chickens can't fly.

"can you get mum?"

~

standing in the cold on that screeming road in azamino.

standing in every piece of warm clothes i took to japan with me.

standing at the phone box outside the convenience store.

dusk.

standing one week two weeks three weeks in japan.

mother i am scared.

just get through each day.

one at a time.

one at a time and now they are gone.

one at a time and they keep coming.

days and weeks.

days and days.

days and years.

Sleep

Door wall door seat
Door wall door seat
Door wall door seat

Every night Laminex coats

Floor wall ceiling wall
Floor wall ceiling wall
Floor wall ceiling wall

Gum pushed and smoothed
Into the underside of a desk
Demented body on the Gravatron wall

Fluorescent light ebbs
Over your forehead
Washing hair from your scalp

Nausea pulls at your eyes

Door wall door seat
Door wall door seat
Door wall door seat

Nothing behind the doors
Just gummy walls

A child stands exhausted
Grips a doll by the leg
Belts its gummy face
Against the gummy wall

Picks up its limp head
Sees a perfect little smirk
Sees dazzling eyes
And tries again

A sign hangs
From the ceiling

A step away
A mile away
A step away
A mile away

Door wall door seat
Door wall door seat
Door wall door seat

Do not sit on the seat

It is not there

Nothing you want is there

Nothing there is there

Except Laminex

Looking at you

The way the fat boy did
In grade four
Before he fell on you
Grunting your name

Floor wall ceiling wall
Floor wall ceiling wall
Floor wall ceiling wall

Smothering

Trapped in the tubular slide
At the playground
Static stuffed in your pores
Hair clinging to your face

There was no way in
There is no way out

Noise
Machine din

A step away
A mile away
A step away
A mile away

A droning
A voice
Droning

Words
Words
Words

A step away
A mile away

A voice
In the distance

And then
Nothing

Endless hallways
Corridors passages
Tunnels a maze a lair
Endless hallways
And the voice far away

My voice

These walls puddle and purr
They ripple
Into words
And noise

Glass bottles clink
Fridge din computer din
Cutlery and lawnmowers

The rattle subsides
A warm hum
A warm mum
Pins a child into bed

These walls swell
And fizz with words

Words on the wall
Words
Words

We used to fit like a puzzle we used to play we used to fight like children we used to play in the rain we used to fall and fly in the wind we invented her face we wandered we wondered we stole her rose petals and ate them we used to run and run we found her photo in the bushes by the beach we used to hide and run and hide we used to mime we used to watch we used to care we used to cry we used to scream we could sleep we used to sleep we used to sleep we used to hear we used to see we used to sleep we used to dream we used to sleep

To be continued.

Delivery

~ For Patrick Lindsay Dowling.

Delivery.

Almost morning
But warm

This time
He is here to see a boy

The bush hums
It hisses
It clicks

The long grass ticks
It buzzes
It sweats

A dark stream meanders
Along the edge
Potters under hanging leaves
Slips over soaking branches
And bubbles at the rocks

He swims his feet in the water
He has come far
To find the boy
He has come far
To hunt the boy
To hurt the boy

He lingers
Under a river gum
Waiting
Dark damp earth
Blue dim before dawn

The sun arrives
He scurries
Through shadows
Under trees
To the house
To stay
He will not go away

Yanks the curtains closed
Opens his old bag
It wafts

Stale earth damp wood off potato morning breath
He spills the bag
Before the boy
Crisp white sheets bleed grey

The boy lies
In the dark
Shadows
Dance
Over him

They whisper
About tomorrow
Someone will frame the sky
And tell them you’re not home.

flannelette sheets

dogbeach

walk home

paper

she stepped out.
quite satisfied.
another japanese adventure.
gaijin. she said,
i tried facing the other way this time.

glow in the dark coffin

roaches.

dirty. hot.
dark. empty.

all of these voices

mirrored



i have already got one husband.
i dont need my son to treat me in the same way.
you do not act like my son.
i am your son mum, you can't dictate that.
i act how i am.
i can play your game.
it is not a game mum.
it's an addiction.
i can get more bikes.
i can get more drunk.
because i am addicted to it.
if you don't want to compromise.
some jibberish.
i'll say it again.
i already have one husband.
dad has one two.
i dont need my son to mimic model and mime a husband i already have.
and tables and furniture.
we have to tie it in somehow.
it is getting really boring this conversation.
are you going to stop being dad?
i was thinking if you quit i can quit.
i'm not happy until i can get over my addiction.
do you do it on a daily basis?
i do.
we will all be happy.
we can be friends.
we haven't been friends for a long time.
naltrexone, zoloft.
i got a big dose now.
no no no.
you being yourself.
that is the nicest thing.
i am telling you now i am ready if you guys are ready.
where is your meet?
i will meet you half way.
that is my.
is that the only addiction you've got?

silent film.

hat.
head.
earing.
collar.
concrete.
concrete.
concrete.

lantern

stone

stone. people.

the graham

swanston street hotel

skater

city square

white dress

the best looking drunk

best looking drunk

looking best drunk

drunk looking breast

breast drinking look

look drinking breast

drunk drooling breast

best breast drunk

beast drooling breath

drunk leering beast

best looking drunk

judge

bomb

geelong road

up

hampton

dance in the dunes

the phone rings

streetlight

pillow slip

i am out of focus

i am out of focus

exhibition of photographs
documenting my mother's experience with cancer
royal womens' hospital,
womens' health and information centre,
grattan street carlton

october 9th - november 13th 2006.

piece of cake

rmit. public art.
northcote infringement project.
northcote town hall.
june 2006.

~ view through a wheelie-bin camera obscura ~

spill

city

rmit. public art.
site analysis.
the gap. shitty city.

hanged

rmit. public art.
place and space.
detritus.

too everything

it is dark. warm. and wet with spilt wine and beer breath. floorboards here in melbourne. and everywhere in mumbai madrid and mentone. rumble. happy and horrible they dribble and trip in and out and in and out of the speigel tent. noise is all singing. young hearts run free and bodies push and sink to and fro and to and fro from the bar.

four shots. two girls. more shots. she squeals and coughs into the face of her best friend. her face disappears into her face. coughs. and groans away the thought of a friend’s friend following her with his hand. almost regrets the short black dress riding but. loves her new heels, throws back her hair and hurls herself at her best friend. they fizzle back through hot ebbing bodies.

it smells dark. smells dark and cold. moist. like 3am in october. just after the city has settled. just after the city has forgotten the shitty bits. melbourne is clear. sky. road. river. st.kilda road waits politely to escort sleep to the suburbs. she is gone and needs to get home. eight degrees. cooler. short black dress stumbles to fix her shoe, and wonky eyes. wait, my shoe. just wait, fuck. shit, come on. fuck it. too everything for heels this morning.

milla jovovich

may

egg shell