being released that day. They were sitting by the fire and his mate was leaning right over to one side with eyes half closed, mumbling and shaking hands with newcomers like he was mentally impaired.

My mates from Lockridge came round and screwed their noses up at my choice of company; beer and fighting was alright with them, but not drugs.

I followed Tumbler into the bathroom.

“Have you used man?”

“No,” he said fixing his hair in the mirror with red eyes and spotty cheeks.

“Promise?”……

“I fucken haven’t,” He said pushing passed me with the tonal warning not to interfere.

Some uninvited dude bought police to my house so 2 of us smashed him while Tumbler disappeared with a girl.

Then I slept with Tom’s girlfriend.

As the sun rose over Swan View I sat on above the train tracks on the kerb with Tumbler comforting him as he cried about cheating on his girlfriend and being out of control. Something had happened to him growing up and he was angry about it.

After he had cracked Tom

I was spending a lot of time with blue eyes by now. She had been in my health class at school, sitting directly across the room with short bleached hair, striking eyes and vintage fur coats. I couldn’t stop looking at her and one day she caught me, I looked away immediately returning shortly later to a wonderful gleam of white teeth and direct eye contact. I thought she was from another planet.

She moved into a house on Bushby St in Midland with 2 friends Mel and Tom’s ex Kelly. I’d hang out with these 3 chicks and everyone was curious because blue eyes was popular and I had fast become her best friend.

The house started getting very busy with all sorts of people. One day I was giving someone a haircut out the back and a few of us jumped the fence. I noticed a high open bathroom window and seeing as none of them were game I seized the opportunity to get some publicity.

All I could find was a bottle of grog but they tore the place apart finding cheap jewelly in places I didn’t know were there. “She must be a hooker, said one and I went into the lounge and saw kids toys allover the floor.

One morning very early Tumbler came around with a pocket full of jewellery and 3 or 4 watches on his arm. “I just broke into 3 houses,” he chortled and continued his brash repertoire. He’d started ignoring me by now.

A few weeks later we were playing pool in Maylands and Tumbler showed up to sell us gear. He had gold rings allover his fingers and a roll of cash. I didn’t bother saying anything. I found it strange that they trusted him. I’d seen him cut dexies with glucodin and sell it as speed to a guy everyone knew who shot it up in the Midland train station toilets and said nothing. Another guy point blank told him he ripped him off but Tumbler mocked him saying “Thats because you fucking smoked it.” But money changed hands and we ended up back at Busby street and I shared a needle with Virus. I was not surprised when it did nothing but not another word was said because Tumbler was the supervisor. He was BAD, ABC, GAS! And if he liked you, it was like a drug.

He once told me that he used to look up to the bigger taggers until he met them and realised they were nothing and that he could push them around. Maybe that’s what he wanted from me, to stand up for myself and be someone he could look up to.

Kelly had moved in with Blue Eyes after falling out with her parents and she took a few of us to their house to get food. Noone was there so she broke in and seeing as she didn’t like them we figured it was kosher to rob the place while she was in the kitchen. One of them found a bit of cash and split it between us. It was about $400.

A few days later police were at my door and mum was asking the neighbours to baby sit the kids while she ducked into a paddy van with me.

I was the only one to get caught because she knew where I lived. The police did the old, “we promise not to charge you if you tell us who the others are,” so I did. I started getting phone calls from people saying they just got out of jail and were going to break into my house and mess up my family. So mum took everything she had out of the bank and bought me a ticket to live with my Grandad in Sydney.

I constantly listened to a hiphop tape tumbler made.

8 years later I was back in Perth and I saw him coming down the stairs from the Look Out in Scarborough. He was with two girls smirking and with that same self assurance called out TWERP! I ignored him.

Not that long ago I heard he had passed away.

Rip Tumbler.

Rip Brat.

Rip Virus.

This was taken at the bus stop outside Stratton Shops after walking in the rain from West Swan Caravan Park where Blue Eyes was staying after being kicked out of home for getting her nipple pierced.

Listen.

15 September 2013

Glasgow, Scotland.

Yesterday Tom and I caught the bus out to the country, there were lush green rocky hills covered in animal shit. Someone owned the land but there are no trespassing laws in Scotland. We were looking for magic mushrooms.

I stood on the perimeter walls and noticed a Ram had fallen into a narrow channel of water and died. I showed Tommy and he staggered over, slipping on some of the rotten remains and almost falling in. I started laughing, he was so drunk. “If A’m drankin I’m drankin ya knoo?” he said.

