The Importance of Being Idle

Think about it:

absolutely fucking still.

...Mindboggling, in'nit?

After you think about it,
can you rate your experience
on a scale of 1 to 10:
10 being absolutely alive
and 1 being comatose.
Keep in mind we're talkin'
still here...

PARADISE

Extending an arm
towards paradise is
kind of like hopping on
a train to Montauk
in the middle of winter.

I can see it in my head;
not so much in my mind.

I'd kill to have that peace
surround me like
Dolby stereo on a
plasma TV.
No worries, no thoughts,
no chase.

It's just a buzzword,
really.

Icksnay on the aradise-pah.
It's cold here
and I'm due for a coffee.
NEXT IN LINE PLEASE!?

Abstract Art

Without realising it, I now had a misshapen eyebrow. So much for not paying the $11 to have them done professionally! It seriously would have saved me. Due to my black eye, I had tried to pluck them myself in the privacy of my own place. If only I haven't been so stubborn! I could have that sleek look I always crave in times like these.

It had been two years since I last saw him. His pale white skin, the blotchy red and brown marks on his shoulder, the mole on his inner thigh. He was so attractive to me. He had said "You mean more than solid gold," then kissed my neck with a deep hunger. It was rare we got to see each other, so his hunger wasn't false. I just didn't know it was so telling. I almost felt the whole thing was some sort of act. Or an exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Since we met, it was just surreal. Music didn't sound the same; food was more flavourful; I was skinny; I was happy; I was in love.

I didn't know what I was anymore. I felt like an alien in this post-baby body. All I knew is that someone had loved me once. Someone I could never really picture in anything other than peripheral vision. He was away from me more than he was near. I miss him all the time, but as I take a look at this new hacksaw-plucked eyebrow that accents my chubby cheek, I know in my heart it was nothing.

Kind of like that Pollock painting "Lavender Mist." Is that the one with the broken glass and drops of his blood? No, it's not. I was thinking of "Blue Poles." He made that one when he thought he was the biggest loser on the planet and could never create anything artistic again. He broke a glass turkey baster as he made it, drunk and bleeding all over the thing. That painting is in Australia. I never got to see it when I was there.