Insert From My Journal

 “Insert From My Journal” 

Those days where you can’t escape the voice of the undeserving; it’s breathing down your neck. I can’t say “Fuck you,” “Fuck off”. Rotating and flowing down my arm while I’m trying to read, trying to write. “Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you….” 

Flipping The Record

"Flipping The Record"

A thousand kisses deep, the needle is carving a deeper divots into streams of sound. Carefully placed, it journeys its way around the record, purring, filling out my mattress with music. It crackles and sputters; leaving me to wonder how deep the "Best Of" seventy-eight really lives. Do you think I can move my hand, do you think anybody would notice if I just flipped the record? 

How Beautiful Are You?

 “How Beautiful Are You?”

My skin has shed with the seasons 

like I’m taking off a retired old jacket

when I take off my clothes 

I feel like I’m opening like a flower 

especially if somebody is in front of me 

I’m pulling back the curtains

inviting someone inside

but when they say 

“how beautiful are you?” 

it means nothing to me

nothing, at all

nothing, anymore.

Played From a Hackneyed Stereo and a Busted DVD Player

“Played From a Hackneyed Stereo and a Busted DVD Player”

If being alone is a crime, I’m serving as a prisoner. Alone, nobody else can tell me what I see while I look out the window. How many times have I been reborn? Who was that talking before? I can hear his voice in the walls, but I don’t share his same memories…

Is this freedom? 

Home (Full Collection)

“Home”

Flowing streams hidden below a bridge can flow and whisper grains of truth, radioed from a higher ground, remaining unseen, yet continually felt. Rich gold rays apropos to the setting sun, reflecting the auburn off of a deep black that typically frames my face — sharply contrasting the switch of tawny-to-verdant metamorphic light conferred inmost the iris. Oranges and yellows shuffle and grace the sky, dancing with one-another, until the sunshine kisses me goodnight: welcoming me home. 

"Concert"

"Evergreen In Motion"

"Sad Day"

"Shadow"

Diary Of a Conflicted Vampire Alien Parasite

“Diary Of a Conflicted Vampire Alien Parasite” 

Sometimes, I wonder what everybody thinks about me; I try to picture myself in their mind and try to understand how I am being perceived. 

Sometimes, I wonder why I think the way that I do. Why can’t I understand my mind, my home, my own body? 

Sometimes, the world feels so angry. I can’t understand the hostility, the extremism, the hatred. Sometimes I feel like it’s impossible to understand it... and I just become angry myself.

Sometimes, I wonder why. Why all of this has happened. All of the loneliness, all of the desire, hunger and misfortune... But there’s simply no answer. This has just happened. This is the way my world is, for now. 

Vampire

 “Vampire”

Crimson showers wash away morality and virtue, exposing thirst and aridity in the soil of divine law. Lustful eyes, dangerous tears; begging for the draw to end and the gears to stop whilst you are crying for more. You are dying for his satisfaction. 

This is one of the poems i’ve written that I have put off adding to my blog because it’s very grotesque… but I like it. 

“Vampire” 

Because it’s B&W it isn’t as apparent but I played around with some different lighting; I used a lower blue light to define more shapes in the photograph, and a yellow light overhead to help the camera pick up on the entirety of the subject. 

You could say the blue light defines muscle and the yellow light defines bone structure.

A Tired Boy’s Affirmations (Be Your Own Muse)

 “A Tired Boy’s Affirmations (Be Your Own Muse)”

Feel it overcome you and bubble over all your senses; let it consume you, let it erupt out of you, let the cuffs and chains melt and burn: let it seep back into the earth.

There’s no point being afraid, don’t value the fears that stop you from living. Don’t trace the outline of the mirror — reach your hand up to your reflection and feel the universe reaching back.

Telstra Pay Phone

“Telstra Pay Phone”

We sit between two whispering lips and sly smiles — kisses are drunk and narrow: never to be remembered. 

Spit

“Spit”

Pull it a little bit tighter,

Hold on a little bit harder,

Stretch it out, wrap me up —

Please don’t listen,

Not to a single word.

Ignore me, sweetheart,

Love me, baby,

Spit and strike down all that sweet hatred.

Left-hand Side

 "Left-hand Side"

How do you sleep at night

Do you rest alone and cold

Or does he take up my space

In your bed, in your mind?

A path of blood and bones

You carelessly walk

Holding another's hand

Trying not to damage

Either of your shoes

Warm lights now shine

Colours of slate and granite

Hitting my eyes like a brick 

Once I see you together

No regard for forethought

It doesn't matter anymore

You love feeling the blood

Of absent apologies 

Underneath your feet

I'll write music

And keep my own peace

Hiding underneath headphones

Hiding in my art;

Erotic walls of pride

I'm a good boy

When angels sing for you

Hot breath fills the air

Conflicted tears pour 

Over our memories.

Woe, Sweet Baby

"Woe, Sweet Baby"

I know where you go at nighttime

A dark place that you call home

Sorrow and pain swallow you 

When you are lonely

Anything to not feel guilty 

Anything to not feel sorry 

Anything to not feel alone 

Cause you’ve been hurting all week 

And all you want is everything 

All you want is him.

(Exploring Photography)

 'Teenage Boy' 

The needle is dancing directly in the middle of the record. Headphones, tangled, plugged into the output jack -- discarded clothes and vinyl lie on the dirty carpet of his bedroom. Blaring music radiates from his stereo, each note tuning and tweaking his psyche. 

Reminiscent of a crazed feline, his dark locks stick up, greasy and shiny, underneath his headphones. Always conflicted, always heartbroken, forever without a reason why. 

Skinny with no desire for food, horny with no desire for sex, forever hungry for whatever he doesn't want. A selfish boyfriend, a distant mother, a camera without a lens: he runs the race because he'll never know any better. 

This poem is, believe it or not, based on my experience being a teenage boy. It's a little rough around the edges, but hey! Encapsulates the essence of the subject more. I have also never done photography inspired by one of my poems before, so this is an exciting new prospect for me :) This all came about after I had all my records in front of me whilst I was listening to some music, sitting on the floor, and I thought "fuck, my setup is rad!" so I wrote the poem, then took some photos. I also experimented with Photoshop to get the nice temperature-tones in the images, and getting-to-know a new program is always useful! 

0610

 

“0610”

Hot days drown out the sound of distant distractions. Summer kissed skin and my lips on yours remains a memory, a faint noise in the back of my mind. Each beat, each thump from my heart reminds me; "you are alive, so tell him."