He insisted he could sell the rams head to a local pub for 30 quid and fished it out by the horns detaching it from a mass of bones and rippling wool. There was a lump of white matter at the base of the skull which was obviously brain and spinal contents. I imagined it to reek of high hell and Tom kicked it off with his boot. I was laughing uncontrollably picturing him on a bus swigging a bottle of wine and carrying a stinking rams head.
I encouraged him, I wanted him to make a scene, carrying on like he does, I wanted people to look at us because life is fucking boring.
I took a photo to capture the mild luncay on Tom’s face as he tried to stuff the rams head in a plastic bag which wouldn’t fit, he hid it in the bushes so noone would take it, covering it with leaves.

We found the Whiskey Distillery and creeped out a few trail walkers. There were mushrooms all over the sloping pastures, I picked hundreds of them right out of horse shit and started eating them.

Tommy smoked all the tobacco and lost his bus ticket. He repeatedly told me not to lose mine on the way there. We stood in the bus doorway detaining the passengers while he looked in all his pockets. “Nooh nooh don’t take this Australian’s money, I’ve got it, I swearr.”

Before we got on the bus I ate a whole tube of pringles and a packet of biscuits. Tom fell over backwards in the bus shelter darkness helplessly. I could see why he had so many eccentric friends and people liked him. They still do but it’s not the same.

At Karaoke later on I wanted to sing something, Tom had been asked to sit down before hurting someone. I was going to do horse with no name. He said fook thaat and as he turned away tipped half a pint right into his back pack.

Here’s some more stories with Tommy…..

Trainspotting (I’m in Scotland)
The Trap (Favourites)
Something in the way (Couldn’t leave Tom’s)

urban frontier

Day 6 no cake.
I should be using this time to finish writing my resume and get some work, since my friend Brock has taken me off the Woolomooloo street for a few nights.

I know I say I want to be out there living ascetically in my car, but when everyone who walks passed can see into your bedroom as you brush your teeth, it takes some adjusting to.
I wish I was happy with nothing, living under a tree, but it’s too cold and I’m hungry and oh look 360 is on the front cover of Rolling Stone Magazine.

I know a lot of my stuff is emotional and I think some readers must think I’m a lazy, attention seeking, insecure wimp and that there’s something wrong with me for having a 19 year old girlfriend, or maybe that’s just her family, who I know read this and may not be my biggest fans. I feel like saying, well you know what? I flew her over here from London and took care of her for 2 months showing her more of Australia than most of it’s citizens ever see, then I flew her home again safe and happy with that colourful experience under her wing which you tried to stop happening and you know what else? Her man hasn’t even had a drink this year, or a smoke, or a pill or an anything, big deal? YES IT IS! She might do alot worse than me!! So give me a FUCKING BREAK!!
Well I guess I did just say it.
Don’t write blogs when you’re angry.
It’s awkward knowing that certain people are reading this and I’m ambivalent about disclosing my whole life and insecurities on the internet because we are such a cruel species from the comfort of our arm chairs, me included, but I do, like a transparent emotional washing machine, so you can all watch someone face their demons and feel better about yourselves for not being perfect.
It takes hard work to realise that regardless of whether you were born disabled and walk the streets of Newtown trying to talk to people with your tongue hanging out, or you’re a dark 6’2 footballer with 3 investment properties and a side part, noone is better than anyone else, we all suck, WE ALL RULE and we all just want to be loved.
Ok, I feel better now.

 

    

 

Macclesfield, England 27dec13

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He asked me for money infront of the information centre, we had a chat. I told him I was looking for a hostel. He insisted he had somewhere safe for me to sleep.

I just wanted to see what would happen.

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There were moments I thought I was in danger.

There’s rats in here, he said.

Cold.

Litter, scavenged food, candles.

I always think about killing myself, I just never get round to it.

You’re not gay are ya?

Front teeth whittled away into dark crystal shards, borders of face concealed.

Mother. Crying. Guilt +++.

Alright, if your going to kill me get it over with.

*Raises hands in the air*

The radio is better near you, it’s like your giving off a signal.

Will you be my brother?

All the good people die.

Michael Harrison, he taught me chess.

He hung himself.

He was better than superman.

Sssh, turn the music off. Did you hear that?

I can’t breath.

You wake up everytime you hear footsteps.

Everyday is like a month.

I can’t do this anymore.

(Snot hangs from nose)

*Strikes knee with clenched fist*

I’m sitting on the cable.

Vodka.

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Here are my notes. I wrote them in front of him.

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He said he was desperate to detox so I tried to facilitate his admission to a facility the next day.

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It didn’t work out and he dissapeared into the urban landscape after security kicked him out of The Macclesfield Hospital for drinking alcohol.